Pairing: Chris / Vin
Warnings: mild angst, h/c of an emotional nature, graphic sex.
A very special thanks to Dail for the beta – as always, she keeps me on point! All screw-ups and mistakes are my own!
Author's Notes:
Blood Knot: a knot used for tying fishing leaders together, two lines of similar size; the ends of the two leaders are wrapped around each other two or three timesThis is the second knotting story: Chris' pov set after "Manhunt". It's the story that tells why Chris left just before the beginning of "Inmate 78".
"You all right?" Chris pitched his words low, watching Vin out of the corner of his eye. Vin was quiet, but he'd been even more quiet than usual since they'd left the reservation, his mind not in the present.
Vin tensed as if Chris' question had startled him, and maybe it had; he had been staring ahead, but not with any particular focus and Chris suspected his thoughts had been very far away. But he looked to Chris and the corners of his lips flickered slightly, trying for one of his grins. "Yeah," he said. "Tired. Been a long couple of days."
"Bet it has," Chris agreed, "running round the territory tracking an Indian that doesn't want to be found."
Vin shrugged, his gaze drifting away from Chris and into the lengthening shadows of the evening.
Behind them, there was an outburst from Mosley, something about 'damned heathens who killed his baby girl more surely than he did', but Chris ignored it. The man was all spit and vinegar, but it was draining out in the face of what they'd learned – what Vin had figured out. The truth of it was catching up to him, that he had killed his own kin, his own daughter, and there were no words to protect him from that pain. None of them tried to argue with him or even reason with him, not even Josiah. Mostly, they surrounded him, ready to get him to the jail as quickly as possible. They all wanted to be shed of him, but none, perhaps, as much so as Vin.
"Wasn't your fault," Chris said more quietly. He was rewarded by another startled glance from Vin.
For a second, Vin looked as though he would deny the idea, but then he sighed, and Chris knew he'd been right. Not that he'd really doubted it; he'd come to know Vin's thinking about as well as he knew his own.
"Shoulda figured it out sooner," he said, slouching a little deeper into the saddle. "Knew it wasn't making sense but I didn't see it, not 'til we was on their trail the second time. I should have known Chanu wouldn't have gone back after her once he got free, not is it was about causing trouble. He'd have high-tailed it out of there, but instead, he went looking for her. She meant something to him, something personal. He ain't never been no renegade – angry, yeah, sure, hell, I'd be angry, too, if I'd been treated like they have. But not the way real renegades are."
Chris watched him, thinking on his words. Vin had lived with the Comanche and the Kiowa, two tribes who had produced their fair share of trouble makers. He'd learned a thing or two as well, Chris knew, and not just about buffalo hunting. "You can't know everything, Vin," he said. "You gave Chanu every chance to tell you, and he tried to kill you instead – "
"No, he didn't," Vin cut him off, turning to face him. "If he'd wanted to kill me, I'd be dead. I knew that, but I still couldn't put it together." He shook his head, making a low noise that was a laugh but not one made from any real humor. "If I'd been thinking with my heart instead of my head, I'd have known right then – and I might have been able to save her, to save them all."
"You did what you could do," Chris said. "You saved Chanu and the reservation – that's a damned sight more than anybody else did."
They rode in silence for a while, but not in quiet as Mosley saw fit to voice his anger at the way of things. When JD started winding up, Buck cut him out and they rode ahead, JD's tone loud and angry with the rage of youth, Buck's lower and calming.
"I'll take first watch," Chris announced when they reached the jail. "Ezra gets last, Buck in the middle. The rest of you can work out a schedule for tomorrow." He dismounted and didn't give a second thought to the fact that Vin was right there beside him, taking his gelding's reins.
"Shall I have Mrs. Travis wire the Judge?" Ezra asked, still sitting on his horse as Josiah and Nathan helped Mosley down, guiding him toward the jail.
Chris stepped up on the boardwalk in front of the sheriff's office, moving off to one side to let the prisoner and his guards pass. "Do that," he nodded. "Let him know we ain't got time to sit on this, and let Mary know, too, that we need this cleared up. Don't need the hotheads getting any more bright ideas."
"What about Rafe Mosley?" JD asked. He was off his horse and collecting the riderless horses to lead to the livery.
Chris shrugged. When they'd last seen the son, he was riding in the opposite direction at a fast gallop, the anger and grief overcoming his shock. "Keep an eye out, but I suspect we won't see him, not anytime soon."
"You want dinner?" Buck asked, turning his horse to follow after JD who was following after Vin, a procession moving slowly down the street toward the livery.
