The Way Life Used To Be
Sequel to Reflections Of...
"Feeling like your old self, I see." Chris Larabee's voice contained a hint of scorn as his green gaze raked across Buck, sitting slouched at a table near the bar, and the woman draped across his lap."What else do you see?" Buck retorted, an edge in his voice. "Something you want, maybe?"
Chris slowly surveyed the pair, eyes cool and hard. "The only thing I see that looks good is that whisky." He pointed to the bottle on the table, lips curling derisively.
Buck scowled, sitting up straight, and causing the saloon girl on his lip to fall precariously forward.
"You ain't got no call sayin' that, Chris. I think you owe Miss Laurie an apology."
"Sorry, Miss," Chris said, his eyes never leaving Buck's face. "I wasn't talking about you." As apologies went, it left much to be desired, but Laurie wasn't about to quibble over it. Sliding off of Buck's lap, she nodded nervously to the two men and then hurried over to a lonesome looking cowboy a few tables down. He might lack Buck's easy charm and good looks, but he didn't have Chris Larabee looming over him with blood in his eye, either.
"You're a goddamn liar, Chris." Buck slapped his hands on the table, causing more than a few nearby patrons to jump.
"Go to Hell, Buck." Chris hissed the words, ignoring the curious stares and attention their altercation was beginning to attract.
"You can't make me do anything, Chris. Remember? And I got other plans for today. Now, if you'll excuse me." Buck rose to his feet and stepped towards Chris, who stood blocking the way.
"Get out of the way, Chris," Buck snapped angrily.
"Make me." Chris's smile was taunting.
Excuse me, Mr. Larabee. I do believe our young sheriff needs your help at the jail. A recalcitrant prisoner of some sort." Ezra's smooth, unruffled drawl broke the icy tension between the two men. With one final glare at Buck, Chris turned on his heel and strode toward the door. Ezra watched the lean blackclad figure disappear and then turned back to Buck.
"Do you enjoy living dangerously, Mr. Wilmington? With Mr. Larabee's uncertain temper the past few weeks, I do believe you would be safer baiting a grizzly." Ezra folded his arms and regarded Buck thoughtfully.
"Real funny, Ez," Buck muttered, pushing past the gambler and stalking out the door of the saloon, going in the opposite direction from the gunslinger.
"Well, I thought it to be a rather amusing little remark," the gambler murmured. "Not one of my most polished, perhaps, but..."
"Talking to yourself again, Ezra? You know they got a name for people who do that." Nathan walked up behind the other man and slid into Buck's now vacant chair.
"The name would be 'cruelly deprived of civilized company' my friend. This town just does not appreciate a good witty remark."
Nathan rolled his eyes. "We would if'n we heard one."
Now it was the gambler's turn to roll his eyes heavenward as he slid into the chair opposite Nathan. "What in Heaven's name do you think ails our two comrades? They seem to be perpetually on the verge of killing one another these past two weeks."
"Don't know, exactly, but Buck and Chris have known each other a long time and there's a lot of water under those bridges. I say we mind our own business and let 'em work it out between themselves."
"Work what out?" JD hurried up to the table, letting out a sigh of relief as he pulled up a chair next to Ezra.
"Our two associates, Mr. Larabee and Mr. Wilmington, appear to be having some sort of problem with one another," Ezra volunteered.
"Tell me about it!" JD exclaimed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I thought Chris was gonna shoot Buck the other day after Buck said something about a prisoner getting the punishment he deserved. And Buck has been acting weird, too. Going out of his way to antagonize Chris, it seems like." JD shook his head, perplexed. "What do you think is the matter with 'em?"
Nathan sighed.
+ + + + + + +
Goddamn Chris Larabee, anyway. Buck strode angrily down the dusty street, his normally genial countenance stormy enough to cause everyone he encountered to give him a wide berth.
How the Hell did you fix things, put 'em back the way they used to be? He and Chris were gonna wind up killin' each other if this kept up. Sometimes, Buck thought that might be the easiest solution. Then he wouldn't be able to still feel Chris's lips on his or still hear the way Chris had moaned beneath him. Just the memory of it was making him hard. Shit.
Even worse than thinkin' these things about a man who'd been your friend for a dozen years, a man whose weddin' you attended and whose son you'd held, was knowin' that Chris was thinkin' the same things about him. And knowin' that he hated Buck for it.
If Buck was gonna be fair, he'd have to admit he deserved Chris hatin' him some. Usin' someone's body like that was just plain wrong and it wasn't something Buck had ever done before. But lately, he'd been doin' a lot of things he'd never done before. He'd killed his first woman, kissed his first man, and pretty near wrecked the friendship between him and Chris. Maybe he should go rob the nearest bank or something. Just to round out his week.
