Churning the Mix
Summary: Chris finds out that breakfast really is the most important meal of the day.
Pairing: Chris/Vin
Beta-ed by the ever wonderful and awesome Carla and Sheryl - both of whom have some great ideas for other stories! I do like angry Chris.
For Marnie
It started innocently enough - going after the James boy for murder, pulling him out of the James stronghold in the middle of a celebration. They'd been on their way in, five of them sneaking in, when Chris had started giving specific orders. There was one man on a rooftop, watching over the entire yard, carrying a rifle.He'd looked to Vin, asked if he could take him. The answer was innocent enough - "like lickin' butter off a knife."
At the time, the comment had done little more than stir a few sparks - there were other things at play, other things he needed to be concerned about.
But afterwards, that night as they had been sitting around the saloon, rehashing the events of the day and the new alignment of responsibility, he'd found himself watching Vin, noticing the way he drank his beer, long sips that seemed to roll down his throat. The way he licked at his lips after each swallow, his tongue quick and agile.
The way he chewed on his lower lip when he listened to someone else talking. The way his lips twisted when he grinned.
But it was several days later when it coalesced into an awareness of what he wanted.
It was early, too early, really, but they had just resolved the whole situation with Lydia and her girls, and Buck and Nathan were off to retrieve the prisoner for Mrs. Travis. Chris was a little concerned about things running at this time of the day, so he rose and made his way to the restaurant, intent on getting coffee.
He wasn't surprised that Vin was already there; the sun was up, after all. He wasn't surprised that Vin was sitting at a table in the corner, a plate of biscuits before him, as well as a pot of coffee and several mugs.
But as he made his way across the crowded room, intent on one of the mugs, he was caught completely off-guard by one slick, easy movement: Vin lifted the knife he was using to open one of the biscuits, and slipped it easily into the bowl of soft butter before him. He slathered the soft spread over the steaming bread, but then, in a move that brought Chris to a complete halt, he lifted the blade and brought it to his lips, where his tongue darted forward to lick the remaining butter, melting and running slowly down the metal.
It was a quick move, that tongue catching the trails of butter, but it was also so sensual that Chris lost his ability to breathe.
And then he did it again. This time, the move was slower, languid, but easy. He was careful not to cut himself, his attention seeming to be on the wide part of the blade, not the sharp edge.
Delicate, Chris noted, very delicate. And practiced. He had done this before.
It was then that Chris noted the rest of Vin's face. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in long lines of concentration and appreciation.
"Mr. Larabee?" The voice startled not only him, but Vin as well; the younger man jerked, his eyes coming open quickly to catch Chris'.
He swallowed, holding Vin's gaze even as he turned to face Mrs. Holcombe, the restaurant's proprietor and chief cook. "Ma'am," he said, pulling his hat from his head.
"Biscuits?" she asked. "They're fresh out of the oven. Or would you prefer your usual?" She smiled at him, her gaze flicking from him to Vin and back. "Vin does love the biscuits - I try to make sure I keep a batch ready to come out of the oven for him, but he's never late, not if he's in town."
"So I see," he said quietly. "Sounds good to me - oh, and Mrs. Holcombe? More butter if you got it."
She smiled at him but scurried away to do his bidding. Leaving him to join Vin at the table.
"Mornin'," the younger man said as Chris eased into a chair beside him. "You're up early."
Chris nodded, ignoring the question implicit in the comment and reaching for the coffee. "That what you meant the other day at James' place?"
Vin had the grace to blush a little. "Mrs. Holcombe mixes a little honey in with the churn," he answered. "Don't never let that go to waste."
"Bet that could make almost anything taste good," Chris agreed without thinking.
Vin looked at him, a hard look, then blinked. He just sipped from his coffee mug, saying nothing.
It was later that afternoon, as they were on their way into Purgatorio, that the idea started brewing again, low and sweet and burning in his belly. It simmered there for several days, through the mess with Terry Greer and her daughter, through the mess with Billy Travis and his version of the 'devil'.
Simmered until John Blackfox told Orrin Travis about being there the night his family was murdered.
The simmer notched up, the flames under it becoming part of a stronger, harder burn. The burn grew as they drew closer to Eagle Bend, closer to the devastated remains of his former life.
Vin wasn’t with them then, which Chris found both disconcerting and a relief. Vin wasn’t part of this life, part of this thing he needed to put to rest. It was bad enough - more than bad enough - that Buck was along, even though it was also a good thing, especially when they were being shot at in front of the Eagle Bend saloon.