Without thinking about it, Chris said, "Vin will bring it." He saw the frown on Buck's face, but before he could wonder on it, Josiah's voice spoke loudly from inside the jail, an event unusual enough to warrant his attention.
It was the end of Josiah's patience, which, fortunately, was easily returned by sending him and Nathan off to cool down.
"You're another one of them?" Mosley demanded as Chris settled into the chair behind the sheriff's desk, his hat on the empty surface in front of him. "Another heathen-lover like your friend Tanner?"
Chris pulled a book from one of the inner pockets of his short coat and opened it, ignoring Mosley and his questions. After a time, they stopped.
He lost himself in the reading – a book about exploring Africa by balloon, which was more interesting than he'd expected it to be – until the shadows started to make it hard to read. He looked up, thinking to light a lamp, when his stomach rumbled and he realized he was hungry.
Before he had the chance to think about what to do about it, he heard footsteps on the boardwalk, ones he knew well. He rose in time to open the door, saving Vin from having to juggle the napkin-covered tray he was carrying.
"Thanks," Vin nodded, slipping into the room. "Special tonight was chicken pot pie, so the place was full up. I got two orders of it, but it was a battle." He set the tray on the desk, carefully sliding Chris' hat out of the way.
"Two?" Chris asked, closing the door and coming back to his chair.
Vin shrugged, pushing his hat back but not off. "Inez had that spicy rice and bean stuff she makes. It weren't near as crowded in the Saloon, so I ate there."
Chris shook his head but pulled away the napkins to get to the food. He lifted up one of the big bowls of pot pie and a spoon, looking to the cell where Mosley was sitting on the cot, his back against the wall. His eyes were closed, but Chris didn't have the sense that he was asleep.
"Mosley," he called, moving toward the cell. Behind him, he heard Vin shift but he didn't sit down.
The man in the cell moved slowly, his head lifting and his eyes blinking open. He focused on Chris then past him on Vin. His expression was cold but grew colder as it moved.
"Dinner," Chris said, holding the bowl through the opening on the cell door.
Mosley didn't move, staring at Vin, and Chris snorted. "Now, or you can do without."
Mosley still didn't move and after a few seconds, Chris pulled the bowl back through the door and turned away. He set it on the desk and picked up his own and one of the mugs of coffee also sitting on the tray. The smell of it was almost more enticing than the food.
"Outside?" he asked, looking to Vin.
Vin was watching Mosley, his face flat. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice hard. He didn't break his gaze with the man in the cell, but he did reach back and catch the knob of the door, opening it for Chris.
Chris stepped out onto the porch, appreciating the cooler air that came with the dusk. He moved over to one of the chairs that sat in front of the office, using his foot to draw it closer to the railing, where he set his mug of coffee.
Vin left the door half open and took another chair, drawing it up but turning it sideways so that he could glance into the sheriff's office to check on their prisoner. He had grabbed a mug of coffee as well, which he held on his thigh once he was seated.
There weren't many people milling about – most were either finding dinner at home or in the town's one restaurant or in the saloon. Most of the shops were closed already and Chris gave passing nods to the few people who drifted about. The piano in the saloon was tinny and bright, carrying over the distance between, as did the periodic outbursts of laughter. Chris suspected that Ezra, Buck and JD were there, reporting the adventures of the day to those who asked, hopefully calming down the more volatile elements in town.
But that made him think of something else. As he swallowed, he looked over to Vin who was sitting a little slouched in his chair, his hat now lower over his eyes.
"You and the others all right?" he asked.
Vin glanced to him, the movement of his eyes reflecting in the shadows thrown by the brim of his hat. "Reckon so. They don't know no better."
Something in the way he said it sounded off to Chris and by the time he'd finished another bite of the pot pie, he knew what it was: resignation.
He swallowed then looked over at the other man. "They don't," he agreed. "And it don't mean nothing about you."
Vin didn't look at him, taking a long drink of his coffee instead.
Chris thought on it as he finished his meal. As he set the empty bowl on the railing and took back his coffee mug, he said, "How long you live with the Indians?"
Vin had been watching the street, or at least staring off into it, and he continued to do so as he said quietly, "Off and on since I was on my own. You run across 'em more in Texas, I reckon, than out here. Down there, they ain't as scared of white folk."
Comanche and Kiowa, Chris recalled. Two of the meanest of the tribes, and they probably weren't scared of much of anything. Certainly not a skinny white kid with eyes bigger than –
But that thought wasn't one he wanted to let free in his head. There was something worrisome in it, in the idea of thinking of Vin that way. And he already had a few too many ways of thinking about Vin that didn't bear considering.
