This is the sequel to The Big Forever.

"What the hell bit Tanner's ass?" Buck asked Chris as he slowly walked out of the dingy office and back into the warehouse.

The larger room was pockmarked with bullet holes. Bodies - all formerly bad guys, now just so much landfill - littered the area, the blood draining from them to form sticky black pools on the dusty floor. Lenny 'Shifty' Malloy lay on his back, dead eyes staring at the grime-coated skylight in the roof above. The roosting pigeons, all sent flapping madly in the short-lived, but extremely loud, gun battle returned to their nests in the rafters. One particularly indignant bird left its own brand of calling card smack in the middle of Shifty's forehead. It was a gruesome sight.

"Chris!" Buck couldn't get the other man to hear him. He was standing still, apparently fixated on the white globulous mess running down the side of Lenny Malloy's head.

"Chris?" Buck touched his shoulder and turned him until they were facing each other. Chris shuddered and Buck watched as his friend's eyes hardened and became narrow slits and his shocked face set into grimness. What the hell did Vin say in there? "Vin just tore out of here like he had a fire up his ass. What the hell's going on with you two?"

Chris averted his gaze back to the dead body at his feet. He reached out a foot and kicked it. "He'll be okay," Chris said. Buck wasn't quite sure if he meant Lenny or Vin. "Just needs some space. I'll talk to him later. When he's cooled down." Buck nodded silently.

Chris looked around the room drawing himself in to concentrate on the job. "What's the count? Any of us take a hit?" Larabee moved away, stepping over the bodies and studiously avoiding the shit covered head. It was all business again as the ATF Team went about securing the site and calling in the clean-up crews.

Vin came back but avoided Chris like the plague and stayed behind helping with the clean-up rather than go back to the office with the team. It was Friday and Chris didn't see the Sharpshooter again till the Monday when Vin quietly asked for the rest of the week off to take care of some business.

"Vin, we should talk," Chris began to say getting up to close the door.

"Ain't nothin' to talk about, Chris. I just need a few days to get some things sorted out. Got nothin' to do with you."

Chris ran his hand through his hair not sure what to say. He was still in shock he'd decided. Shock from seeing Vin break cover and risk his life. When the Sharpshooter had dropped back down, Chris had thought he'd been hit, and for one terrifying moment, was laying amongst the warehouse debris dead. Then Vin had ripped into him with a fury that burned. He could handle angry men, did it every day, but never Vin. Vin was quiet. Vin was controlled. Vin rarely lost his temper and absolutely never with such startling velocity.

And then there was the kiss. Chris swallowed past the lump in his throat. He didn't know what to think about that. Couldn't comprehend the enormity of it. He had no idea Vin thought about him in such a way. Hell! He'd seen him with girls. They'd even double-dated a time or two. Vin never talked about them after but he didn't either; that didn't mean anything.

Vin wasn't gay. Neither was he.

Was he?

He'd seen the naked passion in the Sharpshooter's eyes, was lost when it blazed like an arc of electricity between them, and then there was the kiss. Chris had spent all weekend denying it but his lips still tingled when he remembered the kiss.

He was still in shock.

He must be.

Otherwise, why would he keep thinking about that kiss.

And wishing Vin hadn't stopped.

+ + + + + + +

Vin stood staring at Chris Larabee, his face blank, his eyes shuttered. He had a letter of resignation in his pocket, had been determined to hand it in as soon as he arrived back at work, but now that he was here a few days off sounded a better idea. Let the air clear some more and then see what was still standing. Vin had been as shocked as Chris at that damn kiss, if for slightly different reasons. He still couldn't believe he'd lost control so easily, had let his deepest secret come crashing to the surface with all the force of a volcanic eruption. He'd half expected Chris to confront him, had almost gone out to the ranch to do it himself several times over the weekend, but he was worried it was too soon, too close to the last time, that his broiling emotions might get the better of him again. And so, he'd stayed away, and now he was going to stay away a little longer, and if after that he thought it was necessary, he'd stay away forever.

"Okay," Chris gave in. "You could do with some downtime, I guess. Go fishing. Forget about this place for a week. We'll see you back here next Monday."

