The auction of their horses had gone well, better than either he or Buck had expected. If this was typical, Chris thought, he could finally prove his father-in-law wrong. He would be able to provide for Sarah and Adam and to keep them happy and safe for the rest of their days."Woo hoo!" Buck hollered in Chris's ear as he slung a companionable arm around his shoulders. "Can you believe it?"
"It was more than I let myself hope for."
"More? Hell, we could buy Texas with this much profit!"
"And what would I want in Texas?"
"You never know, pard. You never know," Buck said with a wide grin. It was infectious and Chris didn't have a difficult time grinning back. It had been a good day, and because of it, there would be many more ahead of them.
"Well, come on. We best get started," Chris said as he headed toward the livery.
"Started? With what?"
"Heading home. We've sold the horses. All they're auctioning off now is cattle. No point in staying for that."
"But Chris, I've got mucho dinero burning a hole in my pocket. We should at least celebrate! We can get ourselves a few bottles of the good stuff, a couple of pretty señoritas...."
"No thanks, Buck. I've got Sarah waiting for me at home."
"Finally I see it," Buck said. "The down side of married life." It was obvious to Chris that he was only partially joking. "If marriage causes fidelity, then I don't want any part of it. Remind me never to get hitched. Would you, pard?"
"Somehow, Buck, I don't think you're in any danger." Chris resumed his walk to retrieve his horse.
"Oh, come on, Chris. You're not serious, are you? Look, I promise: no women. All right? We'll have a nice dinner, bottle of good wine, and then first thing in the morning we'll head out. What do you say?"
"We can get a few miles behind us if we start now."
"A few miles, if that," Buck said skeptically as he scanned the western sky. "You'll be home for Sunday supper either way. All leaving now will get you is a night of sleeping in the dirt. And why would you do that when you can have a soft bed, right here? What do you say?" Buck asked, smiling his nicest. Chris was hard pressed to say no to his friend.
"No women."
"No women," Buck confirmed and Chris gave in.
"But we leave first thing; on the trail by first light."
"Crack o' dawn," Buck said firmly, though he was grinning like an idiot because he'd gotten what he wanted, or at least most of it.
That night over dinner, they each drank nearly a bottle of wine, the most expensive the restaurant had to offer. And then, at the cantina, along with many of the men who'd come to this prosperous Mexican town for the semi-annual livestock auction, they drank whatever alcohol was being poured.
Long before midnight, Chris insisted they turn in. "Dawn," he reminded Buck as the man downed another mouthful of liquor. A few minutes later, they staggered into the street, clutching at each other for support and laughing their fool heads off at some memory of days past.
At the sound of a gun cocking, Chris froze, though Buck went right on talking and gesturing with his free hand as if what he had to say was more important than anything else. This seemed only to annoy the two men who now held them at gunpoint.
"Shut up, stupid gringo!" one said to Buck.
"Your money from the auction, señors. Hand it over, por favor," the other demanded. His confidence that the two drunken horse breeders would value their lives over their profits was obvious.
"I don't think so," Chris said quietly.
"Hand it over, or we kill you both," the first Mexican said.
"I think my friend very politely told you ... no!" Buck swung his arm on the last word, knocking the man's gun away. In that same instant, Chris shot from the hip at the other man; the Mexican dropped, his hand clutched to his shoulder as he rolled on the ground. A few punches later and Buck had the first man lying unconscious beside him.
No one had come to their aid. No one stood gawking. If the town had a sheriff, he might eventually find the two banditos in the street, but he certainly wouldn't find the two Americanos who had put them there.
Chris and Buck staggered back to their room and Chris collapsed immediately onto the bed. Buck was still laughing over the failed hold-up.
"Night sure turned out different than they expected," he said, shaking his head. "Bet they never imagined— Shit, Chris! You're bleeding!" Buck rushed over and placed his hand to the side of Chris's head. When he pulled it away, his fingers were bright red. "Just your ear," he said, relieved. "An inch to the left, though...."
Chris knew he would have been dead. It was a sobering realization for them both.