"You think the ones here are? You think Kojay and his people are scared of us?" He sat back and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. His boots were well-worn, the leather flexing easily.
Vin didn't move but Chris knew he was thinking about the question. After a few seconds, he said, "Scared enough. That's why they stay there and don't move on – that, and 'cause they gave their word. Most of the tribes hold to that, better than most white folk." There was a little bitterness in that.
"You think that's why Chanu and Claire tried to run?" He sipped from his mug as Vin took his time thinking about this as well.
"Think they ran 'cause of her pa. Reckon they were right to."
Chris sighed but nodded. "Reckon so. People don't cotton to that sort of thing."
Vin turned to look at him as he answered softly, "People don't cotton to a lot of things, mostly things that ain't none of their business to begin with."
Something in the way he said it said it gave Chris pause, but he didn't have time to think on it. Inside the jail, Mosley called out, "Larabee!"
Chris sighed but got to his feet. As he reached for his empty bowl, Vin said, "Leave it. I'll walk it back down and grab us some more coffee."
Mosley wanted his food which he took with some grace this time, nodding stiffly once without meeting Chris' eyes.
Chris left the door open wider as he went back out on the boardwalk. A slight breeze was coming in with the dusk, cooling things off more. Down the street, Vin came out of the restaurant, two mugs in one hand. He nodded to the few folk he passed, politely brushed his hat to the two women, but even from a distance Chris could see the coldness he received in response. It would take a while for people to settle down, to get over the fact that not only had Vin defended the Indians, but he'd been right in doing so.
Vin didn't seem to notice, or he gave no appearance of it, but Chris figured that was exactly what it was – an appearance. Vin noticed everything, something that had taken Chris a while to realize.
And Vin remembered what he saw.
By the time Vin made it back, Chris was sitting in his chair. He'd reclaimed his hat while he was inside and he wore it low over his brow, just as Vin did.
They sat for a while in silence, sipping at their coffee and watching as the dusk turned to night. Tiny and one of his boys walked by as they made their rounds to light the watchfires, but most people stayed clear of the jail and the men in front of it. Word was getting around, Chris knew, and most people were wary of Vin, and hopefully wary of him.
Chris went in to check on Mosley several times, giving the man water and offering coffee to which Mosley shook his head. He'd gone strangely silent, as if what he had done was catching up to him. Vin returned the tray and the rest of the dinnerware to the restaurant, getting more coffee for them in the process and Chris reckoned he'd be awake all night long – but then again, maybe not. He was tired and he knew Vin was, too. Maybe tonight things would be calm as everyone stewed.
The noise from the saloon grew louder at the night settled in. Lights came on in some of the buildings where people lived, the Potters' place above their store, the rooms above the bathhouse, the sanctuary of the church where Josiah always kept a couple of candles lit as well as the rooms above where he slept, and Nathan's rooms. After the restaurant closed, all movement trickled down to the town's two saloons. Other lights slowly went out as many people turned in for the night.
The breeze dropped away, as it did at night, but the temperature was cool and pleasant and after a time, Chris found his mind wandering, drifting back over the events of the past few days. He'd kept a distance from pretty much everything in the town, had since the night Fowler had walked back into that fire. Not just from Vin, even though after what had happened between them, Chris had put the most distant there.
But from all of them, even – or especially, Buck.
He'd needed to understand it, this idea that someone had paid a stone killer to kill his family. He still had moments where it made no sense to him, because in the times when it did, he had to try to come to terms with why – what it was that he had done that had made someone hate him this much.
The guilt wasn't new – but it was stronger than it had ever been, and sometimes, in the mornings when he was waking up, it choked him to the point that he thought he might rather die. Only the anger at whoever had paid Fowler kept him going, and he'd spent a lot of his time lately trying to figure out who and where.
So much time that he'd left the others to handle everything else. He'd shown up when he needed to – when they'd made the run against Guy Royal to get back Nettie Wells' money, when Top Hat Bob had shown up, gunning for him. When things here in town had gotten out of hand with Chanu and then later, at the reservation.
But he'd left the others to handle it, preoccupied with his own concerns.
And with avoiding Vin and what had happened before Fowler's death.
But now here they sat, together in the dark, watching over a man who they each despised.
"What makes a man do that?" Vin asked after a time, his voice low and gritty. "How can you hate so much that you destroy something you love?"
Chris shook his head. "Got no idea," he answered. "Can't imagine it myself. If I had Adam . . . " He couldn't finish the thought, the whole thing too close.
