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Author's Notes: A little something for St. Paddy's Day
The site of Vin Tanner in a green plastic leprechaun hat with a wired paper shamrock sticking out of the band was enough to nearly make Buck snarf his beer, but then it would seem futile to explain later that it was beer and not snot coming out of his nose."One of those!" the team's sharpshooter called up to the barkeep and pointed at a tray loaded with pints of green tinted beer as the waitress whisked by in a perky short skirt and apron. He waded through a sea of smoke, chaotic chatter, and Irish fiddle, and settled down at the table across from Buck and Chris. Josiah sat back in his chair adjacent, and JD was hunched over the table, engrossed in a basket of spicy cheese fries. Vin pulled off the hat and plopped it down on the kid's head.
Too busy drenching a fry in ranch dressing, JD just tapped his free hand on the top of the hat and pushed it down more securely over his ears.
Chris smiled casually as he propped forward on his elbows and ran a fingertip absently around the rim of his glass. "Ezra or Nathan going to make it?" he asked.
"Not likely," Vin replied and dove into the fries, giving JD's hand a shooing away from the basket. "Ezra's loaded with paperwork and Nathan has his EMT renewal."
"I wish him luck," Josiah said and sipped from a tumbler of whiskey.
"He'ms re'ee stud'in for 'at," JD mumbled through an overload of fry, cheese, and ranch.
"Boy, don't talk with yer mouth full," Buck grumped at him, "it's disgustin'."
JD looked up at him with doe eyes. "So'wy."
Josiah shook his head and grinned wistfully to himself, Vin turned to scope the room and see if his beer was anywhere in sight, and Chris gave Buck a warm pat on the knee under the table. The place was too dim and loud for anyone to have even remotely noticed.
"Okay, so there's this Irish priest," the fellow at the adjacent table started up, telling some joke to his three buddies who were trying to get into the spirit no matter what.
"Ah hell, there he goes again," Buck muttered.
"What?" Vin asked, turning to look at them.
"We've heard about six jokes from that guy," Buck replied.
"None of which were complete, or funny," Josiah added.
"Hope he's got a ride home," Chris put in dryly. "He so much as jingles his keys I'm cuffing him."
JD battled Vin for another crack at the fry basket.
"So this priest he says to another priest--" the loudmouthed individual fired off. "He says 'Father, ye won't believe this, my bicycle was stolen!'"
Josiah shook his head again, eyes closed as he summoned the patience to hear this one out. "Damn, and I know this one too," he muttered.
They suffered through most of the joke, but it dropped off as the guy forgot the punch line and moved on to something far less PC. He was getting louder, slamming his beer down on the table with one loud THUNK after another and splashing it about.
JD tossed a glance over his shoulder, barely even making eye contact.
"What're you lookin' at?" the guy demanded.
JD shrugged. "Good fries," he said and smiled with his teeth intentionally packed full of half chewed food.
It worked, at least for the moment, grossing the man out enough to turn his attention back to his bad jokes and his buddies.
"I'm about ready to drain the lizard," Buck muttered and boosted up from the table. "Order me another'n would you?" he asked of Chris as he started for the Men's room.
"Hey, mine isn't here yet," Vin said and turned to raise his hand and get the waitress' attention. "Would'a been easier to get our own beer and put dye in it," he said as he planted his butt back in the chair. "So, anyone watch the games this weekend?"
"The ACC?" Chris asked.
Vin nodded, got up, turned his chair around backwards and straddled it. "How 'bout them Blue Devils?"
"Hey, what's red and has seven dents in it?" the guy asked his companions.
Josiah closed his eyes in irritation.
"Snow White's cherry!" An outburst of drunken guffaws followed along with more pint glasses pounding the table.
JD swallowed his last mouthful of fries, washed it down with a sip of his own beer, an amber ale because he refused to drink any of that green stuff, and said softly, "Don't get Old Testament yet, Josiah."
He had spoken too soon, as immediately afterwards a waitress walked past the other table. She skirted the obnoxious asshole and tried not to pay too much attention to the joke, which seemed to be aimed at her with her long black curls and snow-white complexion. She had almost made it by unscathed before a large foot came out from under the table, tripping her. Waitress and tray went flying, trailed by booming, laughter and an insincere "Oh, sorry about that, darlin'!!!"
Green beer splashed Josiah's back, spraying across his shoulders, splashing JD and Vin, and getting on the table where it pooled around Chris' elbows and stained his sleeves.
Josiah seethed for two seconds then said, with a faintly psychotic gleam in his eyes, "Jesus time."
"Amen, brother," Vin echoed him.