Then Vin was there, with Ezra and JD, chewing his bottom lip as he took aim at their retreating attackers, and the slow burn turned into a low boil. Purgatorio distracted him, but only as long as it took for them to discover the name of their opponent - one Cletus Fowler.
And to learn that Fowler had beat them on leaving town.
The two days searching for him around Purgatorio was rough; he was angry and frustrated and in those two days alone, he’d already jumped down Ezra’s throat, tried to shoot Blackfox, tried twice to shoot Jock Steele, and even drawn back to punch Buck for mouthing off at him, only to be brought up short by Vin’s hand on his arm and the shock on JD’s face.
“Chris,” Vin said softly, his eyes glittering in the dim light of the cantina, “now ain’t the time or place.”
Buck was staring at him, his eyes, darker than Vin’s, shimmering between hot anger and soft pain. It was that look, Chris knew, that jerked him back to his own control.
He pulled away, letting go of Buck’s shirt and wrenching himself free of Vin’s hold. He didn’t say anything, just glared at the others before turning and storming out of the cantina.
It wasn’t long, but long enough for him to take several deep breaths and calm down. It was too near, this thing, this fucking Fowler who had killed his family. Too close.
He wasn’t surprised it was Vin; it would have to be Vin or Buck, and he suspected that Buck was just angry enough to wait for a little while before throwing himself back into the fire.
Vin - well, Vin was still keeping a distance of a sort - the whole thing with hanging Blackfox unnerved him, made him think too much.
Chris knew that the whole thing with his past made Vin feel like an outsider.
“Been two days. He’s gone from here,” the soft voice drawled calmly. “Maybe it’s time for us to be gone from here too.”
“You givin’ up already, Tanner?” Chris snarled, not looking at the other man. At the pink lips that were chapped from the heat and dust of the damned outlaw town. “Afraid of spending too much time with a man about to hang?”
“’Fraid of wasting time here looking for a man who’s probably back around Eagle Bend,” he answered, his voice quiet. “Surprised you ain’t as well.”
Chris stared out into the street, watching several of the drunker desperados weave their way toward a nearby rooming house. His fingers itched to touch his gun, to shoot one of them.
“You think that’s where he is?” he asked, trying to hold the edge to his voice.
Behind him, he heard Vin shift, a whisper of buckskin against cloth. “If he ain’t, staying here’s only gonna put us longer off his trail.”
It was a logic that Chris kept hearing himself. One he had been thinking.
But it didn’t make it any easier to hear it in Vin’s low tones.
“Fuck,” he growled. “Get everybody mounted up.”
“Chris,” Vin said, his voice a little louder - but not much. “Ain’t gonna help anybody to leave tonight. First light should be fine - “
“You getting soft, too?” he sneered, finally turning to look at the other man.
Vin stood his ground, his eyes level as they met Chris’. “It’s late, the horses need some rest if we’re gonna work ‘em as hard tomorrow as we did today, and the past few. Men, too.” He was reasonable, and damn but the argument made sense.
Which only fueled Chris’ anger. “I ain’t waiting around here, doing nothing for hours while - “
“Then you can either go on without us, or you can find something to do,” Vin interrupted, and his voice was a little sharper now, showing a little annoyance.
Finally. Chris smiled, and the low boil turned up. “I can think of something to do,” he purred, letting his eyes wander to stare at Vin’s lips pointedly. “Can think of something I’d like right well.”
Vin was so still that Chris knew he’d gotten the message. But just to make sure, he stepped in close, lifting one hand to run a finger over Vin’s lower lip. It was rough, skin catching at his own calloused finger. But soft, giving under his pressure.
His cock rose at the feel of it, the thought of having those lips wrapped around it.
Vin leaned back just a little, escaping the contact. His rasp was more pronounced as he said, “That what you want? What it’s gonna take to calm you down?”
At one level, Chris was shocked that Vin hadn’t punched him in the face and stormed away - shocked at the fact that he might actually get what he wanted.
But that awareness was vague, washed away in a wave of lust that left him aching and unable to take his eyes off Vin’s mouth.
“Chris?” that mouth moved, and the sound seemed distant.
Something touched his chin, pushing, and he tensed, looking up to catch Vin’s eyes. The touch to his chin fell away and he realized that Vin had been trying to get his attention. It had worked.
