Through the Hourglass

by Debbi K.

Notes: This is a crossover fic between two M7 universes, the OW and the Dungeons and Dragons universe created in the The Magnificent Quest

Thanks: to Nettie Roe for creating the Dungeons and Dragons universe and allowing me to play in it, and for suggesting the idea for this story.

Vin had known that the price of this venture might be his life, and now payment was due. He'd gone into the Forest of Smoke to seek out the special forces of Duke Cardimal, an elite unit under the command of the Wizard Elachio, whose purpose was singular: The extermination of the Elven race. Testimony was paid to the ruthlessness of the evil Wizard by the many bones Vin had seen scattered throughout the forest. Only a trained eye could tell the bones of an elf from those of a human, but the tattered remains of clothing and armor left no doubt that the skeletons were not those of men, but of slaughtered elves, some women and children.

Most had died swift and sudden deaths, and although Vin suspected that was in the interest of efficiency rather than mercy, he planned to accord Elachio a similar departure.

Before he had left the Village of the Four Corners, his friends had urged him to abandon this dangerous quest, each of them knowing in their heart that he could not.

"If not me, then who?" he had told Chris. "I know the way Elachio's army fights, and I have no reason to fear the Elven troops in the Forest. Elachio must be stopped, and if anyone can find him, it's me."

Chris had reluctantly agreed he was right, and as Vindarian had said good-bye to his friends, each of them appeared to be memorizing his face as if it were the last they might see of it.

Josiah had placed a heavy circlet of silver on his left wrist that for one cycle of the moon would deflect the spells and magic of another wizard. On his right was placed a circlet of gold that would allow him to change his physical form for brief periods of time. "Mind that it not be for too long," Josiah had warned, "for the longer the spell is upon you, the dimmer will become your memory of your true self."

Nathan had given him 4 knives with blades impregnated with the nectar of the death blossom.

Ezra had given him an enchanted reed harp, which he didn't know how to play. Ezra had told him he needed learn but one 7-note tune, and had taught him at what spots to blow and suck air through the harp in order to elicit that particular melody. While the harp would make music in the hands of a trained minstrel, that was not its true purpose. "The melody I have taught you, played on this harp, will lead us to you, wherever you may be," Ezra had explained.

Buck and JD had given him a fine leather coat that would keep out wind and rain and cold.

The gift Chris had given him was one that could only be carried in his heart. The warrior had embraced him and told him "Wherever you go, know that my spirit follows you."

They were all good friends, and he hoped to return to them.

The Forest of Smoke

His cunning, stealth and skill with a bow had enabled him to corner the wizard, dispatching of his guards. His arrows had been useless against Elachio himself, as Vin had expected they might be, but now, unguarded and alone, Elachio was vulnerable to the other weapons in Vin's arsenal: the daggers which Nathan had given him. He'd only need to get close enough to Elachio to pierce his flesh, just once.

Elachio had nowhere to run. Vin had laid a simple snare trap and he'd walked right into it. All that remained was to dispatch him to the Pits before he could use his magic to protect himself. He could not use it against Vin, for Vin still wore the bracelet with the spell of protection given him by Josiah, a Wizard far stronger than Elachio. Plus, he was half elf, which gave him certain other protections against human wizards.

He wondered, then, why Elachio was laughing at him. Did he value his own life as little as he did that of the hundreds of Elves he had killed?

"You think you have defeated me, elf," Elachio spoke with scorn. "But I have one weapon remaining..."

As if by magic, a long, thin instrument appeared in his hand. It looked like nothing more than a simple spyglass, yet he handled it as though it were an enchanted broadsword.

Vin didn't know why, and that made him uneasy.

Elachio continued to mock him. "Looks ordinary enough, does it not?" Holding it to his eye, he said, "It even works.... but the lens is no mere piece of glass, as you will soon see.... Goodbye, elf..." he laughed.

And then he began to fade away right before Vin's eyes. In a horrifying instant, Vin realized the spyglass lens was a teleportation stone and that Elachio was slipping from his grasp.

"NO!" He lunged at the wizard's evaporating form in a futile attempt to anchor him to the spot.