-7-7-7-
Buck had just relieved himself of one pint and was eager to go fill up on another, just glad to be relaxing despite the loudness of the bar. It was Saint Paddy's Day; everyone had a right to have a little fun, but then, some were having way too much. This was made clear when he opened the door out into the main floor, and the chaotic symphony of shouting, glass shattering, wood breaking, and fists flying, met him.
"Holy shit," he laughed as a chair flew past his shelter in the little foyer. Someone immediately tried to grab his lapels and pull him into the melee, but he reached up, took the offensive hand in his own, and jerked it away, twisting the wrist out so that the attacker let out a yelp and pulled his arm free. Buck just propped himself up in the foyer and watched, arms crossed. He glimpsed Vin throwing a punch at some poor soul, and JD scrambling down between the legs of some huge hulk of a football player. The kid popped up to his feet on the other side, spun around, and kicked the behemoth in the ass. As for the green leprechaun hat, who knew where the hell that had got off to.
That's my boy, Buck mused to himself and then fingered his chin, scanning for another figure. He spotted Josiah, who had the loud-not-so-funny-idiot from the neighboring table by the collar with one hand and was winding the other hand back into a solid rock of a fist. Buck wouldn't want to be at the receiving end of that fist for all the beer in Ireland. He moved on, still looking. . . looking. . . more glass flying there. . . a soaring plate of fries over there. . .
Chris stumbled into view as he side-stepped an incoming punch, shouted at the waitress to duck, and then watched in amazement as she flung her empty tray like a Frisbee and took out the individual still clambering after Chris.
"Thanks!" Chris called to her.
"Watch it, Romeo," Buck snarled, keeping Chris in his sights as the head of Team 7 fought his way from one point of the room to another, the foray keeping him on his toes well and good. Buck admired the form of that lean body as it would swing out with a fist, the torso twisting just so that a hip thrust out. The gleam of light on the mussed up blond hair. A vicious glare in the green eyes that really meant Larabee was having too much fun. Buck squirmed where he stood as an itch grew in his pants. Chris had been goosing him all afternoon. Just little touches at first before moving up to raking his knuckles along the side of Buck's thigh. Then he graduated to absently squeezing a knee and Buck began to get hot and bothered. Normally he found it hard to get this horny in a crowded, smoky bar, but Chris was apparently going for the gold and the thing was, he wasn't even putting in that much effort.
Well, time to pay the piper, Cowboy, Buck thought.
And here came Chris now. Buck braced himself. Larabee spun around and back-fisted some numbskull who didn't have the sense to stay down the first time, at the same moment JD flew by, tackling another figure who was coming in for Vin. Buck couldn't suppress the wide grin that spread across his face or the warmth he felt in his cheeks. Then just as luck would have it, the object of his affection came stumbling by.
Buck reached out, grabbed Chris by the arms. "Whoa, there, pard!" he shouted as Chris started to struggle and spin on him.
Chris caught the right hook before it could do any damage and heaved for breath, messy bangs half hiding his eyes like the mane on a lanky sheep dog. "Buck!?!"
"In here," Buck said smoothly and hauled Chris out of the riff-raff, into the foyer. He fumbled open the bathroom door, hustled Chris inside, and followed just as Vin Tanner let out a happy, "Wooooooo!" before the door slammed, cutting the din of the fight down to a minor clattering and stomping that occasionally rattled a wall.
"The hell are you doin'?" Chris asked between breaths.
Buck leaned back against the door and faced into the dim little room, which was lined with a soft blue neon tube around the upper corners. His fingers found the lock on the knob and turned it. "Saving a piece of you for myself," he husked and sighed. The same hand on the lock came up and slid down into his belt line where he left it resting against his flat belly.
It took Chris a moment to register exactly what his partner was getting at, but then slowly a venomous yet sexy grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. He was coated in a gloss of sweat that caught the blue light in little threads of patterns down his neckline and into his collar.
Buck rolled his hips a little, adjusting his growing cock inside his jeans. "How about it, make love not war?"
Chris chuckled. Considering the noise outside, they had no concerns with getting caught. Chris reached behind himself, hands on the sink counter, and tested the support with a downward push. "This works," he said.
Moseying forward, Buck slid into place against the other man, rocked his hips again and gave Chris a nudge with his plumped up groin. "It's the sweat," he remarked, reaching up a long finger and touching it to Chris' slick Adam's apple before slithering it down past his collar, to the cleft in his upper chest. "You know I can't resist the sweat." He withdrew the digit and placed it between his pursed lips, drawing it out slowly. Then he leaned in and engulfed Chris' mouth in a full kiss, his tongue probing past the other man's teeth, noting the yeasty, bitter aftertaste of beer. "Mmmmm," he murmured and eagerly began to unbutton Chris' shirt, enjoying the crispness of the cotton as each little clasp slipped through its slit, freeing more skin as he went down, until Chris' chest and rippled, glistening abdomen were bared.