Vin moved toward the door, his gut clenching when he saw Chris take an awkward step back - away from him. What do you expect, Tanner? he thought harshly. Just as he put his hand on the door handle Chris spoke again. It was soft, and at first Vin didn't hear him. He looked back with a questioning frown.

"Why?" Chris repeated, equally soft and cursing himself for his need to know. "I just want… Why?"

The look they shared was equally pained, and then the shutters came crashing down over Vin's blue eyes as he shrugged. "May as well ask how many angels can dance on the head of a pin," he replied opening the door. "Or why they'd want to do that either."

And then he was gone.

It was three days of operating on automatic before Chris heard from Vin again and even then it wasn't the Sharpshooter that called but the Sheriff of some hick bordertown down where Colorado met New Mexico and Oklahoma.

Vin was in the local drunktank.

"No charges pendin'," the sheriff had informed him, "but would you please come c'llect yer agent 'fore he causes any more headaches or gets himself killed?"

+ + + + + + +

Vin was sitting on the prison cot leaning against the wall, his long legs stretched out along the bed and crossed at the ankles. His folded arms rose up and down with his chest as he slept, unaware and unconcerned with what was going on around him. His worn out, old slouch hat kept his face hidden, only the hard line of his jaw could be seen beneath it.

"Local Ranger found him out in th'desert shootin' out empty beer bottles, two days ago," the Sheriff told Chris shaking his head. "Drunk as a skunk and still gettin' every one of 'em. Ranger brought him in - peaceable enough and we released him in th'mornin'. No hard feelin's - he told us to keep th'gun 'cause he weren't finished bein' drunk yet."

"What happened between then and now?" Chris asked as the Sheriff handed over Vin's personal possessions - his belt and boots, his jacket and wallet and finally, his gun.

"Went straight from here to th'Silver Spur. Wendy, one of the barmaids down there, said he sat by himself all day jes' drinkin' and smokin'. Started on beer then switched to tequila 'bout sunset. Couple of th'local boys decided they didn't like th'look of him an' told him so with their fists." The Sheriff paused, a grim smile on his face. The quiet man, the same one who hadn't missed a single bottle with his pistol the day before even though he could barely stand, had been only to happy to comply, which was why Lee and Seldon were currently decorating the clinic with their ugly bodies instead of the jailhouse. An impatient grunt from the ATF agent drew him from his reverie. "Anyways, Tanner there was mighty obligin', only thing was one of th'boys knocked into Jake Zimmer's girl on his way down to th'floor. Jake's the football team captain, big guy, short temper. Th'Silver Spur'll be closed for weeks fixin' up after this, but there's plenty a'witnesses say your man was only defendin' himself so - "

"So, how come he's the only one in jail?" Chris asked, cutting the garrulous Sheriff off mid-sentence.

"Had t'sleep it off someplace. Th'rest are either still over at Doc Weberson's clinic or home nursin' their pains," the Sheriff shrugged. "He can go as soon as he's fit - providin' yer gonna take him out of here."

Chris nodded. "Can I talk to him?"

"Sure!" The Sheriff stood, pulling his keyring from his belt. "He ain't stirred since before I called you. Quiet as a mouse he is."

"Yeah," Chris muttered to himself. "Quiet as a mouse."

They moved toward the holding cell in the corner of the office. The Sheriff unlocked the door and pushed it open for Chris to step in. Up close Chris could see that Vin was a mess. His shirt was torn across one sleeve, it's edges stained a rusty brown with dried blood. His faded blue jeans were a murky rainbow of color --dirt, food and drink, more blood. What Chris could see of Vin's hands was red and tender, dark bruises already forming.

Chris shook his head but remained silent a moment longer wondering what the hell had been going through his friend's mind the last few days to lead to this. He moved closer, softly calling Vin's name as he squatted down beside the cot. When he got no response, he carefully lifted the hat off Vin's head and winced in automatic sympathy. Vin's chin was resting on his chest, his face tilted toward the wall. He was so deeply asleep that Chris had to check to make sure he was still breathing. Yes, lungs filling, chest expands then contracts, expands then contracts - he was definitely breathing. Chris moved his hand to gently push back some of the long hair that had fallen across the bruised face and traced one finger along the cheekbone not quite touching the tender skin.