"How bad is it?" Chris managed to ask.
"Well, it ain't pretty, that's for sure." Buck had retrieved a towel from beside the wash basin, which he pressed against the wound. "But once it heals ... doubt most people'll even notice. You're a damned lucky son of a bitch. You know that, Chris?"
"Whenever I forget, I've got you to remind me."
That got Buck laughing again and Chris wanted to laugh right along with him, but he suddenly found himself overcome with fatigue.
"Get off me, Buck. Need ta sleep."
"Hold this," Buck said, grabbing Chris's hand and pressing it against the damp towel.
"What're ya doin'?"
"Well, I ain't gonna sleep in my boots," Buck said, moments before one made a solid thunk against the floor. It was followed by Buck hopping on one foot before managing to tug off the second boot and tossing it in the general direction of the first.
"And neither are you," he added as he began to yank Chris's boots from his feet. There was some resistance at first, but when Chris remembered finally to point his toes, both boots slipped free, causing Buck to over-balance. He landed right on his ass, and for this Chris managed to find the energy to laugh.
Buck threw a boot at Chris's head, missing him by a good yard, which had Buck laughing again. He hauled himself to his feet and was soon wiggling out of his jacket, shirt, and pants, which he tried to place on a chair that he remembered, incorrectly, was beneath the window. Then he began tugging on the cuffs of Chris's pants. Chris reached down and fumbled with his belt buckle, before working on the buttons on his waistband. Eventually, Buck was able to tug the material off Chris's lean legs.
"Don't know why you gotta wear these things so damned snug. How'd ya breathe? 'Sides that, a man needs room ta grow," he slurred. The alcohol, the fight, and the exertions of undressing them both were taking their toll.
"Got no problem wi' that, Buck."
"That's wha' yer mouth says, but yer prick's tellin' a diff'rent tale."
"Shuddup, Wilm'n'ton. Yer in no better shape than me, despite yer loose drawers."
"Oh, make no mistake, pard — I'm always in better shape than you!"
Chris rolled his eyes at his friend's boast. The most he figured could be said was that Buck had had more practice, but Chris didn't feel like spending the energy to actually say so. Instead, he struggled to try to sit up, and failed.
"Help me up," he finally said.
"If you can't get it up, don't look at me to lend you a hand," Buck said, still laughing over something Chris had already forgotten.
"Help me get up, you adl— ad— you idiot." Chris held out his arm and Buck managed to pull him upright without falling backwards himself.
Chris slipped off the edge of the mattress and somehow his knees failed to buckle when his bare feet hit the floor. He was quite pleased with himself just for standing, as if it were a difficult acrobatic feat, so he bowed and promptly over-balanced, tumbling into Buck.
His friend caught him about the waist and held him long enough for Chris to find his legs again.
"Ready ta sleep this off?" Buck asked.
"Mm, yeah. What'd they put in the beer down here?"
"Tequila."
"Ah. What was I sayin'? Oh, yeah — bed."
Together they staggered back across the small room to the bed. Chris pulled back the blanket and crawled under.
"Shift over," Buck said, trying to join him.
"Get yer own bed," Chris muttered, his head completely sunken into the soft, feather-stuffed pillow.
"Can't. Town's full up cuz of the auction."
It seemed to Chris that he knew this, so he scooted over to the far side of the mattress and left it to Buck to decide if he'd given him enough space.
"Just remember," Chris mumbled, "which side of the bed yer on when ya gotta take a piss in the middle of the night."
"I'm on this side."
"No, I'm on this side."
"No. Yer on that side."
"Well, all right, then. Just don't forget. Don't need you pissin' up the backside of my long johns."
"Be lucky if I can even get my prick outta my drawers to do that."
"Always thought ya had trouble keepin' it in, not gettin' it out."
"Depends on whose bed I'm in," Buck said with a sloppy grin and a tired scoff.
"Yer in mine, so just ... you know."
"What?"
"Keep it on yer side."
"Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"Yer side of the bed spinnin'?"
"Yeah."
"Which way?"