What happened next was beyond explanation. Vin's senses were assaulted with a flash of blinding blue light and a sound that seemed to be the voice of every living thing calling out at once. His skin felt as though he were covered in ants. He didn't know how long it lasted. He was terrified, but he couldn't scream. Or maybe he did and just couldn't hear himself.

Then, suddenly, all was quiet.

Vin was aware he was lying face-down on the earth, but it was not the cool, fragrant earth of the forest. It was dry as ash and filled his nose with dust, and so hot he struggled to lift his head lest it burn his face. He rolled over and had to shield his eyes against the sun, its heat and brightness intensified to a level approaching pain now that the trees were gone.

The trees were gone.

And Beyond...

The entire forest was gone.

Vin sat up and looked around him. Before him lay a vast expanse of... nothing. Earth that was parched and barren save for small scattered plants the names of which he did not know.

Where the Pits was he?

Or maybe this was the Pits, or one of them. Had Elachio killed him?

His answer to that was a fierce blow to the back of his neck. "You FOOL!" Elachio shouted, grabbing Vindarian's hair viciously. "Do you know what you've done?"

Vin reached for the poison knives, but he couldn't kill the Wizard, not until he knew what had happened. Calling upon his wits and soldier's training, he grabbed Elachio's arm and threw him over his shoulder. Vin was on his feet in an instant, and planted a booted foot on Elachio's chest. He drew his poison dagger. "Where are we?" he demanded.

Elachio's eyes, dark with hate, mirrored the venom in his voice. "You tell me. Your elfin powers disrupted the spell. I don't know this place."

Vin looked around at the nothing that surrounded them. "Take us back!" he hissed.

Elachio looked at him smugly. "I can do that easily," he lifted the spyglass, "but why should I? What awaits me back there? Lord Cardimal will show me no quarter, having failed him."

The Wizard stood and inhaled deeply of the hot, arid air around them. "No, I believe I will stay here for a turn or two." He snatched the spyglass from Vin's sight. "And so will you." He turned to leave, knowing Vin would not kill him. Not now.

Vin could not let the wizard get away, but he didn't know how to stop him without killing him. He had nothing with which to bind him in order to keep him captive. It had taken him almost a full cycle to find Elachio, so the protection afforded by the bracelet Josiah had given him was almost exhausted. He had only one chance, and that was to get the spyglass. If he possessed it, the wizard could not leave this place without him. He looked around him and spotted a rock the size of his fist. He picked it up and with the accuracy of the marksman he was, he hurled it directly at the base of Elachio's skull. The wizard dropped in his tracks.

Vin rolled him over and grabbed the spyglass. Then, he ran.

Elachio struggled to his feet, dazed, and knew he could not catch the elf. He summoned what strength he had and cast a curse upon his fleeing enemy. That despicable elf would not find his way back without him, and when he found him again, he'd see to it that he paid dearly for this.

Southwestern New Mexico Territory 1876

Chris Larabee's first thought was that he didn't have time for this shit. Then, he thought about that hateful night six months before when his life had come apart so that now, time was his enemy. He'd been following a shallow creek, and he didn't care if the men saw him or not. He didn't care if they did anything about him seeing them. Chris Larabee just plain didn't give a damn about anything. Not any more.

Distracted by what they were doing, the six men at the stream hadn't noticed him or the two green horses he lead behind him, on their way to be sold at an auction in Ridge City. The were the last of the stock Chris owned. Once they were gone, that life would be left behind him forever.

The men were up to no good, that was plain to see, but for all Chris knew, the man they had pinned to the ground was someone even worse.

Or he wasn't.

Chris watched from behind the cover of a rock as the gang muttered oaths and curses in Spanish. He caught a word now and then, 'demonio,' 'malo,' 'hijo del Diablo,' 'duende' Some he understood, some he didn't. The men were Mexicans, and they didn't look like outlaws. They didn't wear expensive guns and were dressed more like cowboys. The man they held captive was another story. He wore a hide coat, like a mountain man or hunter might wear. His hair was long, but it was brown, and his skin too pale to be an Indian.

