Laid Bare

"I saw you smile and my mind could not erase the beauty of your face. Just for a while won't you let me shelter you?" -- Richard Marx, "Hold On to the Nights"

There were only three or four days a year that it actually got this bad, and Chris refused to let most people see it. Usually, the loss of Sarah and Adam, that grief, was easily transmuted into anger, into hunger for revenge, or just as readily pushed down behind Chris's icy exterior. On those days that had been special to his family, though, the emptiness of them simply not being there became overwhelming. On those days, he needed to force himself not to cry outright, or to shoot himself at the emptiness that chewed his gut like an animal caught in a trap, gnawing helplessly at its own body. Usually, he would hole up somewhere and try to ride the day out, wait until it had passed. That was the best that some circumstances would allow.

He'd been with Vin on the last date, his and Sarah's anniversary, had been able to open up the most he'd done in a long while to the tracker. Then, there was Buck. He and Buck had drunk away some of those days together. Today would have been Sarah's thirty-fifth birthday, and, unfortunately for Chris, neither Vin nor Buck was anywhere nearby.

Vin and Buck had gone, a few days prior, to investigate rumors of a horse thief in Eagle Bend. The rumors had proved themselves true and they'd apprehended the thief, a young woman, but when they had, she'd panicked and shot Buck. Vin had stayed to help Nathan care for Buck, and he wouldn't have known the significance of today, anyway. Chris shook his head with bitter humor; Buck had probably tried to charm the woman out of her weapon, and considered his injury a failed romantic conquest. Still, he would have been here if he'd been able, and the gunfighter took comfort in that, small though it was.

Speaking with J.D. was out of the question; the kid was in awe of him, and it seemed wrong to shatter that vision the young man had created of him. Chris would rather hole up for a day at his shack than pour his heart out to Ezra. He wouldn't want to break the intimidating air he exuded over the gambler. The bottle was pretty much his only chance to escape the emptiness of today.

His feet began to make their way towards the nearly inevitable saloon when he happened to glance at the unfinished church. Josiah? The preacher wasn't likely to judge him if he showed what he felt was a weakness. At least the place itself might be able to give him some of the peace he sought, and some shade away from the sweltering weather.

The chapel was empty, as was usual around here except on Sundays, and for that, Chris thanked that Power to which the building had been dedicated. The wood of the rough-hewn pew was cool beneath his fingers as he crumpled down into it. He thought of Sarah, the joyfulness of her smile, the love that was evident in every gesture she made. It squeezed at his heart and made him gasp in a sharp, stifling breath. Trying to calm his mind, Chris traced his fingertips over the worn wood, examining the fibers, traces of light and color: brown, golden, black.

"Looking for something, Brother?"

The soft voice startled him out of his dream, his trance, his nightmare, but Chris tried not to show it. Eyes the color of forest moss met Josiah's over the distance from the pulpit. The preacher seemed a bit taken aback, as if he hadn't recognized Chris from the first moment. Certainly, he didn't expect him here. "No, Josiah, I'm all right." He barely acknowledged the words as his own; they had come out in a strangled growl.

"Nathan isn't the only one in town who knows anything about helping out a person in pain, Chris. I won't tell anyone else about it."

The gunslinger gave him a watery smile. "Bein' the bad element takes some upholding."

Taking the statement as encouragement, however slight it was, Josiah paced over to the pew in front of Chris and looked at the black-clad man. The distance from Chris was crucial, as Josiah didn't want to be too invasive in what was already a tense situation. "Now, then, Brother, say whatever you need to."

Chris shrugged, feeling like a young boy whispering to his friend over the pew in the middle of a church service. "Sarah . . ."

"Your wife?"

Chris nodded once, looking at the preacher from beneath the rim of his hat. "Today would have been her birthday."

"I'm sorry, Brother, I truly am."

"I suppose you're going to tell me God has a plan, that there was a reason why she and my son were murdered." Chris's eyes were filled with ice, glaring at Josiah as if daring him to do just that.