Chris crawled his hands up the sides of Buck's arms, surrendering into his lover, letting Buck's teasing do its magic, until his own cock began to gorge quickly, heating against the confines of his jeans. He groaned, eager to release the organ as the pressure of rough denim and cotton on sensitive petal-soft skin became too rough. "Ah, God," he whispered and began to fumble to get the fly open.
Buck took over that too, nudging his lover's hands out of the way, and in a simple, neat motion pinched the top metal button free and then slid the zipper down with a muted buzz. Buck peeled back the denim and slid his hand down inside the briefs, cupping the warm flesh, fingers sliding through coarse, sandy hair.
Nuzzling his face against Buck's, Chris felt the roughness of stubble along the jaw line juxtaposed with the baby smooth skin above, on the apples of Buck's cheeks. He stretched out his tongue so that just the tip flicked at the soft drop of Buck's earlobe.
Buck shivered, gripping a little tighter on the sack of Chris' balls and pulled up, forcing Chris to go up on his tip toes and resettle his ass on the edge of the counter top. Leaning in, Buck captured a sweaty nipple between his lips and sucked, tasting salt and smoke and inhaling the rich, lingering scent of spicy aftershave. Air hissed through Chris' teeth and he thrust his chest out, tilted his head back. Buck worked his way down, tongue painting in and out through the clefts that defined that tight belly, to the shallow trench that led into Chris' navel. He bit at the skin around the crater, pressed his tongue inside and felt the little umbilicus knob of skin in the center.
Chris giggled. . . a dry, shallow sound, but a giggle nonetheless. A Chris Larabee giggle reserved only for the ears of Buck Wilmington. The sound was cut off by a gasp as Buck pressed his tongue deeper and began to work his hand further inside Chris' pants. Long, skilled fingers worked back behind the scrotum, massaging into the pillowy-warm skin, and crept to the edge of Chris' opening. Buck rimmed the puckered aperture with one fingertip, then slowly added another. Tight fit under there, with his entire hand borrowing past Chris' open zipper and underwear.
When it became too awkward, Buck withdrew his hand. "Get down," he said and Chris eased off of the counter. Buck ran his thumbs around the beltline of the jeans and peeled them down over Chris' narrow hips. Jeans and underwear slid to the floor and Chris neatly stepped out of them, leaving behind his shoes too. Buck guided him around, facing into the bathroom mirror.
Hot and eager, Chris brought one knee up to rest on the counter, leaving the other leg extended to the floor, naked toes gripping the cool tile. Buck began to explore the more exposed opening, sliding his hand up into the cleft of the other's firm little ass and finding the hole again. Chris undulated his hips forward then back and down, taking in Buck's finger up to the second knuckle.
"More ready for it than I thought," Buck husked, leaning forward, his chest rubbing against the chiseled panels of Chris' shoulder blades.
"Been ready for it all day," Chris confessed, and eased his ass down a little more, now reaching Buck's third knuckle. "Needed it. Work's been such a bitch." He closed his eyes and tilted his face up toward the light.
"Then just leave it to me," Buck said and nipped at the tightly corded juncture of muscle from neck to shoulder. "Yer in good hands."
"I'll say." Chris took a deep breath, held it, let it out when Buck suddenly curled his finger inside and nudged the back of one knuckle directly into Chris' prostate. The massage continued, Buck bending then straightening the digit, causing a rhythm of pleasurable little pulses to zing up Chris' middle and into his cock. Buck used his free hand to free his own cock. It unfolded from inside his jeans and lay out neatly in his palm, smearing a thread of pre-cum from his thumb out to his forefinger as he gave it a gentle pump to work the blood into the tip.
"Think you can take a little soap?" Buck asked.
"Sure." Chris sighed, eyes still closed, blue light bathing his forehead and cheeks. Buck eyed the reflection of his lover in the mirror, enjoying the living art of Chris captured in bliss, face turned heavenward, full lips parted, showing a ridge of teeth. He admired the stretch of Chris' neck, sleek and strong, with just a minor shadow defining the underneath of the Adam's apple. Without looking away from the reflection, Buck withdrew his hand from inside Chris and reached over to the soap dispenser. He pushed in the bar and felt cool liquid drip into his palm, peachy scented and pearlized. Briefly he examined the soap, determining if it would be too irritating both to him and to Chris, but it seemed mild, not too sticky, and he rubbed just a little down around the opening only. Chris was already slick enough inside.