He watched with a fatalist curiosity as they dragged the man to the stream and then took turns submerging his head in the water. He fought, but Chris could see he was not a large man, maybe possibly just a boy, and he was no match for six. Each time he came up, he gasped more desperately for air, and each time they re-submerged him even longer. It wasn't long before he quit struggling and just tried to breathe.

Chris tried to think through what his next act should be, but he'd been drinking steadily all morning. Hell, he'd been drinking steadily for six months, and he was not exactly a quick study, not any more.

The decision became obvious when one of the men pulled a knife and held it up alongside the long-haired man's head. Chris heard the words "pelo" and "oreja" both of which he knew.

They were going to take his scalp and ears for a trophy, and if he was lucky, he'd die from shock and loss of blood. If he wasn't lucky, his peeled head would become infested with maggots that would eat his face while he was still breathing..

He drew his gun and walked towards them. "Move away from him." He said it English and let his gun translate.

The six men hadn't heard him approach. Three of them held up their hands in surrender. Two others, the ones who were holding the captive, followed suit and the man dropped into the stream. He managed to turn his face out of the water, but other than that instinctive move, he lay still on the stream bed as the running water soaked him completely.

The sixth man went for his gun, and Chris shot it out of his hand. Whiskey had never spoiled his aim. "Got a bullet in here for each of you," he said. He wasn't afraid of them. If they killed him, so what?

None of them moved. He was then certain he was right about them not being pros. They knew they were outclassed. He motioned to their horses. "Get outa here."

One of them began to point to the man in the stream. A string of near-hysterical Spanish poured from his lips. Again, Chris picked up the words "diablo" and "malo." Did they think the man was some sort of demon?

Chris wasn't afraid of demons. He knew too many of them personally.

The yapping was making his head hurt.

He fired a shot at the chatterbox's feet. "GO!" he shouted, and then repeated the command in Spanish.

One of the men crossed himself as he and his compadres made a hasty retreat. Chris didn't think they'd come back, but he didn't care if they did.

He reached down and pulled the man out of the water. The heavy leather coat he wore seemed to double his weight now that it was soaking wet, and Chris was a bit less than rock steady on his feet. Dragging him to the edge of the stream took considerable effort, and once there, he dropped him in the sand and went to secure the horses.

He returned, whiskey bottle in hand, to discover that the man hadn't moved. Chris could see he was young, but, not a boy. He wasn't dead, his eyes were open and he blinked a couple of times. "You just gonna lie there?" Chris asked him. "You best get out of those wet clothes." This time of year, was still early enough in the morning that there was a chill to the desert air.

The young man still didn't move, and Chris was distantly annoyed thinking that maybe he was hurt. He didn't want the responsibility of looking out for him. He didn't want any responsibilities. He'd had enough of those, and he'd failed to live up to the two most important ones.

Shit.

He offered the young man the whiskey. He took it and drank, making a face, but then taking two more healthy gulps before Chris snatched the bottle back from him.

He gathered some wood and got a fire and some coffee going and as he did, the young man struggled slowly to a sitting position. He was soaked through and through and didn't have anything else with him except what he was wearing. He wrapped his arms around his knees and shivered.

Chris didn't want this to be his problem. Wasn't going to let it be his problem. Until the strange young man looked up at him with piercing deep blue eyes, the color of the mountains when seen from a distance. There was a profound sadness in those eyes. This young man was lost and alone, more alone, perhaps, than was Chris.

Chris pulled his bedroll from the back of his horse and tossed it to him. "Get out of those wet clothes," he said.

The young man spoke, but Chris didn't know what he said. It wasn't English for certain, and it didn't sound like Spanish or any Indian tongue he'd ever heard. "Damn foreigners," he muttered.

The young man took offense, if not to his words, then to his tone of voice.

Chris didn't give a damn, or so he told himself. The smaller man was wracked by chills and didn't seem eager to strip out of his wet things. Maybe those guys had really hurt him. Or maybe he was ill, or simple-minded. Chris didn't care. Not my problem.