"Why?" he whispered to himself not understanding what could drive the usually unflappable man to drunkenness and brawling. He grasped Vin's chin and slowly turned and tilted his head away from the wall. "Vin?" he called a little louder but Vin was oblivious to the concern in the older man's voice.

Chris frowned as the rest of his friend's face came into full view. There was a small cut above his eye. At one stage it had bled profusely, now it was an ugly crust that marred the tanned skin of a handsome face. The blood was a crackled glaze across his cheek and into his hair - dried hard and brittle - a halted flow down his neck, a discoloration in the blue denim of his shirt.

"Shit!" Chris exclaimed roughly then stood, Vin's hat still in his hand, and strode back out to the Sheriff's desk. "Why hasn't he received medical attention? He's a fucking mess!"

The Sheriff looked up from his stack of witness statements on the brawl at the Silver Spur then leaned back casually in his overstuffed chair. "Doc Weberson's been by. Tanner refused treatment." The Sheriff shrugged. "From what he could tell, th'Doc reckons he'll be okay once he's slept th'booze off. There were worse off than him, Doc had his hands full without dancing 'round the room with yer friend. Mentioned somethin' about Texans bein' hard headed."

Chris nodded, sounded just like Vin. "He's hard headed all right. Where's the nearest motel?"

"Only place to stay around here is Herb's place on the highway south of town. I'll call ahead and book you a room."

"Thanks," Chris nodded starting to turn back to the cell.

"Don't mention it," the Sheriff replied. "You ain't seen the place yet."

The motel room was dingy and in need of a lot of TLC. The furniture was pre-1970's at least, the décor dull shades of faded brown mixed with almost lurid curtains and bed coverings; coverings that were now thrown back and hanging to the floor in a twisted mix of sheets and blankets. And although there was a vague smell of old socks and stale beer in the room, it was reasonably clean.

Chris dipped the cloth he was using into the bowl of warm water, squeezed it then continued to wipe the dried blood from Vin's face and neck. Vin's now damp hair was pushed back from his face and Chris watched carefully for signs that the man might be waking up soon. So far, he'd managed to get a groggy Vin to walk on extremely wobbly legs from the jail to the SUV and then into the motel room where he'd collapsed on the bed with a groan and an unintelligible muttering. Since then, he hadn't stirred and the sun was well up in the sky.

Chris had driven through what was left of the day after receiving the Sheriff's phone call at the ATF offices and into the night, arriving in town around midnight. It was now mid-morning and Chris still hadn't slept. He'd tried. As soon as he'd gotten Vin onto the bed and quickly checked him over for further injuries - and finding nothing but bruises - he'd layed down beside the Sharpshooter, exhausted. He couldn't sleep.

First light had found him staring out the window at a pale sky, a mug of cheap and nasty instant coffee in his hand. A couple of hours later, Vin still hadn't stirred and there was no more coffee, so Chris had driven back into town and picked a few things up at the store. The paper sack of groceries, including a better quality of instant coffee, now sat on the edge of the small table a folded newspaper next to it.

Vin hadn't moved a muscle in hours so Chris decided a little help was in order and began to clean him up. He'd started with the hair, wiping a damp cloth over it to remove some of the clotted blood and letting his mind wander unchecked as he worked. Nice hair, he thought distantly as he noted the soft brown color - almost black where it was wet - with streaks of blond where the sun had bleached it and natural waves that flowed away from his face leaving damp curling tendrils behind. Chris gently wiped the cloth under Vin's closed eyes, his attention now on the other man's skin, skin that was weather-beaten but not so much that it wasn't still soft to touch. The cut had been small but deep and would, no doubt, be sore for days but the bleeding didn't renew while Chris was cleaning it so he held off applying a bandage.

He dropped the cloth back into the bowl, dried his hands on the towel he'd purloined from the bathroom, and began unbuttoning Vin's denim shirt. He'd bought a new t-shirt from Herb to replace the blood stained one. 'Riding High Motel,' it said in bold purple letters across the chest. It was kind of ugly but it would do for now and Chris had no desire to go see Herb again. The guy had looked like a walking advertisement for the Quit Smoking campaign - the ones where they show the gruesome results of smoking - hunched over, a racking cough, yellowed fingers and teeth - he'd reeked of old tobacco and stale sweat. Not that Vin smells much better, Chris thought as he rolled him over to pull the shirt off him.