“What?” he snarled, reaching out to catch Vin’s hand as it moved away.
The other man arched one eyebrow, but he kept his temper. “Will that calm you down? If I . . . “ He didn’t say the words, but he didn’t have to.
Chris tightened his grip on Vin’s wrist, stepping right up against him as he murmured, “Like lickin’ butter off a knife.”
Vin blinked, frowning slightly at the words. But before he could say anything, Chris leaned into him, letting his body come up against Vin’s. “You wanna distract me, you better do it soon. I'll be in my room, waitin’ - but not for long.”
It took an effort, but he pulled himself away from Vin and turned, heading off to his room. He needed the space to cool off, get himself under control. Just the thought of those lips on him . . . .
The room was dark and dirty, a small bed with thin blankets and no sheets, and a pillow with more fleas than stuffing. He’d already tossed it to the floor, keeping it as far away from his bedroll and other belongings as possible. He lit a lamp, turning it down low. It wasn’t as much to set the mood as it was to keep the room from looking as dingy as it was.
He pulled off his boots and, after some consideration, unbuckled his gun belt - no use having it in the way if this really was gonna play out as he wanted it to.
And he did want it to, he thought. He knew his body wanted it - his cock throbbed so hard that he had to unbutton his pants before he could sit down to take off his boots.
But the little voice that had been whispering in the back of his head was louder now, screaming, he thought, that this was a bad idea. It was Vin - someone he valued as a friend. Someone he didn’t want to lose by - doing this.
But he hadn’t punched him. In fact, he argued with the little voice, Vin had looked rather . . . pleased? Curious? Interested?
The idea of him being interested sparked a different sort of idea in Chris’ head. But he didn’t have time to really think about it, only to shut out the little voice of caution.
A slight knock on his door was followed by an equally as soft, “It’s Vin.”
He smiled to himself as he rose off the bed, unconsciously fisting his erection with one hand as he moved to the door. “You alone?” he asked, his hand on the door latch.
“No,” he said with a hint of annoyance, “thought the guys would like to see this - hell, yeah, I’m alone.”
Chris opened the door just enough to see the younger man standing in front of it, rolling his eyes upward. He turned as he let the door swing open, more for discretion than safety.
As he’d expected, Vin slipped through the door and closed it, locking it tight before turning his attention to Chris. His eyes widened as he saw the state of undress - and the evidence of Chris’ interest.
“Like lickin’ butter off a knife,” Chris said, letting his hand slide along his shaft. “Didn’t think to bring honey, but you can make do.”
Vin swallowed, looking from Chris’ hand to his eyes and back. “Awful confident, ain’t you?” he said, and his voice seemed a little drier than usual.
Chris shrugged, feeling the coil wind tighter in his belly. “You don’t seem to mind overmuch.” He stepped in even closer, raising one hand to push Vin’s hat from his head letting it fall to the floor. Before Vin could catch it, he caught the long strands of hair and pulled hard, bringing Vin’s mouth to his.
It was as warm and wet as he had imagined. At first, Vin seemed startled by what was happening, but then he relaxed under the pressure of Chris attentions, opening to him. Not that he had much choice; Chris’ hold was unrelenting, trapping Vin’s head between his fist and his face.
Vin’s arms came between them, pushing at Chris’ chest then his shoulders. When Chris finally backed off, breathing hard, he tried to push away. Chris smiled, letting go of the hair he was holding but letting his hand slide down Vin’s back to his waist.
“You got some mouth on you,” he said, pulling Vin in close enough to rub his erection against the other man’s groin. “Think it’s time for you to put it to work.”
Vin swallowed again and his body tensed in Chris’ hold. “Told ya I would,” he said softly. “You in that much of a rush?”
Chris arched an eyebrow, rubbing hard against the other man. Vin flinched, tried to pull back, but Chris was holding him tight.
“Chris,” he said, frowning, “I said I’d do it. You ain’t gotta make me. Or is that the way you like it?”
The statement, the coldness in it, gave Chris pause and he relented. He let go of Vin and stepped back, the anger catching him. “You accusing me of something?” he snarled. “I ain’t never had to force no one - and I’ll be damned if I do now.”
Tanner straightened, his fists clenching, but he spoke levelly. “I told you I’d do it. You ain’t gotta make me.”
Chris didn’t say anything, refusing to listen to the little voice that was back in his head.