Stranger in a Strange Land

The man had given him a blanket and Vin had hardly noticed. He looked so much like... someone he never wanted to forget, but had. That had been Elachio's doing, he suspected. He remembered Elachio, though. The wizard had seen to that. Elachio had caught up with him a few days after they had parted. By then, the spell on the silver bracelet had worn off. Vin had been able to elude capture, and still had the spy glass, but the wizard had cast a spell on him that had taken away the memories most dear to him - those of anyone he had loved or who had loved him. Vin figured that to Elachio's way of thinking, that would make Vin less determined to return, but he could only take the images from his mind, not from his heart. Vin knew he'd left something - someone - he cherished above all else behind. He still remembered, too, that Elachio wanted the spyglass, enough to kill in order to get it back, and so Vin had decided he would die before he'd give it up. Why it was worth his life, he couldn't remember, but he trusted his instincts to know that was true.

This man who watched him now, though, made his heart ache with longing. He reminded him of someone, in another place and time. Someone with whom he had shared much. Danger, laughter, fear, joy. Love.

He understood that he was to remove his wet clothes, but his body wouldn't respond. He didn't remember the last time he'd had food. He'd been living on rabbits and small birds, the only game he could find in this barren land. He'd killed a fanged serpent and had eaten that just before the bandits had set upon him and taken him captive, but he couldn't remember if that had been three or four days past. He didn't know why they had done to him what they had. He'd been to their village and had seen those same men, but their paths had not crossed until they had dragged him from a sound sleep and thrown him into a dungeon before finally deciding to drown him. They had seemed upset that he was an elf. It was a reaction he'd encountered before, because many humans had prejudices towards his kind. From their behavior, though, he didn't think they'd ever even seen an elf. They were afraid of him, and that was why they had tried to kill him.

He reached behind his left ear. One of them had nicked him with a knife and there was a small cut there, nothing serious, but there was blood on his fingers when he pulled them away.

The man was still looking at him. His face was familiar, but his expression was unreadable. Vin didn't think the man meant him harm, but he'd had too much of that potent ale in his bottle, and he didn't look too friendly, either.

Chris noticed the blood on the young man's fingers, but there wasn't a lot of it. Still, they might have hit him a good one on the head and left him dazed.

As he looked into those blue eyes, he felt something inside him yield to emotions he thought were dead and buried with Sarah and Adam.

He reached for the sleeve of the young man's coat and tugged on it. "Let's get this off," he said softly.

The young man shrugged out of the heavy leather, but was reluctant to have it taken from him. Chris didn't force the issue but tried to suggest using gestures that he at least spread it out on the ground so it could dry.

The clothes worn by the young man were odd - leather breeches, and a red shirt without buttons or collar that was tied at the waist with a leather belt. He was much more slight of build than he had appeared with the coat on, and on each bony wrist he wore a bracelet, one of gold, one of silver. On his feet were boots that looked more like moccasins, but they were not like any Chris had ever seen. He was extremely dirty, but he had no beard to speak of and Chris thought it strange he had bothered to shave and not bathe. "Damn foreigners," he repeated his earlier oath.

Chris tried not to watch him as he peeled off the rest of his clothes. Normally that would have taken no effort, so he didn't know why his eyes were drawn in the young man's direction. Maybe it was the way he moved. He looked like a sculpture come to life, and Chris was fascinated by the perfection of the lean lines of his arms and legs and the compact muscles of his torso. Maybe he'd just had too damned much whiskey to be thinking what he was thinking.

He was almost disappointed when the young man wrapped one of the blankets around himself and sat cross-legged on the other one.

"You hungry?" he asked him.

The young man cocked his head to one side. He didn't understand the question, but there was a keenness in his gaze that told Chris it wasn't because he was slow-witted. Chris took some hard tack from his saddle bags and handed him a piece. The young man promptly wolfed down the tasteless staple like he was starving.

He spoke again, this time, Chris surmised, they were words of gratitude, but Chris didn't know them, either.

Chris squatted down beside the young man and patted his own chest. "Chris," he said, and then touched the stranger on the chest. He repeated it again, three times, but couldn't get through that he wanted a name.

"I reckon I'll just call you 'pard'," he grunted finally.

"Pard," the young man repeated, and then smiled.

Chris felt his breath catch in his throat, suddenly captivated by that smile. The blue eyes, still somehow sad and lost, seemed to shine with a warmth that came from deep inside when the stranger smiled. It was... enchanting. That was the only word for it.