"No, Chris, I won't."

"No?"

"Words like that would make you angry at this time, in your grief. They would scarcely be a comfort. I have heard them time and time again, and they made me angry, as well. Aside from that, sometimes, I believe things happen for no good reason at all. In situations such as we've been through, what can words say?"

Chris sat very still, watching for Josiah to make his next move. "You feel sorry for me?" Again, there was the hint of the threat beneath his voice. There was no good answer to this question.

Josiah rubbed his beard, eyeing Chris thoughtfully. "I do pity you, Chris, but I don't think any less of you for feeling the way you do. In fact, I think you're a better man for allowing yourself to care, even if you feel you must act as if you didn't. You've been through some horrible, painful circumstances, and I wish you wouldn't have had to endure them, but I don't find you pathetic. Do you see?"

It was going to be difficult for Chris to let up on this one. He'd built his walls, and they were sturdier than he'd surmised. He couldn't just circumvent them within an instant. "And you, preacher? Do you feel sorry for yourself, or do you just 'pity your own circumstances'. Isn't that why you almost look forward to seeing the crows at dawn again?"

"Something of both," Josiah admitted, struck to the heart. "Whenever I think I've lost my faith, or my value of self completely, I seem to find something that keeps me from drowning in my own Hell. Then, something reminds me and I fall again. You and I aren't so different, Chris. I only wish things could have been different for the both of us."

"They weren't, but we continue to put our faith in you, Josiah. You always offer us your help even if we feel we don't need it, so something inside you must think you're worth listening to. And you are. Hell, I wouldn't have started talking if I didn't know I could trust you, and out of everyone left here in town today, came to you, probably half wanting to find you here. Damn, more than half. You care more than I can, Josiah." Chris seemed weary, but Josiah knew the signs of overwhelming grief when he saw them; he would wait.

"I'm not the only one people put their faith in, Chris. Vin, Buck, and I aren't the only ones you can trust around here. You wouldn't do what you do, if you didn't, somewhere in your soul, know that you were worthy of that respect we give you. Your mind shouldn't deny what your soul already knows, and you're certainly worth your own tears. You loved her. You miss her, and you hurt, not only for her, but for your son and everything that might have been."

The gunslinger pushed out a ragged sigh then attempted to smooth his breathing. "She balanced out anything rough that I found in me. She made all my . . . flaws seem not so bad. There were nights that we'd hold each other like the world was gonna fly apart, but we wouldn't care, because we had each other. She was full of light and life, and happiness. Adam took that happiness, and made it fly. With my family, I was complete. I know, it sounds stupid . . ."

"It doesn't. Keep talking, Chris." On instinct, Josiah reached over the pew and grasped Chris' hand. The fingers were cold and trembling in his, that hand that held a gun so steadily.

"There's an emptiness without her. Cold like the desert in the middle of the night. I'm alone. She could always take what she needed from me, and I could always do the same with her. I wouldn't lie to her, never could. I would never hurt her, and she'd never do anything to hurt me."

"You trusted her, intimately, completely, the way you've never been able to trust anyone."

"Yeah."

"You know," the preacher squeezed Chris' hand, "You can trust all of us, too. Even JD and Ezra, though you've avoided them today. They know you're human."

"Do they? The kid seems to think I'm some kind of walking legend, and Ez either sees me as a mark who's too much fun to bait or a monster." Chris was glad for the chance to let out a sardonic laugh; it saved him from the tears that had been threatening. "Believe me, Brother, they know. All of us know what it's like to have to leave the past behind, for good or ill. It can't help but leave its mark on a man's soul. Or, in some people's case, scars."

"Wounds that won't heal," Chris corrected, curling his free hand on his chest as if trying to stop one of those injuries from bleeding. "They bleed you out until there's nothing left."