"Th- that way," Chris replied, gesturing with a hand that somehow hadn't made it underneath the covers. "Clockwise. You?"
"My side's goin' the other way."
"Then I reckon they cancel each other out."
"So ... bed's not spinnin'?"
"Nope."
"Okay, then. If yer sure."
"'M sure."
"Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"'Night."
"Mmmhmm."
Chris was just starting to wake when he realized how good he felt. His head was pleasantly muzzy; he was snuggled beneath a warm blanket with his head against a soft pillow; and at the junction of his legs, an alluring pressure was building. Reflexively, he shifted his hips and rubbed against something solid. It felt so good that Chris did it again and again before he even thought to wonder what he was rubbing against.
When he felt fingers wrap tentatively around the bulge in his long johns, he thrust against them instinctively. It felt good and he wanted more. As he continued to move, he felt himself hardening, which only increased his need. Half awake now, Chris knew to whom the hand belonged.
"Buck," he mumbled, not entirely certain that he'd actually spoken until Buck pulled his hand away.
"Sorry," came a groggy reply.
Chris didn't care. He only wanted more, but now Buck's hand was gone.
"Roll over," Chris said. He pushed against his friend's shoulder, but to no avail. He turned on his own side and applied a knee to Buck's backside. Buck grunted and groaned and finally rolled away, onto his side.
"Let me in," Chris mumbled, his mouth still not working nearly as well as the rest of his body. He slipped a foot between Buck's legs. Buck groped behind himself with a clumsy hand, eventually finding one of the buttons that secured the back flap of his union suit.
Chris made quick work of his own long johns, pushing the leggings down out of the way. Then he started in on the button of the flap that Buck couldn't reach. Chris then moved the material out of the way before slicking up his hand with as much spit as he could muster. He pushed his wet fingers between Buck's cheeks and shoved one inside. Buck tensed and groaned at the intrusion, but relaxed again when Chris pulled his hand away. Chris then scooted close behind Buck and reached his arm over the man to thrust a hand before his face.
"Spit," Chris told him. Buck made some sloppy noises before grabbing Chris's hand and drooling before spitting what little remained. Chris pulled his hand away, slicked up the length of his prick, wiped the last of the saliva against Buck's hole, and then pushed in. Buck groaned loudly at Chris's first, unsuccessful attempt and again at his second.
"Stick it in," Buck finally said.
Chris spit into his hand again and applied more liquid between Buck's cheeks before guiding himself forward. As soon as the tip popped inside, Buck shoved his ass back, driving Chris's hard flesh deep.
Chris's hand went immediately to Buck's hip, pulling them together. A few long, insistent thrusts — punctuated by more grunts and groans from Buck — had Chris buried as deep as the angle allowed. He slid his arm beneath Buck's and then wrapped his hand over the man's shoulder. He pulled to leverage himself up as he thrust in, riding Buck's body in a desperate need to come.
He felt Buck reach forward and being to pump his own prick. Buck's arm rubbed against Chris's at a quicker pace than Chris was able to thrust. He heard the slide of skin over skin, just as he heard the rough wear of fabric as his chest and stomach moved against Buck's back.
"Oh, God, yeah ... right there ... right there," Buck murmured between sharp intakes of breath and low moans. "Just like that ... oh, fuck, Chris ... faster ... fuck ... come on ... God, faster ... come on ... fuck me harder ... oh, yeah...."
Chris grunted as he felt his body begin to tremble from the exertion. His muscles burned and he knew he couldn't manage more than one or two more thrusts. He sucked in a deep breath, pulled himself up Buck's back, and shoved his hips against Buck's ass, driving himself inside. As he came, he let out a long, low groan, his hips pumping reflexively forward, shooting his seed deep into Buck.
Exhaustion threatened to consume him, until Buck started to come. The man's hips thrust back and forth against Chris several times before Buck doubled over with a panicked and desperate plea of "Oh, God!" followed a moment later by a long sigh and a relieved, "Fuck, yeah...."