What was he thinking?...

He went back to the fire and those eyes stayed on him while he fixed some coffee and bacon and opened up a can of beans. When they were ready, he gave the young stranger a plate and he eagerly shoved that into his face as well.

The blanket covering him slipped off his shoulders as he ate, draping itself across his thighs. Chris followed the thin line of hair that began beneath his navel and ended in a small thatch between his legs. Then he was horrified to realize that not only was he wondering what was under the blanket, but that he wanted to see it.

Luckily, the young man was too busy with his food to notice that Chris had been... looking at him.

Chris wanted to throw up. This wasn't natural, none of it.

Ablution

Vin awoke from the first restful sleep he'd had in days. He didn't even remember dozing off, his naked body still wrapped between the two soft blankets the stranger had given him. He was aware that the other man was staring at him, probably noticing how dirty he was. He probably smelled as bad as he looked. There was no water to be wasted on bathing in this land, but the sun had grown blazing hot again as he'd slept, and the stream looked fresh and inviting, now that he wasn't being forced to drink it.

He stretched, and then carefully levered himself to his feet, letting the blanket drop to the ground. He knew the other man watched him, but he didn't mind. He sensed that there was no danger.

He felt guilty that he had not revealed his name to this man when he'd been asked, but it was a chance he couldn't take. Elachio had found him once, and the fewer who knew him, the better. Still, he enjoyed the company of this strange, gruff man. Why, he didn't know.

He took a tentative step into the water. It was bracingly cold, but not unpleasant. He lowered himself to his knees and then sat back on his heels. The stream was so shallow that in that position the water barely covered his lower body, but it was enough. He begin to scrub the grime and sweat from his skin as best he could without a bathing root.

Chris was holding his breath again, at the sight of that beautiful body glistening with water. He had a half-used bar of soap in his saddle bag and swallowing the self-loathing that rose within him, he removed it. He held it up for the young man to see. "Soap?" he said, hoping he would understand.

To Chris's surprise, he not only didn't understand the word, he didn't even seem to understand what the soap was. Chris handed it to him and it slipped right out of his wet hands. The young man tried to pick it up, but couldn't get a grip on it. Chris laughed at his puzzled expression.

Knowing nothing good was going to come of it, Chris stood and doffed his own clothes. He entered the stream and picked up the soap. The young man looked on attentively as he showed him what to do with it.

He learned quickly and Chris watched as he soaped himself down. As he was rinsing off his long hair, Chris noticed him wince when he touched the spot behind his hear that had been bleeding before.

"You okay there, Pard?" he asked him. And then, tentatively, he reached out and touched his hair, thick and soft as down. He leaned in closer to inspect the injury and gently brushed a strand of hair away from the other man's ear.

He froze. "Wha..."

Vin turned to Chris, saw the shocked expression on his face. Vin supposed he didn't like elves, either, but he didn't want to fight him and hoped he wouldn't have to.

He self-consciously tugged his wet hair back down over his ear and turned his eyes downward.

"What are you..." Chris gasped, remembering the words the Mexicans had used.

The stranger seemed ashamed, subdued somehow, but even though Chris knew this was no demon from hell, he wasn't a man, either. He reached out again and the stranger jerked back, as if afraid he was about to be hit.

Chris's heart pounded in his chest, but curiosity won out over fear. "I ain't gonna hurt you..." he said. He stroked the strand of hair back, almost afraid he wouldn't see what he'd thought he'd seen before.

But there it was. That strange little ear that came to a point at the tip, like a cat... only not. It looked like a normal ear, except for the shape. There was a small gold ring through the edge of it, near the top.

Those blue eyes looked at him, fearful yet complacent as his fingers traced the graceful curve from tip to lobe.

Something was happening. Chris didn't know what. He could feel himself falling deeper and deeper under this... creature's... spell as he stared into those blue eyes. His fingers tingled as he touched that strange ear and brushed back that soft hair. He should have felt repulsed, or frightened, but instead, he was... enchanted.

That word again. The only one that fit.

A quickening in his crotch let him know he was also aroused. He didn't care. Why should he care about anything except the here and now? His past was dead and he probably had no future.

And God help him, he was jolted by the sudden awareness that he wanted this man... whatever he was....