Buck sighed and slowed his pace a bit, his anger wearing off and a weary remorse taking its place. He could still feel the burden of guilt and regret over Miriam Callahan weighin' on him. He suspected she was something he'd carry to the end of his days. The same way Chris would Sarah and Adam. But he could live with that. It had surprised him how little time it had taken him to come to that conclusion. When Chris had come to his room two weeks ago, Buck had been feelin' like the pain would never go away, the guilt and sorrow would just eat him up from the inside out.
And then after the thing with Chris... Thing? Buck snorted. That didn't even come close to sayin' it the way it was, but he didn't know what else to call it. But he could remember sittin' on the floor for a good long while after the gunslinger had left, thinkin' that maybe this would finally be enough and he'd just drop dead from the guilt and pain. Kind of hoping he would. Instead, he'd crawled into a bottle for the next two days, alternatin' between thoughts of Miriam and thoughts of Chris. And when he finally woke up on the third day, so hung over he couldn't even lift the empty bottle next to his bed, he'd realized that he'd spent far more time thinkin' about Chris than he had about Miriam.
He'd thought a lot about the way Chris had whispered his name and how it had sounded just right in his ear. And then he'd thought about how Chris had walked out the door without a backward glance when it was all over. And then he'd thought about how Chris had deserved what he got and how he wouldn't feel bad, dammit anyway. And then he'd wished that Chris were there and thought about how this time it wouldn't be about punishment, it would be about pleasure. And then he'd gotten pissed because goddammit, the sonofabitch wasn't there like Buck wanted. And then he'd drank some more. And some more. Until he'd no longer been able to think.
And then Josiah and JD had come knockin' on his door and they'd cleaned him up and brought him some coffee and he'd finally realized that maybe he could put his feelings for Miriam in perspective. Because he'd rather lose her again a thousand times than lose any of his friends even once. And she'd been a cold blooded, crazy bitch, just like Chris had said. Buck just hadn't wanted to believe it. She'd been so sweet in his arms, so warm. But it wasn't the memory of her that had made his cock hard as a nail the past two weeks. Nope. It was Chris Larabee that had done that. Goddamn him anyway. Had he already said that? Didn't matter. It was worth repeating.
So what to do now? He and Chris had been branglin' like a couple of alley cats ever since that night. Buck couldn't seem to help himself. He kept pushin' Chris, tryin' to see how far he could take it. And Chris was no better. It was like pickin' at a wound just so's you'd could watch it bleed. There was something fascinating about it. And you never gave any thought to how much it might hurt til after you'd already done it.
Buck kicked at a rock in his path. He didn't have any answers. He didn't even know what he wanted. Well, maybe he knew what he wanted, but he didn't know what he wanted to do about it. Sighing, he glanced up at the building next to him. The livery stable. He came to a stop, struck by a sudden thought.
Why the hell didn't he just talk to Chris? Not argue or fuss at each other, just plain old ordinary speech. Talkin' was one of the things he did best. And he just wouldn't think about what else he did best until after he and Chris had worked things out. They'd been friends too long to leave things this way between them. And if Chris didn't like it, that was just too damn bad.
Pushing open the door of the livery, he walked inside and began saddling his horse.
+ + + + + + +
Goddamn Buck, anyway. Chris stalked angrily out of the jail and onto the boardwalk. The tussle with the obstinant prisoner had barely taken the edge off his anger and his lean body still vibrated with frustration.
Chris knew he shouldn't have said anything to Buck. It was none of his business if Buck chose to take up with one of the working gals. But the sight of her sitting draped across Buck's lap had caused an unpleasant knot of rage to form in his gut. And he'd gone stalking over there, shooting his mouth off like an idiot. A goddamn jealous idiot. And then to have Buck know. Know that Chris still wanted him. It was too much. Why the hell couldn't things be like they used to? Back when he could look Buck in the eye and not remember the warm, hard feel of his body or the hot, whisky flavored taste of his mouth.
Chris spent far too much time remembering that night. He wanted to forget it. That way he wouldn't have to keep admitting to himself how much he wanted his oldest friend to touch him. Lying in bed, hard as a rock, and clenching his teeth against the desire to give himself some relief or go beg Buck to do it, was getting real tiresome. And it made it hard to deny anything, when it was thinking about Buck in the first place that had made him that way. It wasn't helping his temper much, either. Even the quiet, tolerant tracker had taken to avoiding him lately. Poor JD nearly jumped out of his skin every time he saw Chris coming towards him. And he couldn't seem to be within a hundred feet of Buck without the two of them having words. They'd nearly come to blows again a few times. Something had to give, before he and Buck wound up killing each other. But hell, they might be doing the town a favor if they did that. Or at least, he might be doing himself one, anyway.
But what the hell did you do in a situation like this one? Chris had never had someone play him like Buck had. Chris had always been the one who called the shots. It was damn humiliating to know that Buck had witnessed his downfall. Had been the cause of it. Buck had heard his moans and tasted his skin and felt his need and Chris wasn't sure he'd ever forgive Buck for that. But it didn't stop Chris from wanting him. Goddamn him anyway.