Instead, he stepped back to the bed, sitting down and leaning back. One hand still toyed with his erection, which had flagged a little in the face of Vin’s attitude.
It perked up as Vin looked at him, then perked a little more when Vin licked at his lips. But Chris stayed still, other than the light caresses he was giving himself, as Vin shucked his coat, dropping it on the floor near Chris’ bedroll. He stepped closer, his legs even with Chris’ knees.
He was looking down at Chris; the movement of his gaze was almost palpable, starting at his eyes, then resting for a second on his lips before sliding lower over his upper body and down to his hand, his cock. He stared for several seconds, just watching the way Chris touched himself. Again, his tongue ran over his lips, and Chris knew it wasn't something Vin realized he was doing.
It was, though, something that Chris paid a lot of attention to.
He must've made some sort of noise, as Vin's head came back up, his gaze meeting Chris'. His lips twitched a little at the corners, a sort of grin.
"You must be desperate," he said lightly. "Purgatorio offers a lot more than I can, 'specially for a man like you - "
"What about a man like you?" Chris heard himself ask, not sure where the thought had come from.
Vin stilled, blinking but otherwise unmoving. After a second, he said, "Man like me?"
Chris sat up, lifting an arm to touch Vin's hand. "A man who don't seem much interested in women."
Vin shrugged, but the color in his face seemed to darken a bit. "Got enough interest in women. Just ain't ready to settle down."
The little voice in Chris head took a momentary rest from worrying about how stupid this was to worrying about Vin and the many new ways he could get himself into trouble. Fortunately, that worry coincided with Chris' own want at the moment.
With a timing that Chris knew was more than coincidence, Vin dropped to his knees, his hips brushing against Chris' inner thighs. He watched Chris as he moved one hand along the top of Chris' leg, toward his groin.
When he touched the bare skin at the base of Chris' cock, Chris tensed, but he moved his own hand. Relinquishing control.
Vin's touch was light at first, gentle and hesitant, but not unpracticed. Chris knew quickly that his wasn't the first cock, other than his own, that Vin had touched, and the thought fueled his anger a little. But the way those long fingers wrapped around it, the slow pull along his shaft, distracted him enough to keep him from venting his jealousy.
After a minute or so of getting acquainted, Vin bent a little closer. The ends of his hair brushed against the exposed skin of Chris' groin and belly, tickling but in a sensual way. Without thinking, his fingers caught in the wiry strands at the top of Vin's head, combing through the tangles to feel the cool texture of it.
Vin grunted at the pulling, and once or twice he winced when Chris pulled especially hard, but he didn't resist and he didn't draw away. Instead, he bowed until his tongue touched the tip of Chris' erection.
The shock of it almost put Chris over the edge, right then. His hips bucked upward, trying to force contact.
Vin jerked back, even though his hand still held Chris’ shaft. His eyes were wide as they stared into Chris', his lips slightly parted and shiny with Chris’ own wetness.
“Sorry,” Chris groaned, trying to get himself under control. “Just - been a while.”
Vin sort of grinned, then licked at his lips, wetting them even more. “Figured you got this sorta thing all the time,” he murmured. “You ain’t never seemed to want for company.”
The comment shouldn’t have pissed him off, but it did - or maybe it was the thought of the type of company he’d been keeping since Sarah died, and the fact that she was so close in his thoughts. “Some things even a whore won’t do,” he said, “not as good as a pretty boy like you. You bend over, too?”
An answering temper flashed in Vin’s eyes and his fingers loosened their grip as he spat, “Ain’t something you’ll ever need to worry about.”
Chris caught his wrist, holding him still despite the tug of Vin’s arm. “Don’t want to worry about it,” he said. “Only got one thing on my mind right now - and I’ll shut up so you can get on with it.”
Vin jaw was clenched, his temper still on edge. “I ain't lying to you, Chris. I like women just fine. But I ain't always got your way or Buck's way with them. And with this bounty on my head, I don't find it easy to trust just anybody, especially when it comes to dropping my pants." He relaxed a little, letting his fingers find their way back to the heat of Chris' shaft. "With another man, I don't usually have to talk or pretend. We both know it ain't but for one thing."
He waited a second for Chris to see the truth in his eyes.
'For one thing'. He nodded, understanding. The little voice was quiet, and even if it hadn't been, when Vin bent down again, Chris lost all ability to hear it.