Together

Vin closed his eyes and savored the warmth of the calloused fingers that caressed him. How long had it been since anyone had touched him in that way? He shivered with a sudden desire for something that was no longer part of his life.

He felt a hand on his chin, turning his face. He opened his eyes then. "Chris..." The other man's name rolled off his tongue as naturally as if he'd spoken it a hundred times before.

Strong hands urged him to his feet and then they stood face to face, green eyes staring into his own.

He's beautiful. The thought came to Chris Larabee unbidden and unashamed. He raked his thumb over the delicate features, the small nose, the slightly parted lips. He wanted to kiss those lips, and so, he did. To hell with whether it was right or wrong.

Vin wasn't expecting the kiss, but he let himself fall into it. It had been so long... not only his body craved a union with another, his spirit did, as well. Anything to not feel so alone and so... empty. He felt himself harden with desire and arousal and wondered if the other man had noticed.

His question was answered when the kiss was broken and he felt his hardness brush against the other man's stiffened flesh.

Chris looked down at the thick shaft between the creature's legs. Down there, he almost looked like a man, save for triangle of pubic hair, which was fine and silky, not coarse as it was on most men - hell, on most women, too. It was, though, somehow perfect, like the rest of him. Now that he was clean, Chris could see his skin would have been flawless were it not for the bruises left from his earlier beating. He had a scar on the left side of his chest, but injuries he may have suffered in other places had not left their mark. His hair shimmered with golds, and reds and deep rich browns, and those eyes were so very, very blue....

Those ears, though.... Those ears were not human. They made him look like... an elf? Was that what he was? Had this creature cast some sort of magical spell on him, like in a fairy tale?

Chris's instinct was to pull away, but he could not. He had never taken a man, or been taken by one, but his sex throbbed with need, and he knew he was going to yield to the unbidden desire to have this strange and beautiful creature.

Vin knew it too. He looked into Chris's eyes and felt the dull throb deep and low in his belly that would soon become an urgent and demanding need for the release a coupling would bring.

The two men stared into each other's eyes and reached a silent, mutual agreement.

Chris gently took the younger man's arm and led him to the blankets still spread out on the shore and pulled him down on top of him. As they kissed again, their hips ground against each others. Chris could feel that soft thatch of pubic hair brushing against him and the sensation was exquisite.

He entangled his fingers in the long, dark curls and drew those soft lips to his own, moving along the line of the hairless jaw to one of those wonderfully enticing ears. His groin quickened as he ran his tongue over the silky skin, pulling the tip into his mouth and suckling it. He felt the young man shudder, a soft moan escaping him as Chris flicked his tongue over the little nub of flesh.

The tips of their shafts lubricated one another with seeping juices as they thrust against each other. Chris knew he should have been repulsed, but instead a warm tingle spread from his balls through his belly and down the inside of his thighs and he was on the verge of spurting his juices. Not ready for this to be done with, he stopped moving and clamped his hands on the hips of the young man above him so that he could no longer rub against him.

Vin uttered a distressed little cry when the friction against his aching hardness abruptly ceased. He was confused, at first, and then understood that there was to be more. He inhaled deeply and raised himself up on his hands and knees. The next move was up to his partner. Vin didn't know if the other man wanted to enter him or be entered by him. It didn't matter to him, so long as it happened.

Chris drew a deep breath at the site of that perfect naked body before him. He wanted to take his beautiful creature and take him hard and fast, but, he didn't want to hurt him. Even though he'd never done anything like this before, he wasn't dumb enough to just force himself inside. The breach would be to painful without something to ease the passage.

There was still grease in the pan near the fire from breakfast. He scooped some up with his fingers and used it to slicken his pulsing cock.

Taking another deep breath, he pushed himself up against the tender opening, commanding his body to go slowly and gently into the inviting depths. He was trying to be careful, so it was to his surprise when his partner thrust back against him, almost sucking him inside. Chris gasped as the tight heat enveloped him. He'd never, ever, felt anything like this, and his arousal peaked so quickly that he had to bite down on his lip before he shot his load.