Vin shifted beside him and after a while, he went on but changed the subject. "Just 'cause some folk think different don't make 'em bad. There's lots of things the tribes know what have helped 'em to survive, things that would help most of us if we'd take the time to be friendly and ask 'em. But white folk don't think that anybody could know as much as they do. Sometimes I think we're too damned proud to see what's in front of us."
The bitterness in the words had grown, and Chris' attention caught on the last particularly. But once again he didn't have time to ask; the saloon door opened with a burst of music and laughter, and JD and Buck were headed their way, full of the energy and good humor neither seemed able to put aside for very long.
"He still got too much to say?" Buck asked after the greetings and complaints about being pulled away from the saloon. He tilted his head toward the door, indicating Mosley.
"Been quiet this last while," Chris answered. "Might be sleeping, might be thinking on what he did. Just stay out here and you won't have to deal with him overmuch, I don't reckon."
"I can do that," JD said, his young voice harder than Chris had heard it before. Kid was learning, he thought, but there was sadness in that thought.
Buck turned to Vin who was standing now. "You were right," he said with a nod. "That's something out of this mess."
Vin shrugged and looked away, and Chris thought he might have been a little embarrassed. But his tone was easy as he answered, "Reckon most folk ain't gonna see it that way, but thanks for not being one of 'em."
Buck looked like he wasn't quite sure how to answer so Chris saved him. "I’m getting a drink before turning in. You comin'?" He looked at Vin who nodded, then he looked back at Buck. "Ezra will be along when the saloon closes. If things look rough, tell him to fire a gun shot, like usual."
"You thinking Rafe might cause trouble?" JD asked, standing a little taller.
Chris didn't smile but it was near thing. "More like some of the town drunks getting riled," he said, "Mosley will become a hero the longer they down the whiskey. Stay sharp and if things look ugly – "
"And you know I hate ugly," Buck cut in, but he was grinning. "We'll call for you," he said, still grinning but with a promise in his eyes.
Chris nodded and started away, knowing Vin would follow. He wasn't disappointed.
They walked most of the way with Vin at his side, something he didn't realize he'd missed until now. He still felt wary with the other man, the memory of what had happened back in that town something he had tried to put away. But it had a tendency to spring up at him in the middle of the night, coming to mind in the small space of waking after a nightmare about Fowler or Sarah and Adam, or in the middle of the afternoon when he was trying not to think about anything but who might have hired Fowler, when his concentration should have been absolute.
It hadn't meant anything, he told himself over and over, just two friends scratching an itch. Just as it had been in that Indian village so long ago.
Having Vin at his side was easy, the way it should be.
But as they drew closer to the saloon, Vin's steps grew slower. At first, Chris matched them, not really thinking about it. But the closer they got, the slower and longer each step, until Chris turned at looked at his friend.
Vin sighed, looking at the batwing doors, the light and laughter cutting the quiet of the night. "Think I'll just turn in," he said. "Not much for the noise."
Chris found the words on his tongue and across his lips before he had time to think on them – in truth, because he didn't take time to think on them. "I've got a bottle in my room. That too much company for you?"
As he heard the invitation, it occurred to him how Vin might take it; the thought knotted in his stomach and he wondered on how to pull back what he'd said.
From the look of him, Vin was as startled as Chris. His eyes went wide, glimmering from the shadows cast by his hat and he took a step back, as if expecting Chris to do something - more.
They stared at each for a few seconds, and Chris thought that Vin might be fighting as hard as Chris to find words to put to an answer. The look on Vin's face was one of surprise and fear, but it wasn't fear of Chris, or, rather not all of it. Staring into those wide eyes, Chris remembered all of what had happened that last time, that one time. He'd hurt Vin, he knew, been rough and hard, angry at all that was going on, too angry to really think about what he was doing.
Because if he had, it would never have happened to begin with.
He swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a simple, "Vin."
Vin drew a breath and held out a hand. When he spoke, he must have understood some of what Chris was thinking. "Just a drink," he said softly. "Could stand that before I get to sleep. Not that I'm complaining but that bed in my room is harder than much of the dirt I've slept on."
Chris drew his own breath, relieved at the understanding in Vin's words. He nodded once before walking on past the doors of the saloon and toward the boarding house where they stayed.
There were still some people up and about as they came in, but no one made chatter or did more than acknowledge them. As they moved up the stairs toward their rooms on the top floor and furthest back since they were paid for by the county, the way grew darker and quieter.