Vin grunted and tried to push Chris away but didn't wake up.

"Damn fool sleeps like the dead," Chris muttered. He picked the cloth up and began wiping down the now naked chest.

Vin stirred again, mumbling now but making no attempt to stop Chris's ministrations. Chris dragged the cloth under his chin and down his neck. Stopping to rinse the flecks of blood from the cloth in the warm water then continuing on across Vin's shoulders and down his arms. There was a shallow gash in the muscle of one arm so he cleaned it and rubbed in cream. Mottled bruises covered his ribs and Chris rubbed these as well. Chris froze when Vin flinched and rolled toward him. Leaving the cloth on Vin's concaved stomach, Chris leaned closer to the sleeping man's face.

"Vin?"

"Mmmm?" Vin replied frowning.

Chris touched his thumb to Vin's brow and smoothed the frown away then ran his fingertips lightly around his eyes and over his cheekbones. His fingers were hovering over Vin's still lips when a flash of desire electrified him. He snatched them away, What am I doing? and abruptly stood, moving back with a stumbling step that nearly sent him sprawling across the floor. Vin lay on the bed, unmoving except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. His skin glistened where Chris had wiped it with the cloth. Chris's eyes fixed on the cloth and where he'd left it and he realized how close he'd been to continuing further down the lean body. He stumbled away and into the bathroom to turn on the faucet with a savage wrench and splash cold water over his head. Holy hell! I was gonna - he cut his own thought off and pushed himself away from the basin to lean against the wall. The water gushed noisily down the drain. Chris was hard as a rock. He looked down at the offensive bump in his jeans; something like shock appeared on his face as it occurred to him in a cold, clinical way that he wanted to fuck the life out of his best friend - wanted to nail him as hard as he could, wanted to be nailed right back.

"Fuck!" His cool assessment of the situation fled as a farcical giggle bubbled up and out to be choked back by the sounds of Vin finally waking in the other room. Chris turned the faucet off and peeked around the door. Vin had rolled over on his side and pulled a pillow down over his head to block the light streaming in through the window. I got a fucking boner and now he wakes up! Chris slipped back into the bathroom and stripped his clothes off, his cock waving like a tail in the air. He reached into the shower and turned the cold water on.

Vin felt Chris lay down on the bed beside him and stifled a groan. It was bad enough that he had the bitch of all hangovers but fucking Larabee was here too. Great! Just great! He'd made his decision somewhere in between drinks - he was going to resign. It was time to hit the road and see the world. He'd always had a hankering to see the Pacific islands, New Zealand, Australia. Now was his chance, and he'd be about as far away from Larabee as he could possibly be. Yep! Just as soon as his head was all back in one piece and he could see without pain lancing through his brain, he was outta here. "Outta here," he breathed into the pillow.

He lay there, not quite asleep and not quite awake, listening to the pounding in his head and the soft snores of the man beside him. They played a steady beat in his head that he could feel in every over-sensitive nerve. Vin didn't know how long it was before Chris had fallen asleep though he thought it might have been awhile. The other man had tossed and turned, and - Vin suspected - been very careful not to accidentally brush up against him. The gap between their bodies felt like a gulf of infinitesimal space and Vin felt physical pain in his chest at the knowledge that the gap may never be bridged.

God, he could do with a drink of water, but that would mean moving and moving would mean unleashing the monster hangover he was just barely keeping under control. He let his mind wander away, trying to think of beaches of white sand and coconut trees. Shit! he swore to himself as Chris's face swam into the picture. Now he's goin' to fuck up my fantasy! The fantasy evolved into Chris, shirtless and smiling seductively, walking through the hot sand down to the crystal clear sea. He knew the sand was hot, he could feel it with his own feet - hot all the way up his leg through his jeans and on his bare back, especially at the base of his neck; warm breaths of sand on his skin.