Vin's body trembled with the wondrous sensation of being filled, being united with this man who reminded him so much of someone... somewhere... who even now held his heart even the memory of his name and face were gone. Later, he would again mourn the loss that Elachio had visited upon him, and would curse the evil wizard for taking those things from him, but for now, this was good. This was as it should be.

He reached for himself, intending to find relief from his own hand while the other man took from him whatever pleasure his body could give. But he felt strong hands come down over his, a muscled chest lay across his back, a soft voice whisper in his ear, "Not yet." Slender fingers intertwined with his own, and he writhed with pain and pleasure as the stranger Chris thrust into him while his own need went unmet.

Purposeful strokes preceded a series of forceful thrusts as he felt that long, thick length erupt inside him, lighting a fire inside his belly that came painfully short of the release he was now desperate for. His hands were still pinned, though, and his body's own insistent thrusts met only empty space

Gasping for breath, he felt himself rolled onto his back. He was aching and hard but he lay still, waiting.

Chris wanted to prolong this sweet torture. He knew his partner needed relief, but he was fascinated by his arousal; the eyes that looked at him with such want, the hardened pink nipples, the rippling of his belly as his body strained to empty itself of the seed that engorged the tender sac. Chris straddled his beauty... this being from a fairytale - and marveled at how the innocence of the elfin features - and he now knew that impossible as it seemed, an elf was what he was - contrasted with the raging desire betrayed by that perfect body.

Using one hand, he pinned the elf's hands above his head and let him watch, but not touch himself, while Chris stroked his own flesh to hardness once again. The elf squirmed and whimpered beneath him, but did not fight him, enjoying the agony of his prolonged arousal.

Finally, Chris scooped up more of the grease and with the lightest possible touch coated the hot, seeping bulb of his partner's cock. The elf gasped sharply as Chris guided his shaft inside him.

The sensation was new, somewhat painful, but the erotic intensity of it was wholly unexpected. Chris felt the friction against a certain spot inside him and his hips bucked almost involuntarily, causing the shaft inside him to rub repeatedly against that same spot. A short time later, he cried out as he began to peak a second time.

The beautiful body beneath him, unable to contain itself any longer, thrust up into him, impaling him hard, deeply and with excruciating ecstacy. He felt ravished, plundered, yet at the same time more complete than he had in far too long.

Chris lowered his body and hugged the elf close to him, trapping his cock between them as both of them went over the edge together.

Vin felt his seed gush from him in jolting spasms as his climax shattered every nerve in his body. Waves of pleasure crested one atop the other, which such intensity that Vin was aware of nothing else.

When both men were spent, Chris lay on top of him, their sweat intermingling as their breath returned to bodies that still quivered with the final throes of their passion.

Slowly their senses returned, and Chris slid off of him, then spooned behind him and folded his arms around him. It was something lovers would do, and although this man was not his lover, to Vin, it felt somehow right.

Chris buried his head in the elf's soft hair as he drew him close, inhaling his musky scent. His fingertips gently caressed the elfin ears, so delicate yet so feral. This has to be a dream, he was thinking. There are no elves.

Somehow, the fact that he embraced another man did not matter to Chris, not like it should have. Perhaps because deny it as he might, he knew deep down that this creature was not a man, but a magical being who for just the short time they would share would make Chris Larabee feel whole again.

Good-byes

Chris and his beautiful elf made love through the night, and slept late into the next day. Then, they bathed again in the stream, washing away all trace of what they had shared.

Vin's clothes had dried out, and Chris watched as he dressed until all that remained for him to put on was the leather coat. It seemed too hot a day for it, but the elf didn't seem to notice as he shrugged his slight shoulders into the heavy garment.

While Chris gathered up the remains of the camp, Vin admired the two horses he was taking to auction. Chris didn't expect to get much for them. One was a jughead and the other, a big black with a white blaze, was too spirited for his own good. He wasn't even greenbroke, and Chris knew he no longer had the enthusiasm to saddle break him.

Though the elf seemed taken with the animal, Chris felt a stab of anxiety when the young man jumped up on the horse's back - no saddle, no bridle... and no fear. Chris expected to see him on his butt in the dirt in the next instant, but it didn't happen. The black trotted serenely in a circle as the elf spoke to him in the strange tongue Chris did not understand and used the horse's mane to guide him. After a few minutes, he jumped down, and gave the horse a pat on the rump.