Nathan and Josiah didn't stay here; Nathan lived in his clinic and Josiah in the church. Ezra stayed at the hotel, so that the other four peacekeepers had about half the top floor, where there were seven rooms. As far as Chris knew, there was only one other person on this floor at the moment, an older man who was hard of hearing and who was probably over at the saloon anyway. But Chris was still quiet as he moved along the hallway, the jingling of his spurs louder than the tread of his boots on the floor. Vin's spurs were quieter.
There were two oil lights burning along the hallway, and it was the light from these that let him find the lock on the door, then see well enough into the room to find his own oil lamp sitting on the near side of the dresser. Vin waited outside the room until it was lit, then at a nod from Chris, he came in and closed the door softly behind himself. Chris nodded his approval as he heard the key turn in the lock, too. Always good to be careful – even though nothing was going to happen here, he reminded himself.
Vin stood there, and Chris knew he was wary, which made Chris wary, too. Best to get over it now, forget anything ever happened and move on. "Whiskey's on the table," he said as he pulled off his hat and coat and dropped them over the foot rail of the bed. "We might have to share a glass."
Vin walked the short distance across the room to the little table that sat in front of the room's window. Before he reached for the bottle, he tugged the window open, letting in the cooler night air.
Chris unbuckled his gunbelt and draped it over the post at the head of the bed before going to join Vin. He poured a healthy dose into the ceramic mug that sat next to the bottle on the table and held it out to his guest first.
Vin took a deep drink, his long throat working as he swallowed. His Adams apple bobbed and despite himself, Chris recalled another time when he'd seen Vin's neck fully stretched, his head back and his back arched, his hair hanging like a curtain behind him.
Despite his attempt to squelch the memory, the knot in his belly tightened and moved lower, creating a heat in his groin.
He must have made some sort of noise for Vin brought the cup down and looked at him, a question asking in the wrinkling of his forehead. He held the cup out to Chris who took it, ignoring the question as he drank – trying to ignore the want, too.
Vin leaned against the wall, looking out the window. The light hit him fairly, and in profile, it was impossible to miss the square line of his jaw and the high rise of his cheekbones.
Pretty as a girl, Chris had said to him that time before, and in truth, he was.
Prettier, maybe, a dark voice whispered from the back of his head. Have to be to tempt him so, to make him think the things he was thinking now.
"They're still gonna make it Chanu's fault," Vin said, his voice not much louder than the one in Chris' head – but loud enough.
"What?" Chris said, taking another drink of the whiskey. It burned, the flare of it driving back the unwanted ideas.
Vin turned to face Chris, the new position casting half his face in shadow. But his eyes still shone, large and blue and sad. "Chanu and the reservation. Don't matter that Mosley did it, it'll still come back to them. Always does."
Chris sat down in the chair, refilling the cup from the bottle as he did. "Can't argue that it would have been better if Chanu and Claire had never took up with each other. Some things just ain't natural."
Vin didn't move but something changed, the room seeming a little colder. Chris took another sip, thinking that it was the night air, maybe, then he held out the cup to the other man.
Vin stared at him then at it, but he made no move to take it. Instead, in a tone that could have cut stone, he said, "So that's it? Anything that ain't what you believe ain't natural?"
The anger was instant but strangely dull; he'd never heard Vin sound this way, the bitterness and hurt blended together in a way that seemed old and young at the same time. It seemed a part of something bigger than what they were talking about, bigger than Chris understood.
He stared at Vin, not liking the way those eyes he knew so well – or thought he did – stared back at him as if they didn't know him at all.
Vin pushed away from the wall, standing straight. His hands, usually resting with his thumbs hooked over his gunbelt, were fisted at his side. "Love ain't something to be thrown away 'cause it don't match up to somebody's sense of 'natural'. It's damned hard enough to find it, 'specially out here where just living from day to day takes all a body's will."
Chris put the cup down on the table, pushing it a little closer to Vin. His mind was on the words, but the voice – the voice that echoed in his head belonged to someone else, someone he had been thinking on a lot as of late.
He wasn't aware of looking away from Vin or even of what he was looking at; he was hearing her voice, the words as clear as if she were in the room. They weren't the same words, but the intent was the same.
She'd said them to him in anger, when he'd tried that one time to break off their engagement – for her, not for himself. Because she'd been in tears after another fight with her father. Because he couldn't stand to see her hurt. But in trying to help, he'd hurt her even worse.
She'd cried again about her father, right up to the day they'd stood in the church, exchanging vows. And he knew she'd cried again after, wanting the bastard to be there when Adam was born and for every one of his birthdays, if not her own.
