ATF Universe
"Tanner? Fancy meeting you here." Rory Selkirk slid onto the vacant barstool next to Vin with a delighted smile. He swept dark eyes appreciatively up and down the sharpshooter's lean form. Vin looked even better than he had three months ago - the last time Rory had seen him."Ror'." Vin's answering smile was warm. Perhaps a shade warmer than it ought to have been - than Chris would've liked - but Rory looked damn good. Always had. Ror' knew it, too. But for the most part he didn't let it go to his head. And Chris wasn't here, anyway. He was out of town at some bigwig ATF seminar thing.
"Married life must agree with you, Tanner. You're looking good." Rory leaned closer to Vin, his voice a near whisper. "You been behaving as good as you look?"
"Rory." Vin shook his head, partly in warning and partly in amusement. The other man had always managed to amuse him even while he exasperated the hell out of him.
"I know. I know." Rory retreated, laughing, his hands held out in surrender. "I'm sorry. It's just that I expected that Chris guy to have driven you crazy by now. And this monogamy thing. I just don't get it."
"Yeah, well. It's important to Chris." Vin shrugged his shoulders. "And I..."
"Love him." Rory finished, shaking his head and shooting Vin a teasing smile, the kind that brought his dimples into play.
Vin smiled in return, but didn't say anything. He just held up his empty mug and nodded his head in the direction of the bartender.
"What's your poison tonight, Ror'?" Vin asked, turning to look at the other man, as the bartender came over in response to the sharpshooter's nod.
"Hasn't changed in ten years, Tanner."
"One beer and one kamikaze." Vin told the bartender, ignoring her overly friendly smile. She couldn't hold a candle to Chris in the looks department. Or Rory. Vin couldn't quite squelch that thought. Well, I ain't dead. Don't hurt to look. That was reasonable enough to soothe his conscience, even if it wasn't quite the whole truth. Damn, Rory looks good. I'd forgotten how good. He don't look nothin' like Chris though. Except maybe for...
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Rory asked, interrupting Vin's train of thought. He eyed the sharpshooter curiously. "Where's Chris?"
"He's out of town on business. I taught a late class tonight at the Y. Thought while I was in the neighborhood I'd drop by, maybe have a few drinks..."
"Maybe remember what it felt like to be free for a few hours?" Rory asked softly, brown eyes staring intently at the sharpshooter.
"I reckon." Vin admitted, equally softly. He averted his gaze and took a nervous drink from the beer the bartender had just set in front of him. He loved Chris. He wasn't gonna do anything. It was just that... Awww hell. He was just gonna have a few drinks, hang out with an old friend, shoot the shit some. Just like he'd told Rory. Where was the harm in that? Even married folk did stuff like that sometimes, right? Had boy's night out and all that shit.
"Well then, Tanner. Let's make sure you enjoy your freedom." Rory waved a hand towards the back of the bar where a couple of pool tables vied for position with an ancient foozball table and a dartboard that had seen better days, but was still good for a game or two. "Loser buys the drinks."
"I hope you brought a lot of cash then, pard. Cause I don't think this place takes credit and I've got a me powerful thirst." Vin slid off the barstool and followed Rory, who snorted in reply.
"Right, Tanner. Keep on dreaming."
+ + + + + + +
"Tole ya. Always had better aim than you." The words were definitely slurred, several hours of fairly steady drinking had taken their toll, but the sharpshooter was still light enough on his feet as the two men made their way outside to wait for the taxi.
"Yeah, but I was always faster." Rory wasn't slurring his words, but he was not quite steady on his feet. He smiled smugly, shooting a glance at the sharpshooter who rolled his eyes in response.
"We probably shouldn't have had those last drinks, huh?" Vin carefully enunciated each word. There. He wasn't stinking drunk. He could still talk. Hell, who was he kidding? He was drunker than the proverbial skunk and feelin' no pain.
"You're just saying that cause you had to buy 'em."
"That's only cause I felt sorry for ya and let ya win that game."
"Just shut up and get into the taxi."
+ + + + + + +
"You can crash at my place, you know. Your virtue is safe with me. I think I'm too drunk to be a threat." Rory opened the door of the taxi, looking back at Vin.
The sharpshooter hesitated. It was a long ride back to his apartment. What would it hurt if he stayed the night? Like Rory had said, they were too drunk to do anything even if they'd wanted to, right? Vin ignored the voice that whispered he'd been a whole lot drunker than this before and he'd still managed to do plenty. And so had Rory.
"Ok. Thanks." Vin got out of the taxi and followed Rory into the house.
"Where's Phillip?" Vin asked as they half fell, half sat, on the couch.
"Moved out a couple of months ago."
