Main Characters: Ezra and Vin
Disclaimer: Mag7 belongs to others.
Comments: Hurt Vin, Cynical Ezra, not much sex but definitely adult (suggestion of slash) in nature. With apologies to the Rolling Stones ...
Why do we always want what we can't have? What flaw in human nature makes the unobtainable so desirable? I suspect if I could figure that out, I'd be a rich man indeed."Ezra? Can I have some water?"
"Of course, Mr. Tanner," I reply. I lift his head up enough to put the canteen to his lips, but his hands are shaking too badly to hold on to it. That is nothing compared to the chattering of his teeth, however. The constant movement makes it difficult, if not impossible, to keep the majority of the liquid near its intended destination, but somehow he manages to swallow enough to satisfy him.
"Thanks," he rasps softly as he lays his head back against the stony ground. But moments later, he pulls himself up again and stammers, "C . . . cold . . . need t' . . . t' build a fire."
I glance at the burning embers, mere feet from where he lays. "Already done, Vin. I'll move you a bit closer to it."
A feat that is easier said than done. Mr. Tanner's limbs refuse to cooperate, in part because he continues to tremble violently. Perhaps the greater obstacle, however, is that his brain is definitely not in the same location as his body. His movements are disjointed; his actions and his thoughts miles apart, probably due to the large lump on the side of his head.
It is an unfortunate situation that could very well be my fault, although it was completely unintentional.
Vin and I were returning from a rather inauspicious journey to Eagle Bend earlier today when events conspired against us. The fact that we were paired up was the first mistake. Not that I dislike my scruffy partner; on the contrary, it would be difficult to find a more accommodating or proficient traveling companion. Vin is not only capable of handling most any situation, he is unassuming and pragmatic when he does it. But I cannot recall when the two of us were ever called upon to complete an assignment alone together.
Normally Vin rides with Chris. There are times when Nathan and Josiah accompany him. Occasionally Buck or JD stands in. But never me, and I admit that I hadn't given it much thought until two days ago when our adventure began. If I felt a bit unsettled at the prospect of spending several days alone with Mr. Tanner, it was clear he felt something else entirely. I believe the operative word here would be annoyance. Obviously he'd have preferred Mr. Larabee's company, but as our leader was otherwise engaged, Vin was stuck with me.
The journey seemed to go well, however. I spoke very little and Vin spoke less. It's not that we don't get along; we just have little in common. We do both enjoy a good laugh - generally at each other's expense - and neither one of us miss anything of importance. I may act as though I believe he is uncouth and uneducated, but his instincts are second to none, and I suspect his intelligence surpasses several others in our small group.
We completed our assignment, handing off a rather unsavory prisoner to the sheriff in Eagle Bend, without incident. But as we headed back to Four Corners, we were surprised by an intense thunderstorm. The rain came down in torrents, blinding us as we made our way home. Vin hardly seemed to mind; I, on the other hand, was miserable.
He suggested we make camp, and I immediately envisioned his idea of "camp": a thin tarp stretched between two trees and a soggy bedroll on wet, stony ground. Stale beef jerky, cheap whiskey and three words of conversation would complete the setting.
"I believe I will take my chances and travel on," I'd said. After all, I was already wet, how much worse could it get?
But of course, it did get worse. The stream we had crossed on the way out of town had suddenly and thoughtlessly roared to raging-river status on our return. Frustrated by this turn of events, I cursed under my breath, but I had certainly done battle with more worthy opponents than a barely impressive swell of rushing rapids. I was about to enter the flow, when Vin forged ahead of me.
He was cursing as well, and though I couldn't make out all of his words in the gusty gales of the storm, "Goddammit, Ezra!" was quite clear.
I had just started to follow him in, when a large branch snapped off a nearby tree and blew towards the river. The obstacle bounced off a rock and hit Vin in the head, knocking him from his horse in a fraction of an instant. The ever vigilant Peso, apparently possessing more intelligence than I did at that moment, immediately retreated to safer ground, while I stared in shock as Vin was tossed like a rag doll into the rushing water.
Fortunately, he didn't go far. His body caught on more debris, mere feet from the shore. I didn't even get my boots wet as I climbed over boulders and downed tree limbs to reach him.
I thought he was dead at first. The only color in his skin was the stain of bright red blood from the gash on his head. For a moment, I considered if it might be more painless for me to throw myself into the river than to take the bullet from Chris Larabee's gun. But then Vin twitched and moaned, so perhaps we'd both been given another chance to defy the grim reaper.
I winced as I pulled him over the rough rocks to the shore, knowing I was adding more bruises to what could only be an already spectacular assortment. I needed to get him to town, but crossing that river would obviously have to wait. Shelter was needed, and I found it in the form of a deep overhang of rock about twenty yards up stream. I'm stronger than I look, but I wasn't sure I could maneuver Vin over rough ground that far. Fortunately, he roused enough to carry at least some of his weight. I slipped his arm around my shoulder, and tried not to notice how he groaned with each step.