'Love isn't something to turn your back on, Chris Larabee, and unless you're telling me you don't love me, that it was all a lie, then you better damned well take back that offer to end our engagement, 'cause I'm not choosing between the two of you. That's my father's choice and he knows that he can change his mind anytime he wants to. Love chooses its own, and mine found you. Don't waste it – you don't know when you'll have it again.'
Now, that dark voice said, you have it again, now.
A noise caught him, and he jerked in time to see Vin reach the door, his hand on the knob. "Vin," he called, jerking. "Wait. I didn't mean . . . "
Vin stopped but he didn't turn back. His shoulders were straight and rigid, angry in a way that Chris had seen very few times.
Sarah had had more fire, more temper. But he hadn't liked to see her anger anymore than he liked to see this. Especially when he was the cause.
"Chanu and Claire would have had trouble anywhere they went among white folk, you know that. Their children would have had more trouble. Maybe over time, people will get used to it – 'cause you're right, out here, we got more than enough things to worry on." He stood up and took a step forward.
Vin was still for a few seconds, and Chris felt his own tension. He didn't know what else to say, thought he'd said too much already, more than he should have.
Then Vin shifted, his hand falling away from the knob. He turned, looking over his shoulder at Chris. "Reckon you're right about white folk. They got pretty stupid ideas about what's 'natural'. But Claire and Chanu and their young'un would have been welcome among the tribes, most of 'em, anyway. They know a lot about nature and its ways."
An idea twirled through Chris' mind, one that persisted as he answered, "Guess that's why Chanu was headed back toward the reservation," he said. "You want another drink?"
Vin blinked but his shoulders relaxed and he completed his turn. This time when Chris lifted the mug and offered it, Vin took it.
"Sit?" Chris said, tilting his head toward the chair he had used. He stepped toward the bed and settled on the side, close enough to share the mug.
Vin looked at him, frowning, but after a second, he sat.
They shared the mug for several turns, neither saying anything. But the whiskey and the way things were between them, the way they had always been – the natural way, Chris thought with no little amusement, slowly worked their way through the distance that Chris had unthinkingly created.
"Sarah and I got married against the wishes of her father," he said after a while. "Her father didn't like me. He said it wasn't . . . " He smiled at the irony of it, at the memory of Hank Connelly's words, said so many times to him in those months before the wedding. "He said it wasn't natural for me to stay with one woman."
Vin looked at him, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips.
Chris grinned back. "Yeah, you'd think I'd have learned about using that word." He looked down at the mug he was holding now. The thought which he'd been trying to avoid grew large in his mind and even though he had told himself he wouldn't ask, the question was out before he could stop it. "So, did you love someone in one of the tribes you lived with?"
He hadn't really thought about the way he asked, but he hadn't really considered that the person Vin might have loved was a woman.
He knew Vin was looking at him, but he kept his head down. He wasn't certain he wanted the answer – which was cowardly. Vin had lived long before he'd met Chris Larabee, long before what had happened in that Seminole village. Long before what had happened in that dingy hotel room weeks before.
"Does it matter?" Vin asked.
Chris looked up, as much at the pain in his voice as at the question.
Vin caught his gaze, looking old and tired. And with a sadness that Chris recognized. It was one they shared, the loss of someone closer than blood.
The words didn't come, but they didn't have to. Chris held out the cup, and as Vin took it, he reached up, his fingers tracing the sharp lines of Vin's cheek.
"Chris," Vin said, but the word was a whisper, and even though there was denial in it, Chris also heard the want. The need. And the thing he could not speak.
'Damed hard to find,' Vin had said. 'You don't know when you'll have it again,' Sarah had said.
He leaned in close, bringing his forehead to rest against Vin's. Vin was still, too still, but he didn't resist.
There were few words between them after that. Chris took the mug from Vin's hand and set it on the table even as he used his other hand to reach up and push off Vin's hat.
From there it was like it was weeks before, fast and demanding, not allowing for time to think.
But the pain that underscored it now was Vin's, not Chris', and in that, Chris found a gentleness he hadn't thought he still possessed.
Chris stood and caught Vin by the upper arms, pulling him up. Vin stood slowly, wary again, and Chris pushed at the hide coat, sliding it off Vin's shoulders and down his arms. Gravity took it and it fell to the ground, but Chris was already working on the buckle of the gunbelt.
Vin inhaled as if to speak, but Chris looked up, catching Vin's eyes then shook his head. He didn't want objections or questions, nothing to interrupt the sounds of the voices in his head, Sarah's anger and Vin's pain.