"Not you, not with us, Brother. We won't let it. I won't let it. But the best healer in the world won't afford you a damn if you don't trust him. Hell, you can't even fully trust Vin and Buck, and they're the ones you've allowed closer to you than the rest of us. None of us would ever hurt you, not any more than Sarah would have. Yeah, we expect a lot from you as leader, but because of that, you have all of our respect." Josiah smiled the, hoping that his next statement would have the same effect on Chris. "Even Ezra's. With respect comes love, God willing, and no one ever deliberately hurts the ones they love."

"You always hurt the ones you love."

"Old proverb, Chris, but not always true. Besides, where there's real love, there's always forgiveness. That's the way it is with the Lord and with friends. When the ones you love get hurt, you're there to help them, and when you hurt, they're there for you. They can't do that, though, when they don't know you're hurting."

Memories, old ones, of loving, being loved, being surrounded by the joy she had given so freely, flooded Chris' mind. His thoughts strayed to the birthdays, ones that seemed so few in number now, that he'd shared with her. He recalled the way her face seemed to illuminate from within at some small gift he'd given her. No matter how lean times had ever gotten for the two of them, he would always manage to bring her something, because that smile was worth everything he'd had to give. He missed that smile, that embrace, that knowledge that there was always someone there.

"Well, I'm hurting now." Chris' voice was a bare whisper. "So help me, I'm hurting now."

To Josiah, the words "so help me" weren't just a statement, as one might say "so help me, God", they were also a plea for support. Hoping he wasn't severely overstepping his personal bounds with the younger man, Josiah left his seat in order to sit beside Chris. Chris looked at him and sighed deeply, thousands of emotions flying through his eyes.

Then, Chris Larabee, gunslinger, the self-professed "bad element" in the town of Four Corners, did something that Josiah would have never expected of him. The older man had half-expected Chris to cry, and didn't fault him for it. Tears eventually came in conversations like the one that they'd been having, except in the cases of the most hardened hearts, and Chris, for all the rage he'd hidden and hid behind, for all his glaring and distance, didn't have a heart that hard.

Yet, when the tears finally fell, the way they came surprised Josiah. Josiah would have anticipated a few drops through glaring, resigned green eyes, quickly wiped away in a flash of a black sleeve. Instead, the gunslinger leaned forward, buried his head in Josiah's shoulder and sobbed. Chris wept with little sound but his gasps for breath. The sharp, strong hands clung to Josiah as if Chris might be ripped away from him at any moment and tossed back into the unforgiving maelstrom of his pain. This was a man breaking down under the pressure of an overwhelming sorrow.

Josiah laid a heavy though gentle hand on Chris' back, smoothing the dark fabric over shoulders that trembled with the force of weeping. The gunman's fingers clutched reflexively at Josiah's shirt and the flesh beneath it. His breath was ragged and erratic, but not loud. Josiah knocked Chris' hat off, laid a hand on the blond hair. At the touch, Chris abruptly stopped crying, wiping his face almost angrily with his palm. "I'm sorry Josiah. I'm a damn fool for letting this . . ." He refused to finish his sentence.

"You aren't. Not at all, Chris. Foolish would be waiting until you were so hurt and angry that you were bound to shoot someone, maybe an innocent, in a fit of temper. Confiding in a friend, I think, was the smartest thing you could have done." Josiah grasped Chris' arm and kept him from moving further away.

"I should have found a bottle of whiskey and left it at that."

"Well," the former priest gave him a whiskered smile, "I have some of that as well, Brother. Care to join me? It's in back." He suspected Chris could use some rest after literally pouring his heart out, but he didn't want to say so.

"Much obliged, Preacher." Chris groaned as he got up from the pew, grabbing the brim of his hat, a little unsteady on his feet. Josiah caught him behind the shoulders and started to guide him to the room behind the chapel where he lived. Chris seemed ready to fall of exhaustion, not that Josiah would have faulted him that. Grief and pain were difficult enemies to fight without becoming physically drained. Josiah had seen it more times than he cared to remember, not least of all in himself.