The elf spoke, and again, Chris didn't understand what he was trying to say until he pointed to the horse and then to the heavy silver band on his left wrist. He pulled the bracelet off and held it out and Chris understood he wanted to trade it for the horse. Chris took the object and examined it carefully. The workmanship was like nothing he'd ever seen. It wasn't Zuni, or Hopi or from any of the tribes in the area that worked with silver. It was thick and wide, and looked as though it were meant for a man to wear, although Chris had never seen men wearing jewelry like that before.

He looked at the elf, still wondering if he would wake up and discover this had all been a drunken dream, that the magical creature did not really exist.

Those fathomless eyes told him otherwise, still so sad, so incredibly lost. The young man, whoever and whatever he was, had nothing but the clothes he was wearing. Chris considered giving him the horse outright, but his instincts told him the strange being would not accept that. He pocketed the bracelet and indicated with a nod of his head that the young man had just bought himself a horse.

Vin held out his hand to Chris, but when Chris reached out in turn, instead of a normal handshake, the elf grasped Chris's forearm. Both men knew the time had come to part, and once again be on the run from whatever demons chased them both.

Four Corners, New Mexico Territory 1878

Vin saw the healer being dragged to his death, and it wasn't a thing he could stand and watch.

Buried somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind was a memory of being mistreated in the same manner, helpless to fight the inevitable and not understanding what he had done to provoke such wrath. Who had done it to him, or why, he didn't know, but it had happened, of that he was sure. The people in the street hated the healer because his skin was dark, and Vin, deep inside himself, knew what it was to be hated for what you were.

It wasn't that he had nothing to lose, because the truth was, he didn't know if he had anything to lose or not. He didn't remember. First Elachio had taken most of his memories from him, and then, in a cruel twist of fate, he'd lost many of those that remained.

All he knew now was that Elachio, who now went by a name more suited to this time and place where neither of them belonged, wanted what he had, and that no matter what, he must not give it to him.

After his near fatal encounter with the men who had tried to kill him, Vin had used the spell in the gold bracelet Josiah had given him to assume the appearance of a full-blooded human, a bit taller, a bit heavier than his elfin form, with rounded ears and an unaccustomed growth of beard.

It had not fooled Elachio, though, and the wizard had hunted him without respite, and when Vin had eluded him, the wizard had murdered an innocent man and pinned it on him. Vin had been imprisoned, and then, the bracelet was stolen from him. Without it, his memory of his true self had faded more and more each day. Now, he was certain of only two things; his name, Vindarian Tannerae, and the thought burned into his soul that Elachio must not get from him the one thing he wanted - the spyglass.

The harmonica he carried with him always was important too, somehow, but he couldn't remember why, only that it held a secret song, that, if he could only remember how it went... well, he didn't remember that, either.

The elf Vindarian was lost, perhaps forever. He was Vin Tanner, now, just as Elachio had become Eli Joe. A longing buried deep in Vin's heart called him "home," but he no longer knew where home was. Sometimes he wondered if he cared.

Whether he had nothing or everything to lose, he would help the man in the street, because whoever he was, it was what he was meant to do.

+ + + + + + +

Chris Larabee's unconcerned gaze came to rest upon the man on the opposite side of the street, and only a slight shift of the cheroot in his mouth betrayed his shock at seeing him. He looked different... older, maybe, but those blue eyes were still the same. Chris could still see the loss, the longing.

They'd met only that one time, and Chris had often wondered if the encounter hadn't just been a dream. He wondered that still as the man staring back at him seemed to know his thoughts, but didn't seem to recognize him.

He was imagining things. It was easy for Chris Larabee to accept that he was mad, because he didn't give a shit about sanity. Sanity meant reality, and reality hurt too much. He had long ago accepted that there had been no elf. Maybe some cowboy he'd done unspeakable things with in a drunken stupor, but no elves, no goblins, no demons, except for the ones in his head.

The guy across the street tilted his head slightly. I'm with you.

Chris nodded Fine with me if you wanna die today.

Together, they headed down the street.

THE END

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