Vin dragged his mind from the daydream, through the heavy curtain of his hangover and back up to reality. Warm breaths of sand? He shifted positions and was rewarded with a pressure on his back and more of those warm breaths. Chris was spooned up behind him, one leg flung over Vin's, an arm across his chest and fast asleep. Vin gingerly lifted the pillow from his head and turned slightly to look at Chris through squinting eyes. God, it hurt to move! Chris sniffed in his sleep and rolled onto his back, the arm that had lain over Vin's chest tracing a tingling path across his body as Chris unconsciously dragged it away and back to the bed.

Vin licked dry lips and rolled closer to the edge of the bed and then right over to land on his knees on the floor. One hand stayed on the bed for balance, the other pressed onto the floor to hold him up while the room whirled around his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and held back a moan, hastily gulping against the rising protests of his stomach. His face was hot then cold, his skin was trembling, the bathroom was miles away - he was amazingly swift for someone who felt as bad as he did.

Chris was sitting up on the bed, his head resting back against the wall, hands hanging limply over bent knees, a cigarette between his fingers, when Vin came out nearly an hour later looking pale and washed out but, at least, steady on his feet.

"There's a clean shirt and some aspirin on the table," Chris said in a deliberately neutral tone of voice.

Vin walked across the room without answering, picked up the packet of painkillers, took out three and swallowed them dry. He picked the t-shirt up with and pulled it on over his head, wincing as the movement stretched his bruised and aching muscles. He was rifling through the pockets of his jacket when Chris spoke again.

"How d'you feel?"

"Like shit. I'm gonna get some air," Vin replied, finding the pack of cigarettes he was looking for and walking to the door.

"Didn't think you smoked" Chris commented.

Vin shrugged, he was desperate to get outside and away from Chris, but the only sign of his anxiety was the constant clenching of his hand around the cigarette packet. "Usually don't," he answered, his voice rough. "Felt like the thing to do."

"Like getting drunk and fighting?"

Vin nodded, "Jus' like that," and walked out the door.

Chris squashed the butt of his cigarette in the glass ashtray by the bed and stood up. He didn't want to do this but he knew he had to get Vin to talk to him. He moved to walk around the bed, a flash of white catching his eye from the table. It was a white envelope folded in half. He picked it up, Must have fallen out of Vin's pocket, his own name was clearly written on the front. Chris frowned, the handwriting was Vin's. He held the envelope as if it was on fire, a cold sinking feeling growing inside him. "Goddamit!" he muttered fiercely.

Vin was sitting cross-legged on the hood of the SUV, staring blankly at the glowing cigarette in his hand, watching the smoke twist and wind upward. He brought it to his lips and dragged the smoke into his lungs, it burned his throat but he didn't cough. It felt raw and ragged, the way he'd felt inside for months and right now he wanted that physical pain to deflect the emotional shit he could no longer hold down.

"You wouldn't be smokin' if you'd seen the guy that runs this place," Chris said, his arms hanging loose by his side as he walked up to the SUV. The white envelope was gripped tightly in his hand.

Vin blew a cloud of smoke out and turned his face to the highway, his eyes squinting against the brightness of the day. "What're you doin' here, Chris?"

The cigarette smoke hung in the air between them, no wind to blow it away, a visible symbol of the barrier that Chris hadn't realized was there until Vin had crossed it nearly a week before. He flinched inwardly at the bitterness he heard in his friend's voice. "Town Sheriff called me, thought you needed taking care of."

Vin kept his eyes on the highway, his expression hardening as Chris continued to speak.

"Thinking of doing another cut n'run, Vin?" Chris had noticed the almost longing look in the other man's expression as he stared into the distance. Vin wanted to be anywhere but here in the carpark of a falling down motel at the edge of a nowhere town with Chris Larabee. Vin had run after the kiss, run when he'd requested the week off work. Was he still running? Chris had to know.

Vin turned angry eyes back to Larabee. "What if I am?" he answered bluntly.

Chris looked down at the envelope in his hand. He turned it around in his fingers, then dropped it at Vin's feet. "Found this on the table. It's your resignation, isn't it?"

Vin took the envelope, glaring at it for a moment before handing it back. "Guess this makes it official."