"Oh. Sorry to hear that." Vin swallowed, the knowledge that he and Rory were alone together suddenly hitting him like a ton of bricks. He'd counted on Phillip, or at least the aura of his presence, to be here. To act as a sort of check on things. To remind Vin that he had Chris just like Rory and Phillip had each other. Only Rory and Phillip didn't just fuck each other, they fucked other people too, while Chris only fucked him and he... shit his head hurt tryin' to sort out these damn thoughts.
"It's ok." Rory was saying. "We still see each other once in a while. Living together just wasn't working."
"Where do you keep your extra blankets, Ror'? Same place?" Vin figured the sooner he passed out, the better. Cause being drunk always made him feel horny and dammit, Chris was five hundred miles away. And Rory was right here.
"I'll get 'em." Rory lurched to his feet and tried to ease past Vin's outstretched legs. All 6'2'' of him promptly landed across Vin's lap and it was hard to say who was more surprised.
"I..."
"Shut up, Ror'." Vin finally gave in to the urges that had plagued him all night and bent his head to kiss the other man.
Rory went completely still for a second before relaxing and snaking an arm around Vin's neck to pull him closer.
Chris. I'm sorry, cowboy. This don't mean nothin'. It won't change how I feel. Vin only had time for a brief feeling of regret before Rory's talented fingers and hands worked their magic and he didn't feel anything but the heat of the moment and the pleasure it brought.
+ + + + + + +
"Here's the report, Mr. Larabee. If there's anything else, you know how to contact me." The cool, professional tone of the slender grey haired man gave no indication as to the contents of the report he'd just handed over to Chris.
"Thank you." Chris said automatically, his fingers clutching the sheaf of papers so tightly that the knuckles showed white. He turned and made his way outside to the parking lot, still undecided as to what he was going to do with the report he held so tightly.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." Chris swore aloud as he unlocked the door of his truck and yanked it open. He slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door. Then he sat staring down at the plain black cover of the folder containing the record of all Vin Tanner's movements during the time Chris had been away.
I don't need to do this. I'm happy. Vin's happy. This is just going to fuck everything up no matter what it says. Chris pounded his fist on the dash in frustration. When was he going to fucking learn? Why the hell couldn't he just forget about the past? The report was most likely going to be nothing more than a series of "The subject had cold pizza for breakfast, spent way too much time at the shooting range and not enough time on paperwork while at the office, then went home and had more cold pizza for dinner and fell asleep during a rerun of Letterman."
He began to lower the folder, to place it on the seat beside him, unread. Then he stopped, a vision of Vin and Rory together flashing briefly in his mind. He remembered exactly what Rory had looked like, even though he'd only met the bastard that one time, over three months ago. Of course he remembered. So that on cold, dark nights, when he couldn't sleep, he could stare down at the sharpshooter and picture a sleek dark head next to Vin on the pillow. Could picture Vin writhing beneath the tanned young body, hair tangled and blue eyes heavy with desire. And yes. He knew he was a sick fucking bastard for torturing himself like that. But Vin had wanted Rory, had fucked Rory, and no matter what the sharpshooter said, Chris couldn't quite believe that he still didn't want to. Dammit. If he had any sense he'd toss this report in the nearest dumpster and go home and call Vin. Maybe if he fucked Vin hard enough and long enough, he could forget all this other shit. Wasn't ignorance supposed to be bliss?
Ignorance may have been bliss for most, but Chris Larabee just wasn't constructed that way. For better or for worse, he had to know. Had to know he could trust Vin. He knew he wasn't the easiest person to love. God knew Sarah and Vin were both saints for putting up with him at all. But he had to know that Vin would be able to handle things - handle him. Otherwise what the hell were they doing?
Slowly he opened the folder in his hands. He took a deep breath and began reading. He didn't know at what point his lip began to bleed where he'd bitten it or at what point the sick feeling in his stomach grew so bad that it caused him to double over in pain. Maybe it was when he read that Vin had gotten out of the taxi. Or maybe it was when he'd turned the page and saw a picture of the two of them - Vin and Rory -looking just like he'd imagined.
Chris sat there for a long time after he'd finished the report, staring at nothing and waiting for the sick feeling in his gut to subside. His lip throbbed, but he hardly noticed the pain. Finally, he reached under the seat and pulled out his briefcase. Opening it, he carefully placed the report inside and then just as carefully, he closed the lid and placed it back under the seat. Then he turned the key in the ignition and drove slowly out of the parking lot. He didn't know what he was going to do, but it was a long commute back to his ranch from downtown Denver. Plenty of time to think. And hurt. And wonder why the hell Vin had done it. And why the hell he still loved the bastard, why he still wanted him, even after reading the goddamned report. Yeah, plenty of time. Too much fucking time, if you asked him.
Comments to: mismiz@alltel.net