I'm not good at this. The concerned, compassionate caretaker is just not in my repertoire of roles. But I knew I had no choice as I rounded up enough relatively dry wood to start a fire. At least the rain complied and let up shortly after the incident, although the air has cooled considerably.
Our bedrolls are chilled as well, but thankfully not too wet, though it is apparent Vin doesn't notice. He is moaning now and his teeth are still chattering as he tries once more to find warmth beneath the damp blankets. I have already removed his drenched coat, but I will now have to remove his wet clothing - there is no other way around it. I'd hoped to avoid such an embarrassment, for him as well as for myself, but I suppose it is time to face the fact that he will never get warm when his clothing is saturated with freezing water.
It's difficult, and once more I am amazed at Nathan's skills. He would surely handle the seemingly simple task of removing a sodden shirt with much more grace and tenderness than I manage to accomplish. It certainly doesn't help that Vin is pulling in the opposite direction, his confused mind fighting against an imaginary assailant.
"Easy now, Mr. Tanner," I say. "Let me help you."
Perhaps he recognizes my voice, or maybe it is exhaustion that claims him, but he immediately grows limp in my hands, and now the struggle is to keep him upright long enough to pull the sleeves from his arms. By the time the task is accomplished, we are both breathless.
I often wondered what Vin hid beneath that unsightly buckskin jacket. Now I see that he has nothing to be ashamed of. He is lean and toned, much like myself, with broad shoulders and just a smattering of dark hair shading his muscular chest. He has scars - too many for a man his age - but even those do not detract from his inherent beauty.
I glance at his face, and I see that his wide, blue eyes glitter in the firelight as he continues to breathe heavily. I find myself wondering if this is what Vin looks like in the throes of passion. Does he come breathlessly with silent joy? Or shouting at the top of his lungs? Either one is feasible. I've witnessed Mr. Tanner as still as a windless summer afternoon, and I've seen him whoop with joy after a good fight.
And for one awful, wonderful moment, I wonder what he would do for me, if I touched him in just the right place, in just the right way . . .
That is ridiculous, of course, and I shove the thought aside as I hastily unfasten his jeans. My movements are perhaps rougher than they should be, and he groans as I yank the resisting material over his hips and down his legs.
"I'm sorry, Vin," I say, more to cover the sound of his groaning than to offer him real comfort. What is wrong with me that I can so vividly imagine him sounding like that, just like that, when I cover his body with mine?
He would never want me, of course. He is hopelessly in love with Chris Larabee; a little known fact, though it should be obvious to anyone with half a brain. I've seen the way he looks at Chris; the longing . . . the hope. It would be humorous, if it wasn't so pathetic.
I tried at first to laugh it off, to chalk it up to a school boy crush. Endearing, I thought, in a completely bizarre sort of way. It was also highly entertaining, watching Vin watch Chris, thinking he was being subtle, invisible. Strange, is it not, that Vin truly can make himself invisible when he so chooses, yet his odd attraction to Chris is so glaringly apparent?
Although I highly doubt that the others have caught on. In fact, I am certain they have not, which is for the best. Poor Vin would never be able to hold his head up in town again if anyone suspected the truth about his feelings. He'd have to leave - and that thought brings an unexpectedly sharp pain to my chest.
Why should I care? He is nothing to me. It is just seeing him so uncharacteristically weak and vulnerable that has stirred these strange feelings within me. I quickly finish removing his pants, keeping my eyes focused on the long scar that runs from his groin to his knee. I distract myself from observing other parts of his anatomy by thinking about the hard life my friend has led. The signs of abuse are prominent, and I wonder if that is why he feels compelled to hide himself under layers of cloth.
I wonder, too, if he has been taken by other men. I suspect he has, though whether by violence or by choice is a mystery. Does loving another man, craving his touch come naturally for him? Certainly Vin was attracted to that sniveling woman on the wagon train, but I had always thought of that as a momentary distraction - a brief respite from his unrequited love for Mr. Larabee.
It is possible, I know, to enjoy the touch of both sexes. There are times when a warm, willing body will suffice, regardless of who puts what in which hole. I myself have taken pleasure in sexual liaisons of all sorts. It is when emotion and affection come into play that matters get sticky. Fortunately, I am an expert at avoiding such unfortunate and unwise complications.
"Chris?" Vin whimpers softly, and I return my attention to his well-being.
"He's not here," I say, but I can see by the unfocused look in his eyes that Vin is no longer here, either.
He doesn't even hear me as he continues to converse with his imaginary friend. "They might go after Nettie next, Chris."
His voice is rough, as if his throat is clogged with sand. I lift his head and offer him more water, but he pushes my hand away.
"We should . . . hurry," he says. He is becoming more agitated and restless, and I fear he will do more damage to his already injured body.
"Shh," I soothe ineffectively.
"Chris! We have t' go now!"