Chris seemed to accept the support, leaning into Josiah just a bit to keep his balance. Once they'd reached the back room, Chris crumpled onto the narrow bed where Josiah normally slept while the older man got the whiskey bottle off the room's single shelf. Josiah pulled the cork with his teeth and offered the liquor to Chris first. The gunslinger accepted with a softly mumbled "Thanks."

Josiah took a long draw on the bottle after Chris. "You never have to be afraid to talk to us, Brother. We know you're human."

Chris gave him a funny look then said, "Y' know what I miss the most?" He took another swig as the whiskey was passed to him. "It'll make me sound soft, I know . . ."

"What is it?"

"Having her wrapped around me when I fall asleep. No walls up between us. Nothing. I'm damn cold."

The temperature in the room wasn't as hot as it had been in the church when Chris came in, but Josiah knew what Chris meant. He was succumbing to shock and exhaustion, plus something worse: that longing to be wanted by another, and the emptiness that came when that longing wasn't fulfilled, and hadn't been for a long time. The gunslinger sighed.

Josiah edged in on the cot behind him and let Chris fall back against him. "It's all right, Chris, I'm here."

"Because you have to be."

"Because I want to be." He cinched an arm around Chris' waist and held on to him tightly. "You're all right. Let me hold you. I promise I won't tell anyone about it."

Chris studied the big man with thoughtful eyes. Josiah was so solid, so steady, so . . . much like he wished to be right now. It was the kind of strength that could guide him through this yearly nightmare, if he allowed himself that luxury. Abruptly deciding that the offered comfort wasn't something he could do without, Chris turned into the embrace, and with a child's sudden need and fervor, he threw his arms over Josiah's shoulders. Again, the tears were silent.

Gentle hands came to rest on his back and stroked a slow, soothing pattern. Chris released a soft sound full of a strange mixture of pain and contentment. He had broken himself in front of another, was filled with regret for Sarah's loss, and for Adam's, but it had also proven to him that he wasn't alone. Loneliness was his greatest fear, his greatest pain, but it had also been his protection, that ability of his to distance himself from people and situations that had kept him safe. Sometimes, though, the feeling was so overwhelming that he felt what was left of his self would be swallowed in the emptiness.

The emptiness was not as bad now, but Chris couldn't deny that now, at this moment, that he needed something more. He looked up at the preacher, eyes wide with the loneliness that had been turning his bones to ice, and kissed Josiah very quickly, lightly, on the cheek, not even hard enough to leave moisture.

Josiah, sage as he was, could have chuckled at the clandestine nature of that tiny kiss. It seemed so much more like something J.D. would have done, that teasing, tentative action. Yet, he didn't laugh, because it now looked as if Chris had been hurt in giving only that much of his need away. He held his smaller friend firmly close to him, and let Chris feel that he was still there, that he could accept any number of stolen kisses if it helped Chris through this. The delicate kiss had been more than a question of acceptance, it had been an entreaty. Yet, Josiah realized, Chris would probably feel more ashamed of himself if he simply allowed the younger man to vent his frustrations and needs on him, but only accepted his advances and didn't react.

Josiah decided to take a more active role, to love Chris if he so desired to be loved physically, because he loved Chris on every other level. He had to let the man in black know that this was also because of his own choice; it wasn't out of pity. Josiah dipped his head down and stirred the fine blond hair with his breath, watching the strands fly up toward his face. He held his lips in check for a moment, mesmerized, before kissing the top of Chris' head, a simple action, just in case he'd misread Chris' wants.

Chris stole another kiss from the base of Josiah's neck, feeling safe in the scent of sweat and whiskey, and, for once, feeling that it was good to depend on someone. Josiah held Chris' hands; they seemed tiny in his own. With all the care of a surgeon whose steadiness could mean the difference between life and death, Josiah leaned back a little from Chris and tilted his head down. Chris met him halfway with lips that were smooth and soft, so tentative. Then an appetite seemed to seize the gunfighter, and those lips became prisons, sucking and trapping Josiah's own. That mouth seemed to want to devour Josiah as if he were the sweetest tasting thing in the world. Josiah, slow and deliberate in his actions, allowed himself to be voraciously kissed. He then slid his tongue into Chris' mouth, twirled it around Chris', and slowed the younger man's pace, tenderly stroking his cheek.