He'd just have to get over it, he told himself grimly. He and Buck still had to work together and this bad blood between them was starting to affect that. And he knew the others were wondering about the cause of it. Well, Chris would rather burn in hell than have any of them know. He could hardly stand to know himself. Sighing, Chris walked over to the livery and saddled his horse. Maybe a few hours out at his shack would do him some good. That, and the bottle of whisky he had tucked into his saddlebag.
+ + + + + + +
"About damn time you showed up." Buck looked up from the chair where he'd been sitting, leaning back against the wall, and greeted the gunslinger.
"I don't recall inviting you," Chris replied bitingly, in an unconscious echo of the night he'd gone to Buck's room.
"Uninvited guest suits me just fine," Buck shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, it don't suit me. Get out," Chris ordered, unbuckling his gun belt and hanging it on a peg near the door. Removing temptation.
"Make me."
Chris whirled around, green eyes glowing with anger. "Don't start with me, Buck."
"Seems to me I already did. I started something that night, two weeks ago, and it seems to me it's only right that I finish it." Buck got slowly to his feet and Chris saw that Buck had removed his gunbelt, as well. It lay on the table between them. In easy reaching distance, Chris noted wryly.
"We already finished it. I don't aim to do it again." Chris shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up on a peg near his gunbelt, gazing coolly at Buck.
"I don't think it was finished to anyone's satisfaction." Buck began walking towards Chris, skirting the table and coming over to stand just a few feet in front of the gunslinger.
"I thought you got all the satisfaction you needed." Chris refused to allow himself to back away. He wasn't a damn coward. And Buck was standing too far away for Chris to feel the warmth of his body. It was just his imagination, that was all.
"Nope." Buck closed the gap between them and reached out to run his fingers along Chris's jaw.
"How much more satisfaction do you think I should give you?" Chris was truly angry now. He didn't know why Buck was doing this, but he knew the other man knew he wanted it and that infuriated him.
"How about this much?" Grabbing Buck's head roughly between his hands, he pulled the other man close in a bruising kiss.
"Or maybe you think there should be more?" Chris lifted his lips from Buck's long enough to tear the other man's shirt free of its buttons and slide it impatiently onto the floor.
Chris lowered his head to lick a path up the other man's muscular chest. He nibbled his way along the edge of Buck's collarbone until he reached his neck. The taller man shuddered as Chris began sucking lightly on the soft skin below his ear.
"Have I done enough yet?" Chris whispered raggedly, wondering what in the hell he'd do if Buck said yes.
"No. I reckon there's more," Buck gasped, his voice as ragged as Chris's had been.
"I was hoping you'd say that." Chris stepped back and began removing his own shirt. After a few seconds, Buck bent and began pulling off his boots.
"You offering or just teasing?" Chris came up quietly behind Buck as he was pulling off his remaining boot, and brushed his hand across Buck's ass.
Buck straightened up and turned to face Chris. "I... I ain't sure," he finally said.
Chris just nodded and began pulling off his own boots, sitting down in a chair to do it. Buck hesitated for a moment, watching him, and then walked over to kneel in front of the gunslinger.
"You need some help?" Buck looked up at Chris, one eyebrow cocked in question.
Chris didn't answer, just leaned down and ran a finger over the other man's chest, circling his nipples. Buck swallowed and began tugging at the gunslinger's boot. When he had them both off, tossed carelessly under the table, he looked up at Chris again.
"I helped you. Now I think it's only fair you help me." Buck stood up and hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants suggestively.
"Fair's fair, I guess," Chris murmured, getting to his feet and placing his hands next to Buck's. Slowly he began unbuttoning his companion's pants, sliding them over the narrow hips and down the long legs. He licked the inside of a muscular thigh, tracing a path of fire down Buck's leg. Then he began stroking the other leg with one hand. Buck whimpered and swayed a bit on his feet.
"I think they're off now, Chris," Buck moaned as Chris nipped lightly at one hip. The gunslinger's hand brushed teasingly across his cock and Buck reached down to grasp a handful of short, blond hair. "I'm beginnin' to think this ain't entirely fair," he gasped out.
"Is that a complaint?" Chris stopped what he was doing and rose from his knees, to stand facing the other man.
"You know it ain't," Buck snapped, irked that Chris had stopped touching him.
"Well then..." Chris brought his hand up to run it lightly over the other man's shoulder and down his back. His back was slick and warm and this time there was no shirt in the way.
"I ain't gonna be the only one with no pants on, Chris." Buck arched his back, trying to get away from the teasing touch so he could think clear.
"Demanding, aren't you?" Chris smiled slowly and began unbuttoning his tight black pants, watching Buck watch him. He stepped out of the pants and left them in a puddle on the floor.