"Why? The team needs you - I need - if it's because of what happened at that warehouse, nobody knows." Chris ran his hand through his hair and leaned in closer to get his point across. "I feel responsible. If I hadn't - "

Vin slid off the truck, hangover forgotten in the anger that rolled through him at Chris's fumbling admission. "Responsible? What the fuck are you talking about? This's got nothing to do with you. You've got nothing to feel fucking responsible for. It's my problem and I can handle it on my own. If that means quitting and moving to fucking Australia then that's what I'll do and I'll drink and smoke and fight every step of the fucking way if I choose to."

"Vin, calm down for chrissake -"

Vin's face was bare inches from Chris's, his blue eyes blazed with anger, his whole body was tense and ready to strike. "I don't need you runnin' around after me," he hissed. "An' I don't need you feelin' responsible for me."

Chris could feel his own temper rising and with it a feral excitement at the dangerous gleam in the other man's eyes. "Well, you could have fooled me. You're acting like a little kid who's got his feelings hurt - "

"What the fuck do you know about my feelings, Larabee? You don't know nothing, so just leave me the hell alone." Vin pushed himself away from the older man and stalked back into the motel room. "I don't need taking care of, you ain't my goddamn father." Chris heard him mutter.

Chris bowed his head in frustration, Feelings? Something clicked inside Larabee, a vague recognition of what it was Vin might be looking for. "Fuck!" Then a slow smile formed on his lips. He chuckled quietly to himself then followed Vin into the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Vin was shoving his wallet in his back pocket and picking up his jacket when Chris walked in. The young Sharpshooter ignored him completely and began looking for his boots.

"Vin, stop."

Vin didn't.

Chris put his hand on Vin's shoulder, his eyes darkening as he noticed the other man flinch at his touch. Vin shook the touch away. With his boots in one hand and his jacket in the other, he headed for the door.

"You're bein' stupid, Tanner."

Vin turned, his face tortured with anger and grief. "Got t'hell, Larabee."

"Damn stubborn fool! We need to talk about this, not run away and hide, pretend nothing happened - "

"It's always worked before," Vin mumbled. Up until the last few days Vin had been doing an excellent job of pretending, hiding. He could do it again, it wouldn't be easy but he could do it if he had to.

"You've got - feelings, and I've got -" Chris's voice faded away. What do I have?

Vin turned to him, his face becoming unreadable. "What? What do you have, Chris?" He sized his friend up and down, scowling and saw the tell-tale bulge in his jeans. Taking half a step closer he nodded his head toward Chris and leered. "You got an urge there, cowboy? An itch that needs scratchin'?"

Chris blushed, that was exactly what he had, an itch he hadn't been able to soothe ever since Vin had gotten mad and kissed him.

"Come on, Chris. Thought you wanted to talk. Let's hear it! Just what the hell do you want?"

Chris could see the anger still glittering in Vin's eyes even if he was keeping his face blank. "Maybe," he began, talking so low Vin could hardly hear him. "Maybe I want you to get mad enough that you'll do it again."

Vin felt his anger desert him, leaving him flat and tired. The drums were starting in his head again. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. I mean it, I want it." Chris's voice was firm but Vin could see the uncertainty in his face.

"I ain't no quick fuck in some cheap motel room just so you can experiment, Chris. I'd rather have nothin' at all." Vin was dejected, his feelings ran too deep to give in to a meaningless fling. Sex he could get any time, he wanted some stability, a place he could rest his boots and call home. He wanted Larabee 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

"I don't -"

"Yeah, I know," Vin interrupted his voice deep with sadness. "Go have a cold shower, Larabee. I'll be here when you get out. We'll talk."

Vin turned to the table, deliberately ignoring Chris, and picked up the cigarettes he'd dropped there when he'd come storming back in. He dropped them again. They weren't what he needed. His hand moved to the aspirin instead, his head was really killing him. The tension didn't leave him until he heard the bathroom door click closed and the water surging through the pipes.

By the time Chris came out of the bathroom Vin was laying on the bed, asleep again.

Chris noticed the sack of groceries on the table had been raided. The pre-packaged sandwiches and 7-Up he'd bought earlier were now half gone. He'd stayed in the shower as long as he could bear, not thinking, not feeling. Now he felt completely numb inside and out. He knew what Vin wanted but wasn't sure if he wanted the same thing. One thing for sure he didn't want Vin to leave.