The man in black broke the contact abruptly to breathe. Josiah simply waited; he'd expected this. Chris wiped his mouth and looked down at the bedspread. "I'm sorry, Josiah."

The preacher looked amused. "Are you really?"

Chris was embarrassed that he really wasn't sorry, not for wanting Josiah, anyway. "We're in a church."

"We're outside the chapel. It's just as right that we do this here as in the home of anyone else. This is where I live. Aside from that, Chris, this is the House of God, and so, the House of Love. Offering comfort is one of the things I am here for."

"Like this?"

"Like this. I won't call it blasphemy if you won't. If this is done in love, I don't think God finds anything wrong with it, no matter who's involved. Besides, you need to be loved, today of all days. And as I said, I know the emptiness, too."

Chris tentatively pressed his lips against Josiah's, moving past the rasp of the other man's beard. Josiah wet Chris' dry lips with his tongue, little more than an invitation. Chris leaned back, eyes hooded. "Is that your professional opinion, Preacher?"

"It surely is." He gently kissed Chris' eyes closed, noting that the smaller man flinched a bit. "Have you ever done this before?"

"On the long trails, before Sarah. Never really got used to it. It never meant much."

"This will, or, at least, Brother, I'll try my hardest to make it mean something." Josiah lightly pressed his lips to the column of Chris' throat, undoing the buttons of Chris' collar to reach his objective. "You have to rely on someone, sometime, Chris. You're not as strong as you make yourself out to be." Chris' signature icy stare fixed him, but this time, the look was tinged with pain. "No one is as strong as you make yourself out to be."

As the soft lips and the rough scrape of Josiah's beard continued to tease his skin, Chris felt himself being stripped of the armor of the black garb that separated him from the world and marked him as a man in a constant state of mourning. The fingers on his skin also tore deeper shields away from him, steely walls of wariness and anger that protected his emotions from everyone around him.

For a moment, Chris lay on the bed, naked to his friend's gaze. Josiah kissed his lips gently; they were deliciously soft, seemed softer now that Josiah could see all of Chris. Josiah stepped back off the bed to admire his handiwork. Aside from the tan on the younger man's face and neck, his skin was a fair shade of golden, stretched over lean muscles and fine bones. The dusting of bronzy-gold hair on Chris's body was light, but visible.

Gilded, like an altarpiece. God placed as much work in you, my beautiful friend, as an artisan puts into one of those intricate carvings that they cover in the finest gold.

"You are extraordinary." The tears were the diamonds on the altar, but they were unwelcome, so Josiah tasted them from existence.

Chris smiled, and it seemed genuinely happy, if a little weary. "Let's see how extraordinary you get."

"I'm afraid, Brother, that you were somewhat short-changed on this deal." Nonetheless, Josiah began tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

"You might say only God can judge, but, for now, I'm going to have to suffice to make that judgment. I'm sure I won't be disappointed." His smile was pleased, almost defiant.

"Suit yourself, Chris."

Josiah let the suspender loops down over his broad shoulders and pulled the fabric away, revealing a chest sculpted by long years of hard work, his body not seeming marked by age at all. Chris sat up on his elbows, surveying Josiah's bared torso with the same scrutiny with which he would stare down an opponent. It almost made the preacher not want to continue disrobing, until Chris' eyes softened.