"Can be," Buck replied shortly, already reaching out to pull the gunslinger against him. This feeling of wanting to just touch Chris plain and simple was a lot stronger than the desire to punish Chris had been that first night. Buck found it a bit frightening. And he suspected Chris was now learning the same thing. He may have started out wanting to get a little bit of his own back with Buck, but it was more about just plain old wanting now. But neither wanted to be the first to admit it and so their silent battle of wills continued as he began trailing soft kisses down the side of Chris's neck. He ran his hand down Chris's back, running a questing finger down the cleft between his cheeks. Chris thrust against him, a moan escaping and then he pushed away, panting slightly.
Buck reached out and pulled the gunslinger close again. He bent his head to suck lightly at the gunslinger's nipples, while Chris ran his long fingers through Buck's hair and down his back. When Chris was gasping and moaning and writhing against him, Buck found himself wanting to hear the gunslinger say his name again. Like he had that first night. He redoubled his efforts, running his hands down Chris's sides as he dropped to his knees.
"Say my name, Chris," Buck commanded. licking along the underside of Chris's cock. Chris shuddered.
"Would that be 'demanding sonofabitch' or 'conceited bastard'?" Chris gasped.
"Say it." Buck wrapped his lips around Chris's cock, scraping his teeth gently along the delicate flesh. Chris let out a strangled cry.
"Buck, you bastard," he grated out.
Buck sucked and nibbled teasingly all along the hard length, while Chris alternately cursed and moaned. Finally the gunslinger had had enough. He pulled away from Buck and stood there for a moment, breathing hard, while Buck continued kneeling on the floor, watching him.
"Fair's fair, Buck," Chris said softly, tugging the other man to his feet and pushing him back til his legs and hips rested against the table.
Chris kneaded the insides of Buck's thighs with warm hands while his tongue traced circles around the head of his cock, before engulfing it completely. Chris's mouth was unbelievably hot and Buck was suddenly very glad he was leaning against the table. He would've hated to embarrass himself by falling down because his legs were too weak to hold him.
"Chris?" he gasped, when the gunslinger showed no signs of ever ending this sweet torment.
The gunslinger didn't answer, nor did he stop.
"Chris," Buck tried again. "I'm offerin'."
The gunslinger's hands and mouth stilled and he rose slowly to his feet.
"You sure?" He asked, voice husky.
Buck nodded wordlessly, and Chris walked rather unsteadily over to the door where he picked up the saddlebag he'd dropped there earlier. He rummaged through it quickly and found a small bottle of saddle oil that he carried back over to the table where Buck was still waiting, leaning bonelessly against the edge.
Chris watched as Buck rolled over, leaning his upper body across the table. Chris flexed his fingers, trying to still their sudden shakiness. What the hell were they doing? But that thought was lost as he looked again at Buck. Chris wanted this. Buck wanted this. Who the hell cared why that was so? Chris coated his fingers with the oil and began spreading it over the length of his cock. He'd be as gentle as he knew how, but he wanted Buck bad. And he was half afraid they'd both change their minds if he waited any longer.
Buck hunched his back, stifling a gasp of pain as Chris entered him, but the pain was soon lost in a wash of pleasure. There no more words between the two men as they rocked back and forth in unison. Then finally, it was over, and they lay gasping and shuddering together on the table, bodies slick with sweat and seed.
Chris turned his head slightly after he'd regained his breath, and looked at Buck. Now what? He had no idea what to say. Didn't have any idea what he wanted to say.
Buck just lay there on the table, still breathing heavily. He stared back at Chris, the same look of confusion the gunslinger felt, mirrored in his eyes.
"So..." Chris began, when the silence dragged on.
"Yeah." Buck turned his head to look away from the gunslinger.
"You uh... you ok?" Chris asked, feeling ten kinds of a fool.
"Other than feelin' like I got rode hard and put away wet, you mean?" Buck glanced at Chris, his smile rueful, and the beginnings of a familiar twinkle in his blue eyes.
Chris got up from the table and walked over to the small nightstand next to the bed. He picked up the pitcher on the nightstand and poured a bit of water onto a small cloth he removed from the drawer. "Here." He walked back and held out the small, wet cloth towards Buck. His own smile was a bit sheepish.
"Thanks, pard." Buck took the offering and sat up.
"So you think Ez has a chance of winnin' against those city slicker fellas from St. Louis? They looked like they might give him a run for his money at the poker tables," Buck asked, as he began dabbing at his legs with the damp cloth.
"I reckon we should probably be there to make sure Ezra emerges intact. He does seem to have a way of finding trouble," Chris said dryly.
The two men finished getting dressed, arguing amiably about next week's big race and who stood the better chance of winning. Things might never be quite the same between them again, but then, the way life used to be wasn't always the answer.
THE END
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