"No, Vin," I argue in my best Chris Larabee imitation. "It's too late, too cold. We'll go in the morning."
Vin looks at me strangely, as if he's trying to comprehend my words. "Just relax," I add. "Just rest."
He lets his head fall back to the bedroll with a sigh, and I am encouraged that perhaps we will have a brief reprieve from the delirium.
It's quite amazing, actually, how perfect Mr. Tanner's facial structure is. Clean-shaven, he would be quite tempting to any woman - or man. If Chris were more observant, he would surely notice that Vin has much to offer.
I can't stop myself from pushing the hair from his face and stroking his jaw, and to my bewilderment, he looks up at me and smiles. It is not meant for me, I know, but what harm could there be in indulging his fantasies for a single, brief moment? Before I can change my mind, I lean forward and gently kiss his lips.
He moans and closes his eyes. "Chris . . . I've waited so long."
As have I . . .
I cannot go further, I must not. Vin is sick and vulnerable and I will not take advantage of him, no matter how badly I yearn to. You can't always get what you want, and desire is a fickle state of being in any case.
But as the night progresses, the delirium waxes and wanes, and I find that the only way to keep Vin warm and still is to lie next to him; to soothe with him a quiet voice and a gentle touch. When even that fails to calm him, I brush my lips against his brow, his cheeks, his lips, and he sighs in contentment. And if perhaps my eyes and my hands stray below the blanket on occasion, it is only for his comfort. It is certainly not to satisfy my own misguided needs or desires. For although his body is too weak to respond to such intimacies, I am certain that even in his confused state, he is cognizant of the tender care and attention he secretly craves.
However, after a long night of meeting his needs, I find I can no longer deny my own. I am merely human, after all, and by daybreak, the rush of blood to my loins will no longer be ignored. Vin appears to be sleeping soundly for a few moments, so I move off to a more private area and bring myself to completion with my own hand.
It means nothing that it's Vin's face I see when I finally come, his heat I imagine enveloping my aching cock. We always want what we can't have, and nothing ever turns out the way we hope anyway. Life is meant to be disappointing, brimming with unfulfilled wishes and unmet expectations. There is no point in wasting any more thought on the matter.
When I return to the campsite, I see that Vin is awake and for the first time in hours, he appears to be lucid. "How do you feel?" I ask him.
He grimaces. "My head hurts. What happened?"
"You had an unfortunate accident," I reply, keeping it simple for the moment.
He frowns, but instead of asking me for details, he says in a low voice, "I had such strange . . . dreams."
His face is flushed with the heat of embarrassment, and I quickly rush to put him out of his misery. "You were a bit delirious, but you said nothing of importance," I lie. "There is nothing to be concerned about."
With a sigh of relief, he nods slightly. "We should get back to town."
I don't argue with that. It is well past time we returned. Vin demands to ride his horse alone, but after he reels in the saddle and nearly topples to the ground, I climb up behind him. He grunts his disapproval, but he won't make it across the river alone and he knows it. The waters have receded, however, and we have little trouble. In fact, the ride home is uneventful, save for the lingering emotion and guilt I feel when Vin finally gives in and allows his exhausted body to lean against me. The heat of his back on my chest is almost too much to bear, but I suffer in silence.
We have hardly hit the outskirts of town when Mr. Larabee rushes towards us. His black duster flaps about his ankles, and that vision of the grim reaper assails me once again. If he knew, if he had any inkling of what I'd done and thought about Vin . . .
But I needn't have worried. His entire focus is on Vin. "What happened?" he snaps at me.
"Well, there was an unfortu-"
"Vin? Vin, are you alright?" He carries on as Mr. Tanner slides limply off the saddle into his friend's waiting arms.
It's at that very moment, that instant in time when Mr. Larabee is completely unguarded, that I see it: he is in love with Mr. Tanner, as well.
But he will never act on those feelings, of that I am absolutely positive. Already, the moment is gone and the mask is in place as Chris puts his arm around Vin and leads him up to the clinic. He barks orders at me to find Nathan, and that is the end of it.
Nathan will see to our injured teammate. Chris will have an extra round of drinks tonight to forget how much he cares. Vin will carry his love- and his hurt - deep in his soul until one day it will be too much, and he will leave. I will go on as I always have; taking solace in the material goods that cannot disappoint me. Certainly nothing has changed.
Though it will be harder now when I retire to my quarters not to envision those blue eyes alight with passion. I will undoubtedly remember for far too long how his lips felt against mine and the way his body responded to the softest touch. I will wake up in the night and wonder if it might not be wiser for Vin and I to share our pain; to acknowledge that while we cannot give each other what we truly want, perhaps it would not be wrong to give in to what we both need.
But I'll never ask, and he'll never offer. Just as Chris will never admit his true feelings, and Vin will never love another. Desires will remain unspoken and needs unmet, but life will go on - with none of us getting anything we truly want.
As I said, nothing has changed.
The End