He spread a tentative hand out in the air, reaching for Josiah. This was a completely different Chris Larabee that was approaching him now, open and unwary. Josiah suspected that Vin and Buck caught flashes of this, but it was nothing like experiencing Chris' touch when he was in this state. As Josiah leaned his large frame over closer to Chris on the narrow bed, the slim fingers came within range. At first, they merely skimmed with extreme delicacy, over the silvering red hair that lay in swirls over Josiah's chest. Chris sat watching the strands, heavier than his own, catch the light and change direction according to the guidance of his hands. He pressed deeper, but his movements lost none of their inherent wonder, enjoying the nuances of the craggy muscles.

Josiah sighed. It had never occurred to him exactly how it might feel to be worshipped, but this was as close as he would ever be to understanding. Chris' hands were reverent; that was the only way his touch could be described. "I'm not that beautiful, Chris, and you know it."

"What the hell's beautiful to you? You're warm and solid and real and you're not moving away. You may not be a pretty flower, Preacher, but mountains are beautiful, too." Chris nipped gently at Josiah's neck to emphasize his point.

He'd never taken Chris for a fool, but the words were almost too poetic for Josiah to believe. Josiah smothered the soft mouth beneath his, licking with the tip of his tongue, both in gratitude and somehow, as a reward. Knowing he was wanted was more than a sufficient aphrodisiac; it set his spirit itself aflame. He kicked away boots that were little more than an irritation in comparison to his strength and divested himself of his final garments. Suddenly fierce, Josiah gathered Chris up in his arms and held the smaller man against him.

Chris welcomed the rough treatment, twining golden limbs around Josiah. He answered the larger man's passion with equal ferocity, marking the bristled cheeks with open-mouthed kisses. Fingers, quick as spider limbs, carded through the coarseness of short, silver-red hair. Then those deft hands went elsewhere, palms sliding down Josiah's back, nails scraping over the outer sides of Josiah's thighs. Chris seemed in a frenzy to cover him with his touch, all at once.

Josiah knew this urgency, the need to throw oneself into a task to forget another, more painful frame of mind. This wasn't the time for Chris to do that, though. It wasn't the time for him to rush to forget, it was time for him to remember, to remember how loved he still was. "Easy, Chris. Let me look at you some more."

"Looking doesn't do either of us much good." The gunslinger's protest was empty as he reclined on the bed again, obliging Josiah's folly, as he saw it.

"Is that so?" Thick brows glowered over pale blue eyes as Josiah surveyed the younger man critically. A sly smile quirked the large, full lips. Josiah covered Chris' frame with his larger one, blanketing Chris in heat without letting his full weight fall on him completely. He gifted Chris' neck first, soft trails of wanton lips, rich swirls of tongue. He moved downward then, letting nothing but the tips of his lashes and his breath make contact with the warm, pale amber skin. Only when Chris pushed demandingly up against him did he bring his eloquent mouth into play, lapping over a pinkened nipple, pausing to rub his beard across it.

Chris whimpered softly. "Call that looking?"

Josiah smirked, pleased at the slender man's reaction. He gave the rigid, tender nub on the opposite side a tug with his lips, and hummed contentment as Chris gasped. Chris ran fingers over his back, like brushes of breeze, teasing, insubstantial. It was a display of Chris' stubbornness, Josiah knew, but he had a stubborn streak himself, and called on it to continue his torment of Chris' sensitivities.

His large hands spread over Chris' skin, delighting in the sleekness beneath them. Chris' hands were not idle, either, skimming Josiah's chest, fingertips kneading into the firmness of muscle. The thorough exploration quickened the preacher's breath and made him want to slide out of reach. This was for Chris; he had no intention of being selfish.

The man in question didn't have the same ideas. Chris wanted something for his own now, and that something was Josiah. He brought a knee up between Josiah's legs and rubbed the angry shaft gently, then used the surprised pleasure to topple his large companion. As soon as Josiah was prone, Chris covered him, in turn, all sinuous grace.

There was a surprising sweetness to the lips that passed the ruffled fur of Josiah's beard this time. The tongue that joined in a chase with Josiah's was playful, lazy, almost tender. Those hands were the worst torture to the former priest, though, smoothing the soft hair that trailed over the hot, hard muscles, shaped by years of strenuous work.