He grabbed a sandwich and a can of pop and explored that thought a little more, compared it with what he'd felt with his wife - was it the same thing? He'd always hated to be apart from Sarah, had always felt her absence keenly. When she was gone forever, he'd been totally bereft. Sarah had been more than his wife, she was best friend, companion, lover all rolled into one. Chris wasn't sure, it was such a big step… such a statement to come out and make; a decision that would affect the rest of his life. Stop trying to fucking analyze the situation, Larabee. You know what you want.

There were still a few things in the bottom of the brown paper sack. Chris put down the food and drink and reaching in, pulled out a clear glass bottle and walked over to the bed.

+ + + + + + +

Vin felt his shirt being lifted up but was too far gone in the fog that was passing for sleep to register the fact any further. He sighed with satisfaction and turned his head on the pillow as warm hands pressed into the bare skin of his back and began a slow smooth motion up his spine and around his shoulder blades. His skin shivered as the hands moved inexorably down dragging fingertips lightly down his ribs then digging thumbs into his lower back - hard then soft, working the muscles with deft movements before travelling back up to his neck and shoulders. The hands forced their way under the bunched up cloth of the cheap shirt and began their magic work from the base of his skull down his neck and along each shoulder. It was pure heaven he thought with an inaudible moan. It's Chris! His eyes snapped open and he rolled over on his side.

"Chris? We talkin' here, pard?"

"Got this stuff to rub into all those bruises," he said casually. Then, looking into the other man's eyes, seeing the desire that simmered there added, "Can't say I understand it, not sure if I want to, but if we can take it slow - one step at a time - then I guess I want more too."

The uncertainty was gone from Chris's face - most of it anyway, Enough, Vin told himself. Enough to make it worth a try. "Slow, huh?"

Chris smiled, a small flash of bashfulness rarely seen on his usually stern features, and ducked his head. "Not too slow."

"God, I've wanted you." Vin reached up grabbed a handful of Chris's shirt and pulled him down closer, back to the edge of forever.

They hovered for a final moment, a hot sliver of space all that separated their lips; their breaths stilled in their throats as they searched each other's face for assurance that this was indeed what both wanted.

It was impossible to tell who moved next, both came together as one, lightly grazing their lips over skin, getting the feel of each other's face, learning all the curves and planes in a way they had never done before. Chris's eyes drifted closed as Vin's tongue glided along his jawbone and his lips came up to caress his earlobe. He pushed his body up against Vin's, wanting more, wanting to be a part of the younger man, to feel his body hot and hard moving against his own. His hands trailed up and down Vin's bare back, found the t-shirt and began to pull it off him completely. Vin moved apart to help get the shirt off then rolled fully on his back, dragging Chris down on top of him. The two wiggled and squirmed on the bed, their lips continually kissing and sucking. Vin bent his head to explore Chris's neck, pushing back the cotton shirt the other man had thrown on after his shower so he could extend his teasing trail along bare shoulders.

As Vin continued down, Chris slid away Vin's body and onto his side, his hands still kneading Vin's shoulders and back. Vin reached Chris's nipples and nipped at the hardening nubs - Chris's back arched as tiny jolts of pain and pleasure coursed through his body. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed now, his mouth open and gasping as Vin's tongue darted out and around the puckered skin and his teeth bit into muscles tense with excitement. He barely noticed that his jeans were being slowly worked down his legs at the same time, that he was being rolled onto his back. He'd start to relax and then Vin would run his teeth along his ribs, or drag his tongue around his nipples and his back would arch again and he'd be lost. Then he felt a warm hand between his legs, fondling his balls as if they were Chinese Prayer Orbs, rolling them around, pulling at them, pushing into the skin that held them and separating them, then grasping them together again until they were rock hard, the skin taut.

Disjointed thoughts were running through Chris's head. Who knew? Who knew it could be this good? Don't stop. Oh, God! Shit! Yesssss! Some of the thoughts were whispered from his lips and Vin paused a moment, forever it felt to his lover, until he could feel Chris pushing against him for more. Vin slid down his body and flicked his tongue over the head of Chris's weeping cock.

"Aaaaah!" Chris cried out nearly coming off the bed as bolts of sensation jabbed into him. He was given no time to recover as Vin took the trembling member into his mouth and sucked him like a lollipop, releasing the suction every now and again to run his tongue up and down the hard shaft and swirl it around the glistening head.