Vin sighed out the breath, but as he did, he, too, set to work stripping out of his clothes.
The voices grew a little softer as Chris helped Vin pull off his shirt, baring his upper body and the long lines of his chest and ribs. He was male, no doubt about it, and Chris had a turn of hesitancy at the reminder. 'Natural', he knew, wasn't having sex with a man.
But something about this body begged to be touched and despite any reason, any reminder of what was and wasn't 'natural', Chris' hands moved of their own will, caressing down the lean torso, his fingers bumping lightly over the ridges of ribs.
Vin shivered at the touch and tossed his shirt away as he turned to look at Chris.
Once more he started to speak, but Chris silenced him this time by pulling him in close until their bodies met. Even through the layers of their pants, Chris felt the bulge of Vin's cock, as hard and wanting as his own.
It tore at him, divided his mind. As he wavered, unmoving, Vin's arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Vin didn't say anything but his head rested against Chris' shoulder, his nose rubbing along the bare flesh of Chris' neck.
Chris knew in that instant that it need go no further than this, that Vin would be content to stand here, the two of them holding each other. He knew then, acknowledged, anyway, that what Vin felt was what Sarah spoke of. What Vin himself spoke of.
He wasn't aware of pushing Vin away, of putting distance between them, but he was aware of the way Vin looked at him, his eyes wide and hurt.
Only for an instant, just long enough for Chris to see it. Then Vin's face changed to a flatness that was more frightening than the thought of what had been there.
Vin crossed his arms over his chest, as if to hide. He looked away, down, and once more he shivered. The medicine bag Chanu had given him hung low, resting against one forearm, and Chris knew Vin was looking at it, remembering.
Hurt by all that had led to the gift of it, and by Chris himself. As if this day, these days, hadn't been hurtful enough with the doubt of the town, the doubt and distrust of several people Vin had come to trust, now Chris was adding to it with his own confusion.
This time, he thought about it but only for a few seconds. When Vin' head turned, looking for his shirt, Chris caught his arm and pulled him back in. Vin was stiff in his arms, but as Chris' hugged him close, running his hands slowly over Vin's back, Vin relaxed against him.
It should have been rough, the way men were with other men, the way it had been the two times before. But after pushing Vin away, after causing that pain, Chris wasn't able to find the indifference.
Instead, when he put distance between them again, he held onto the waistband of Vin's pants, keeping him close. The only time he let go was when he took off his own shirt, offering what he himself wanted. He helped Vin draw loose the tight leather cord that held the medicine bag around his neck, carefully setting it atop Vin's rifle.
The last time – the only time, he had started things between them and he had guided their sex up the point that he had hurt Vin enough for Vin to take over. This time, Chris pushed at Vin's pants, helped him balance as he stepped out of them, but then Chris stopped, unsure.
It wasn’t a feeling he liked, and it made him more than just uncertain of what to do next, but of this whole thing. Words danced in his head, 'love' and 'natural' and 'heathen' and 'male'.
Vin moved, edging around him and to the bed, his work-roughened fingers trailing down Chris' arm to catch at his wrist, drawing him along. Vin climbed onto the bed, his back to Chris, but he sat down, curling his legs under him. His cock was long and shiny in the low light of the lamp, and Chris remembered the heat of it from the last time, the pulse of it against the tips of his fingers.
The thought of last time reminded him that they needed something to ease the way, and he glanced to the table by the bed. He'd left his book there from last night but there was also a tin of lanolin – just as they'd used weeks before.
He must have smiled or made some noise because Vin looked as well, saw the tin, and then looked back to Chris with a quick nod. He held out his hand and Chris walked over to get it. As he turned and offered it, he leaned in and brushed his lips against Vin's temple.
It was fool thing to do, he knew as soon as he was aware he was doing it, as soon as he tasted the salt of Vin's sweat and tang of long days on the trail. But Vin sighed, a small sound that was more happy than anything else, and Chris smiled.
Vin's hand on his cock was firm, a man's hand, but it knew what to do, how to touch, to rub, to apply the lanolin with the perfect pressure.
Chris was still lost in the struggle to keep his control, so that he was almost on his back on the bed before he realized how Vin was guiding him.
Like the first time, him on his back, Vin on top, doing all the work. Because Vin hadn't trusted him.
He wanted that trust back, wanted to wipe away some of the pain from then and from these past days.
Chris reached out, touching the center of Vin's chest. Vin looked up at him, starting to speak and Chris shook his head, murmuring one word: "Wait." He caught one of Vin's hands, pulling it off his shoulder before carefully putting it on the bed.