Chris pulled himself against Buck once more. He felt the man's chest rising and falling beneath his arm and when he pressed lips to the sweaty material still covering Buck's back, he could feel his rapid heart beat. Chris's own heart was still racing and his muscles were too spent for him to maintain his position any longer; he slipped away from Buck and onto his back where a dreamless sleep quickly claimed him.
When Chris woke again, he swore.
Pale light from the single window was beginning to illuminate the room. He'd wanted to be on the trail at dawn; it was past that now and he was still in bed. He pushed Buck's head off his shoulder and his knee off his thigh, then got up and hastily dressed. He nudged Buck again when he sat back down on the mattress to pull on his boots.
"Buck. Time to go."
Chris left the room a few moments later and headed straight for the livery. He saddled his horse and Buck's before tipping the stable boy. He lead the horses down the street toward the boarding house, wondering if he'd have to drag Buck downstairs — or if maybe he should just leave him behind — when he saw Buck exiting the cantina with two bundles. Food for the road, Chris assumed. He hoped it was more than just plain tortillas, though knowing Buck, the man had probably charmed a roast chicken and all the trimmings out of the señora who ran the kitchen.
He and Buck nodded in greeting as Buck stuffed the bundles into his saddle bags. Then they mounted up and headed out of town.
It was several hours before either man spoke. "Reckon no one cared who took down those two banditos last night," Buck said.
"Reckon not," was Chris's only reply.
They lapsed into silence again for another few miles. Normally, Buck would have been chattering away about women, horses, some adventure they'd once had ... anything, really, just to pass the time. But they were both still hung over from too much alcohol and most of their energy was put toward keeping the pace Chris had set in order to make up for the time they'd over slept.
It was near mid-day when Buck couldn't keep to himself any longer. "About last night, Chris..." He waited a moment, but Chris said nothing, only acknowledging he'd heard the words by looking over at him. Buck continued: "We were drunk and ... we both know men do things when they're drunk that maybe they don't mean to do. It doesn't change anything between us, at least not as far as I'm concerned. And, hell," he gave a small laugh, "it ain't like it's never happened before—"
"Not since Sarah," Chris finally spoke.
"Right. Not since you met her. And I want you to know that I respect that. I respect her and you and what you've got together. I need you to know that."
"I know."
Buck nodded, but went on anyway. "I ain't gonna say I didn't like it or that I didn't want it. Just that I wasn't looking for it. Never would have happened if we both hadn't been three sheets to the wind. But like I said, it's never meant anything before and it doesn't mean anything now. Just two men satisfying a mutual need. It happens. But for my part in it last night, well ... I just want you to know that I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for."
"It wouldn't have happened, Chris, if I'd been sober. I wouldn't have even considered it. And since I wanted it when it happened ... since I didn't try to put a stop to it ... well, I reckon at least part of the blame is mine."
"Ain't your fault, Buck."
"But if you needed to blame someone—"
"I don't."
"But if Sarah finds out—"
"She won't if you don't tell her."
"She's gonna ask about your ear—"
"That's my business, Buck. Just stay out of it and leave it to me."
"All right, Chris. If that's what you want..."
The conversation died, but the two continued to ride side by side. Sometime later, among an outcropping of scrubby trees, Chris spotted a stream and they pulled aside to water the horses. Buck dug into his bags and retrieved the bundles of food — burritos stuffed with a bean paste, corn and chunks of chili peppers. They ate in silence, and then filled their canteens and got back on the trail.
"You know," Buck said after a long spell. "I've been thinking that when we hit the fork, I might just head on over to Eagle Bend for a spell. Let you have some time with your family."
Chris nodded. "I appreciate that, Buck."
- The End -
March 2005Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of the Blackraptor Fiction Website.
Characters from "The Magnificent Seven" were used without permission and this story in no way signifies support of, or affiliation with, The Mirisch Group, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment, CBS Worldwide, Inc., or their affiliates. No copyright infringement is intended. The story itself and any non-Magnificent Seven characters belong to the author. This story was written for personal entertainment and will not be sold for any reason.