He hadn't lied - he didn't get this treatment often. He knew some women who did it, but he'd never been able to bring himself to pay for it. To ask for it.
Sarah had been the first one - and only one that had ever done this. She had wanted to; it had mortified him the first time he'd awakened with a morning erection, only to find her crouched at his hip, staring at his tumescence, then slowly leaning forward to touch it with her tongue.
As Vin was now, again. A slow lick, over the top of the head. It spread the slick dripping from the slit, making Chris moan at the feel of it.
Sarah had been able to make him feel this way - out of control, everything in his world tied together with her love.
The fingers on him gripped a little tighter, sliding up, then down, slowly but intentionally. They caught the thin foreskin, drawing it farther down and out of the way, which allowed for the supple lips to close around his head, sucking on him, even as that nimble tongue swirled over the tip and down, in spirals of pure pleasure. He wasn’t aware of moving, of driving himself forward, deeper, only of the spread of that perfect heat.
He had a fleeting awareness of his hands clutching at something, Vin’s head, and he knew he shouldn’t, that it could end this, but he couldn’t stop himself - and then more heat and wetness surrounded him, more caresses to that place that had become the center of his being.
Motion over his shaft, more discernible by the tingling left in the absence of contact than by the razor of want as those lips teased back down, almost to the root.
He’d never felt anything like this, not even Sarah could take him this much, and with this rhythm.
With this fervor.
It didn’t last long - he was already so close, so high-strung, that the first time he bounced off the roof of Vin’s mouth, sliding down his throat, he knew it was coming - then Vin swallowed around him, that long neck undulating over his shaft, around the spongy width of his head.
The orgasm was one of the most intense of his life - he’d be hard-pressed to remember one better, and he really didn’t want to ever think about it. Even later, in the aftermath of Fowler’s death and the riddles that the man left behind, he would not allow himself to compare this with any other time - would barely allow himself to think of it at all, except when the mood took him and he was building toward another moment like this.
He came back to himself slowly, lulled by the gentle licks to his sensitive cock and the sweet lethargy that took every other emotion and buried it so deep he couldn’t feel it.
His arms twinged, and he thought to move them, but his fingers seemed trapped, and he dully noted that they were mired in the knots of Vin’s hair. It took more energy than he seemed to have to extricate himself, and it was finally Vin who did it, hissing as he drew away and tugged Chris free.
Chris was on his back on the bed, half asleep as Vin placed his arms at his side. The other man rose quietly, but Chris watched him, wondering what to say.
Vin looked down at him, shifted into his lean, and asked quietly, “That what you wanted?”
He was facing Chris, his body cast in shadow, but even in the dim light, Chris could see the outline of his erection, molded by the rough weave of his pants.
“Yeah,” he answered, or tried to; his throat seemed too dry to work, and couldn’t seem to work up enough spit to swallow.
Vin nodded, turned, but instead of moving to the door as Chris had assumed, he moved over the table at the head of the bed. The whiskey bottle was on it, and he lifted it easily, opening it at the same time and taking a long draw.
Then another.
Washing his mouth out, Chris realized, getting the taste out. Sarah had done it sometimes, usually with tea or water, sometimes with whiskey.
Sometimes, just like that. In the dim light, with his eyes half-closed, he could almost pretend it was her there, the bottle tilted up, her long hair shimmering down her back.
The image was almost real, and for an instant, he thought he could reach out, touch her -
Vin started as Chris’s hand brushed his leg, spilling a little whiskey on his shirt before he caught himself. The smell of it was pungent in the room, but oddly, it kept the illusion from shattering too hard. Sarah had never been able to drink from the bottle without dribbling. Sarah had always laughed with him when he fussed at her about wasting good liquor - she’d always answered that she was the best licker around -
“Chris?”
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, his head suddenly pounding, his eyes watering - goddamn it all, what was -
“Hey, now,” Vin’s voice was a whisper in his ear, and he was sitting up, a strong arm behind him, Vin warm at his side. “It’s all right, Chris, we’ll get him.”
He scrubbed at his face, trying to not gasp air as his lungs suddenly demanded it. His hands shook as he rubbed them over his face, trying to stop the leaking from his eyes, his nose.
“Here,” and the bottle was at his lips, whiskey burning down his throat even as he sputtered around it, trying to draw breath.
He was trembling, he knew, blamed it on exhaustion and lack of food, on what Vin had just done, draining him of his ability to think. For an instant, he felt a spark of anger, but it didn’t flare to life - couldn’t.