From working on what he found to be important. Even when he thought his faith left him, it was still there. He still believed, went on, though he may not have known why. I never knew why either, I just did. Maybe Josiah's right . . .

Chris couldn't give voice to his thoughts, they sounded maudlin and introspective, even to him. It was best to just do, as he always had, to thank Josiah without words for bringing the insight on, for being his support.

A mountain, solid beneath me. Without him, I would've fallen into cold, empty air. He gave the chest before him a long, reverent lick, motes of blue dancing in his green eyes as he looked his friend in the eyes, asking approval.

The widespread fingers stroked Chris' silky hair, examining the fineness of the strands. Chris' mouth left warm gifts of lips and tongue, trails of warmth and tiny bites that glowed like embers on Josiah's skin. Chris rubbed the sharp stubble of his cheek over Josiah's nipple, making the larger man rear up, wanting to maintain that contact as long as he could. This was Chris pulling everything beautiful that had lain in Josiah's soul, awakened or dormant, and laying it on his own skin. This was the kind of sweetness that could only be created by the innocence of a wounded heart.

Though this was no longer a game of give-and-take, but instead one of give- and-give, Josiah realized that the wounds, again, were what needed to be healed, tended, nursed with care. Josiah grasped his blond torturer in both arms and gathered him in, smothering the last protests with a kiss as he turned him over. Then, the bearded lips began to worship Chris, as surely as worship could be performed with hymns and candles. All the while, Josiah's sharp, penetrating eyes stayed open, the ice pale blue igniting Chris inside. The fiery kisses brought forth a new kind of shield from the world, and Chris realized he no longer felt raw and naked. The eyes saw him as he truly was, and took in strengths and weaknesses with equal acceptance. Chris felt his soul turning to liquid, springing up as sweat, leaking in pearly drops from his anxious erection. It was when a delicate brush of contact lapped at one of those drops that Chris jolted.

"Josiah . . ."

"Be still, Chris."

The warmth of Josiah's tongue brought him to full attention, and he groaned. The state of being touched was so familiar, yet it was alien, considering who the instigator was. Josiah licked the blazing flesh again, the touch and dampness both soothing and maddening. He took as much of the glistening golden flesh into his mouth as he could and teased it with his tongue. He slid his lips over the flushed head, licking away moisture as if it were nectar-sweet. Chris began to pant, his chest heaving with the exertion of not letting go.

Chris' toes clenched in an involuntary spasm, and he sat up, his breath shaking as it left him. Josiah looked up, wondering if he'd done wrong, and his bristled chin was immediately cradled in one slim-fingered hand, one that ran over his jaw with the utmost care. "No more, Preacher. This ain't one sided, and you need me just as much." Chris grinned a little and lay back down. Josiah moved up Chris' body to ask a question he dared not voice. Fingertips danced across his back, over the curve of one buttock, fell to grasp the heavy shaft. "Inside me, Josiah. Finish this."

"I'll hurt you." That was an inevitability, Chris' past experience notwithstanding. Josiah was a big man, in every fashion.

"Better that pain than the pain I've been feeling all day. Better filled by you than empty." The turquoise eyes were desperate. "Please, I need this."

"Slowly, though, Chris, be patient. Things like this shouldn't be rushed."

The need for completion was there, but not at the cost of shattering Chris. Seeing his leader vulnerable was one thing to Josiah, seeing his lover broken was quite another. He spread a hand beneath the taut buttocks and caressed them. God, they were smooth, and round and . . . perfect. In fascination, he slipped his other hand beneath Chris and flexed his fingers, exploring the satin skin more firmly, more intimately. The gunslinger gasped but in shocked gratification. Far from being hesitant, Chris arched and pushed his legs apart.