Then he touched Vin's chest again, pushing him back onto the bed. Vin looked at him, his eye bright, his cock dripping. He started to lie back, going to his elbows, and Chris knew he couldn't do it this way, not face to face, Vin's erection trapped between them.
Not yet, that dark voice whispered, but soon. For now, he ignored its promise. He tapped the side of Vin's knee, not hard, and made the offer with his eyes.
Vin held his gaze, searching for the truth, Chris knew, and he gave it as much as he could. It was a relief when Vin blinked then rolled over, slowly rising to his hands and knees.
Chris caught himself staring at what he saw, a jolt of want catching him painfully hard as he understood how much trust Vin was showing. It was an effort to find the lanolin tin on the bed and coat his fingers, more of an effort not to rush things. Vin was tense now, looking over his shoulder as Chris eased into the space between his legs, and he shivered a little as Chris touched his hip. But he didn't draw away.
So small, Chris thought as his fingertip rubbed over the opening. He forgot how small it was, how unlike the sex on a woman. Small and not made for this.
But even as he thought that, as the idea of stopping skirted through his head, Vin pushed back against him. It was impossible to misunderstand what he wanted.
Careful, he reminded himself, like gentling a colt. But Vin had other ideas and the more Chris tried to be easy, the more Vin pushed at him. Things moved faster and before he was aware of it, he was snug up against Vin, ready to push in. Only Vin's sudden stillness stopped him, surprising him.
He waited, thinking that he needed to say something, when Vin made a small noise that was not quite a moan and not quite a whimper. Chris barely heard it, barely had time to acknowledge it before Vin pushed back against him.
From there it was all want and need. He had no time to think, his desire taking control of his body and his brain. He had enough awareness of Vin to know he was taking what he wanted from this, his body pushing and moving under Chris with a fury of its own.
Chris held on, his hands bent over Vin's hard hips. At one point, Vin shifted, the motion unexpected, and one of Chris' hands slipped forward. It caught on a handle of flesh that was slick and hot and even as Chris knew it was Vin's erection, Vin reared back against him, pushing them both up.
Chris barely caught them both, but as he did, Vin sank more deeply onto him.
Chris hadn't thought it possible to be more a part of someone else, not since Sarah. Vin reached back, one arm hooking around Chris' neck, and his head fell back to rest on Chris' shoulder. In profile, his face was lined and tense and Chris thought he was in pain.
Then Vin moved again, only this time he thrust his hips forward – not up, as if to free himself, but forward. Chris understood, and before he knew what he was doing, he stroked the cock in his hand.
Once, twice – then Vin pressed back against him again, but this time his body locked, his arm so tight around Chris' neck that it left a bruise. Vin arched against him, curling back so much that his hair tickled Chris' shoulder blade, and Chris had to lean forward to keep from falling.
That pushed him just a little deeper, so deep that when Vin's muscles clenched in release, it was like a wave of pleasure and pain so strong that Chris thought it might suck all of him right in.
It sucked his own release from him, with an intensity he hadn't often felt, so strong that he blacked out.
When he came to, he was on his side on the bed. After several seconds, he opened his eyes to find Vin stretched out on his belly beside him, his head turned so that his eyes were on Chris.
It could have been a trick of the shadows or of his own exhaustion and contentment, but he thought he saw things in those eyes, things he wanted to see – things that scared him.
He stared, remembering those eyes in the Seminole village, whited-out by the brightness of the moon. Those eyes had held things then, not as clearly as they did now, but things had been there that he hadn't wanted to see. Later, tomorrow, he would wonder if he wanted to see at all, if things had changed that much between them.
Then Vin sighed and closed his eyes. The muscles of his arms tensed, and Chris knew he was going to get up, dress, and leave – maybe forever.
There was no thinking: he reached out and settled a hand in the small of Vin's back. The touch was meant to stop him, but it held more than that, and Chris knew it.
Vin's eyes came open, wide with surprise and questions, but before he could put voice to any of them, Chris made the great effort to inch forward so that his lips could brush over Vin's forehead once more. His hand drifted up Vin's back, skimming the knobs of his spine, to tangle in his hair. "Wait," he whispered.
He closed his eyes, feeling Vin's breath on his chest, and he slept the best he'd slept in years. Come morning, the thoughts and doubts would plague him, worries for himself and Vin and what they were doing, the words 'natural' and 'love' dancing like flames in his head.
But tonight, he found a peace he'd thought he'd lost in the blaze of Cletus Fowler's two fires.---fin---