He was too cold inside.
“Come on, Chris,” Vin whispered again, and the bottle was again at his lips. It was easier this time, not having to breathe around it.
He nodded slightly, and the bottle lowered, but Vin’s arm was still around him, his body still close. And warm. Like Sarah’s used to be.
"Sorry," he rasped, the word coming from somewhere deep inside.
"Ain't nothing for you - "
"I need you." More words that came from so deep inside he wasn't sure they were his.
But he was sure, suddenly, that they were true.
Vin was still, but he didn't move away. He didn't move his arm. Didn't break the blanket of his warmth.
After a time, he did relax a little, his body curving into Chris'. He held the bottle up for Chris to take another drink, then took one himself. He set the bottle down, out of the way, then used both arms to ease Chris up onto the end. "You need to get some sleep," he said quietly, "gonna leave at first light.
Chris didn't argue, didn't say anything. But he caught one of Vin's hands as he started to rise and move away.
And he met his eyes, holding them in the soft light.
Vin nodded, quirking one corner of his lips. "We'll talk after this is done."
Chris watched him move around the room, turning down the lamp, grabbing up his hat and coat, then moving toward the door. He stopped though, turning back to check on Chris before he left. Chris knew his gun was on the bedside table, knew that Vin was checking to make sure as well.
Knew it wouldn't matter because one his men - probably Vin - would be outside his door all night long.
Vin nodded once before slipping silently out. Chris heard the key turn in the lock just before he drifted off to sleep.
*&*&*&*&*
He was sitting at a table in the corner, sipping on a mug of coffee, when Chris came into the restaurant. Chris almost smiled, but Fowler's death - and the secrets he had carried with him, still haunted him, two weeks later.
He was just beginning to accept that the answer wasn't going to be there anytime soon.
And that even when the answers were found - and they would be, if it took him the rest of his life - they wouldn't bring Sarah and Adam back.
Vin looked up as Chris neared, not quite smiling, but nodding a welcome and pouring Chris coffee.
They sat in silence, watching the restaurant slowly fill with the early-morning crowd as the sun's rays began to push away the night. The smell of baking bread slowly permeated the room, and as it grew, so did Vin's awareness.
Mrs. Holcombe appeared soon thereafter, laden with cloth-covered baskets of bread, and with a smile for Vin and a nod for Chris, she served their table first.
Vin took a deep breath, closing his eyes in a form of ecstasy before reaching for the basket. Chris felt himself smile, knew that it was one of the first sincere ones he'd had in a while.
But as Vin placed one of the large biscuits on the plate before him, and turned to find the butter, Chris held up a hand. Without a word, he pulled a small jar from his pocket and set it on the table bear Vin's hand.
Vin frowned, looking from it to Chris and back.
"Honey," Chris said quietly, glancing around to be sure they the room was loud enough for them to have a sort of privacy.
"Yeah?" Vin asked, looking at Chris.
"Mrs. Holcombe ordered a pot for me. Got the rest of it out at the shack." He leaned forward and retrieved a biscuit for himself, watching the steam rise from it as he opened it. "In case I find myself with company for breakfast."
Vin blinked, then picked up his knife, aiming for the butter dish.
But Chris lightly tapped the back of his wrist, stopping him. "She also let me buy a couple of crocks of butter. Told me how to mix it with the honey to get the best taste."
Vin's lips twitched a little, but his eyes were still on the butter bowl on this table. "In case you find yourself with company for breakfast?" he asked.
Chris nodded. "Figure it's a long ways out for an early morning ride. Probably have to have overnight visitors."
"Reckon so," Vin agreed amiably, moving again for the butter dish. This time Chris didn't stop him, just watched as he deftly scooped some onto his knife.
"Small place, too," he continued, watching the butter drop onto the bread just before Vin distributed it. "Just one bed, might need to share."
"Better be a mighty close friend," Vin commented, taking his time with the knife.
"Mighty close," Chris agreed, waiting.
Hesitating for just a second, Vin lifted the knife to his lips, then let his tongue sweep the rest of the butter off. He managed - just barely - to keep his eyes open and on Chris as he did it.
Chris felt himself finally smile. "Should be easy to find me a friend like that, don't you think?"
Vin smiled back, then took one more swipe at the blade, lickin' the butter cleanly off the knife.