Josiah practically leaped from the bed in sudden need and eagerness. He very nearly broke the oil lamp on the narrow wall shelf in his enthusiasm to get at the cooled liquid inside. Pulling the wick and stopper off, he set the opened lamp on the table beside the bed, slowing his movements, though his desire had become painful, and Chris appeared to be in the same state. The smaller man was breathing raggedly and each small movement he made sent a whimper through the slender body. He would be gentle with this vulnerable creature he'd never known before. It was what both of them needed.

Josiah kneaded and teased Chris' ass for a spare moment, as much for his own indulgence as to relax Chris. He stroked thick fingers back and forth inside the valley there, circling the callused pad of his index finger when he found the opening. The gateway to Chris' body tensed, then relaxed a little as Josiah continued to caress the vulnerable spot. Chris lost himself in thoughts he knew would calm him, more so because they were the truth. This is going to hurt so bad until he's fully inside me. Then, it's going to feel so good.

The blond's body relaxed a little in anticipation of the impending sweetness. Josiah's finger stole inside him, and Chris whimpered, discomfort giving way to a delicious fullness. The second finger stroking in close behind the first, pressed diligently against a jewel of heat inside Chris, his hidden sensitivity, and rubbed it into a heady pleasure, one so intense that Chris lost himself. He whimpered and bore down on Josiah so intently that the larger man feared his fingers would break. Chris' seed escaped him as a growling cry escaped his throat.

Josiah's fingers left him briefly, gathering his cooling essence as it lay on Chris' belly, then slicked the welcome invaders inside his slender companion. Chris sobbed as the sensations overwhelmed his already beleaguered body, washing over every inch of his skin, and rising to an inferno pitch as Josiah added a third finger, moving them inside him in an exquisite torment.

When Josiah replaced them with the heavy, rounded head of his erection, he gave no warning to Chris. Yet, he moved slowly and gently, mindful of the other man's size and long period of inexperience. He didn't push, simply held himself steady and nuzzled lovingly at Chris' ear, his neck. Chris laced his legs over Josiah's and pulled him closer. "More, Josiah."

Leaning on the heels of his hands above Chris' shoulders, Josiah melded into Chris with incredible care. Josiah filled Chris from the inside out, creating a burning satisfaction that overlaid any pain. The slightest movement brushed up against the tenderness inside Chris and sent blades of delight along his nerves. Chris welcomed Josiah openly, embracing the large body with shining limbs. Josiah dropped his head back, took a staggered breath, then dropped forward, plunging into Chris with an intense deliberation.

Chris' soft moans, cries that grew in volume and sweetness, goaded Josiah on. They joined with an intense need that approached frenzy. Chris reached out as Josiah's rhythm brought him closer, brushing his lover's cheeks and forehead with caring fingertips. The fullness of Josiah within him brought him to the peak of release again, almost immediately. Likewise, Josiah couldn't stand the warmth of the tight passage for long. Chris pushed himself into Josiah, murmuring something that may have been the preacher's name. As release took him, Josiah took Chris into his arms, those solid, strong arms and embraced him. Chris buried his face in the larger man's shoulder, and, resisting the urge to bite, gifted him with a gentle kiss instead.

They broke from each other minutes later, eyes shining as much as their bodies were. "Seems like I moved the mountain myself," Chris smiled tiredly.

Josiah chuckled, not bothering to look away or cover his mouth with his hand. "You most surely did." He'd never forget the analogy Chris had made.

"Thank you for being here for me."

"I'm always here for you, should you ever need me." Josiah spooned up next to Chris, throwing heavy limbs over him. This was a treasure he wanted to keep in his possession for some time, but he knew that Chris was too hard to pin down to allow that. Feeling Chris breathe was reward enough.

They rested a while, took a short nap in the balm of the afternoon. Then, both of them went to the chapel and lit a candle in Sarah's memory. With a final embrace and a smile, Josiah watched his now-intimate friend leave the church. Chris felt safe in the confidence, safer than he had in a long time, that there was still love to be found.

The End
Follow-up story: Bruises on the Soul by Chaz