"Don't take this the wrong way," Buck said in a soft tease, "but you'll have one fruity smelling ass."
"Buck, shut up," the other man rasped back with deadly seriousness.
Smiling to himself, Buck positioned his cock head up against the opening. He continued his watch over Chris' shoulder as he braced himself then pushed upward. Chris's lips opened wider, and his brows knitted at the awkwardness of the initial entry, and then Buck slipped inside. Chris automatically leaned down a little more, capturing more of the thick cock up inside him, until Buck was sheathed to the hilt.
Another long and happy sigh accompanied the ghost of a smile playing along Chris' lips. Buck pulled halfway out then slid back in, the rim of his thick cock head brushing the other man's pleasure zone with each backward shift. Buck gritted his teeth, holding on to his own pleasure for as long as possible. He was almost holding his breath when he reached around Chris' waist and gripped the other's cock at the base and gently pushed out, sliding the skin up over the head. Chris tensed up, his body bowing out, his shoulders leaning back into Buck, his head resting on the shoulder behind him.
Buck closed his eyes, the image in the mirror lingering in his mind as a bright light leaves an impression on the retina. He moved his hand over Chris' cock matching the rhythm with which he rocked his hips. The roar of the world beyond the bathroom disappeared, sweeping away the shouting and crashing of shattering glass. Buck pushed in harder, pulled out faster, then back in, until he had to clamp down on his own voice to keep from crying out as his cock spurted warm cum inside the hot passage. Chris bit his lower lip as his own milk pumped out onto the counter top or dribbled down onto Buck's hand when it pushed forward one last time, squeezing out the last drops.
"Ahhh, God," Chris hissed, "Buck." He almost collapsed backward into the supportive arms, mind and body drifting.
Buck all but purred into the ear next to his cheek. "Happy Saint Paddy's," he whispered with the warmest of smiles in his voice.
Chris enjoyed the relaxing haze after sex for a moment longer before he slowly opened his eyes and eased his knee down off the counter. Just then something hit the other side of the wall with a CLUD and both men jumped. They could still hear the Irish fiddle, now playing a different tune, along with a strain of penny whistle, too slow to keep up with the remnants of the fight outside. The shouting was dying down, and Chris figured it wouldn't be long before they would hear sirens arriving. He pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, wet it, and wiped down his slowly deflating cock and up underneath to get the peachy smell off his asshole. At least it covered up the aroma of sex in the enclosed space.
"We better hurry," he said, "and get out there before the boys get arrested and I have a lot of explaining to do to the department."
"Who started it?" Buck asked as he wiped his own cock down, tucked it back into his jeans, and zipped up.
"Josiah. . . sort of."
Buck's brows went up and he grinned. "Jesus time?"
"Yep."
"Saw that one comin' a mile away."
Chris wiped down the counter top and gave the room a last look over to make sure their deed had been thoroughly erased. He turned to Buck, laid a warm kiss on his mouth, and took another deep breath before pulling away. "Come on, let's go find some other place quiet."
Buck gave a healthy nod to that. "Uh-huh," he said as he opened the door and let Chris out ahead of him, venturing into the foray once more. "I think I've had enough green beer for a long time."
Slainte
+ + + + + + +
While having lunch with one of his fellows in the neighboring parish one Sunday after Mass, an Irish priest, Father Mike, said, "Father Henry, would ye believe someone stole my bicycle?"
Father Henry was astonished and said, "Oh dear, I canna believe it. Do ye think 'twas someone in yer congregation."
"Absolutely, Father, I'm certain of it."
Father Henry fingered his chin and gave it some thought. "Ah, I know what ye should do," he said. "Next Sunday, give a sermon based on the Ten Commandments, Father. When ye reach the Commandment Thou shalt not steal, make sure ye really hammer yer point home. Really put some punch into it, then whoever stole yer bike will feel so guilty they'll return it and beg for forgiveness from our Lord."
"That's a great idea," said Father Mike, "I'll do just that." So he went back to his church office and immediately started working on the sermon to end all sermons on the Ten Commandments.
A week later Father Henry was taking a walk and happened to chance by Father Mike who was out riding his bicycle.
"Ah, Father!" called Father Henry with delight. "I see the sermon worked!"
"Well," said Father Mike, "yes. . . and no. . ."
Father Henry arched a brow. "No?"
"Well, Father, I did exactly as ye suggested and I worked up a grand sermon on the Ten Commandments, but this Sunday, just as I was in the middle of my delivery, I got down the list to Thou shalt not commit adultery. . .
. . . and then I remembered where I'd left it."
THE END
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