Chris was grasping at the bed, his fingers digging into the sheets, his legs now bent, every muscle in his body contracted with tension and an urgent need to explode. Vin played with the release valve until Chris began to thrust his hips and then he let it go. He crawled up his body, one leg either side, and devoured Chris's panting mouth with his own.

"Don't stop," Chris muttered as he fought with Vin's lips, sucked on his probing tongue, his hands coming up to tangle fingers in Vin's mane of hair.

There was nothing hidden about Vin's emotions now as he growled, "Roll over," and grabbed Chris's shoulders to help him turn.

As soon as Chris was on his stomach, Vin reached for the bottle of oil left on the bedstand and tipped a generous amount into the well of his hand. He rubbed his hands together letting the excess oil drip down Chris's back, then traced a slick line down his spine with one finger. A quiver of anticipation ran through Chris and he found himself trying to spread his legs; inviting Vin to delve further down. His cock ached with both the pressure of his need to cum and the weight that was effectively pinning him to the bed. He wriggled and almost sighed at the pleasure the rough texture of the rumpled sheets against his sensitive skin gave him.

Vin felt Chris's legs move apart beneath him, felt him squirm as he sought some kind of release. His own cock was aching inside his jeans and he quickly undid them and climbed off Chris to remove them. While he was up, he finished removing Chris's jeans freeing his legs. Chris instantly got onto all fours, his knees sinking into the mattress, his tight balls hanging freely, his ramrod erection waving slightly as he thrust an invitation to the other man to get on with business. Vin stood at the end of the bed and leaned over to grasp Chris's hips and drag him down to the very edge of the mattress - his knees were spread wide now, his cheeks open to expose his hole. Vin knelt down then twisted and stretched his head up to pull Chris's balls into his mouth. Chris moaned and pushed down to give Vin more to take. The feel of Vin's head moving between his legs and constantly brushing Chris's cock as he worked on his balls was driving the older man wild.

"Oh, God. Vin."

Vin's oiled hands moved up to cup Chris's ass, his fingers digging in, pushing their way closer to the center. Vin released Chris's balls, turned his head and gripped the base of Chris's shaft with his teeth, running his tongue quickly all around the hardness and bringing Chris to the brink yet again. Then Vin stood up, unable to stifle his own needs any longer, and pushed a still oily finger straight into the hole in a steady measured movement. Chris was shocked and jumped, twisting to turn back and see just what Vin was doing. Vin rest a knee on the bed beside Chris, his free hand stroking Chris's shoulder, running through his hair. "S'okay," he whispered. "Relax."

Vin pulled out, then pushed it straight back in, moving it around now, going deeper, pulling out again, pushing in, working Chris until he felt the muscles begin to relax, the hips to gyrate in small circular movements that matched Vin's. Vin moved back, sliding his hand down from Chris's shoulder and around to his cock, very slowly caressing it with his finger tips.

"You ready, Cowboy?" Vin asked.

"Don't get much readier than this, Vin. Do it, for chrissake, Vin. Do it now."

Vin chuckled, "What no dirty talk?" Vin moved his hand away from Chris's ass, sliding it up his hip to rest there comfortably - a perfect fit.

Chris felt something larger, harder waiting at his opening. "Shit, Vin. Fuck me hard, nail me to the fucking bed!"

Vin held onto both Chris's hips and pushed himself inside Chris - slow and long - continuing with that movement and increasing the pace until he felt his impending release. Chris had sunk his head to the bed; his arms lay on the mattress above, the sheet twisted in his rigid fists. His eyes closed; groans of pleasure drifted from his parted lips. He spread his legs even further, forcing himself lower onto Vin's pole, and then the action intensified. Vin rammed his cock in hard over and over again. Chris cried out, his head came up, his face screwed up at the ultimate pressure inside him and he growled through clenched teeth. His seed shot out, a hot burning stream pulsing onto the bed as he thrust uncontrollably.

Sweat poured off Vin. His back arched as Chris came again and again, taking Vin with him, the contracting muscles around his cock unbearably good. He thrust harder, deeper, his cum slick pole not ready to give up until finally he softened and was able to relax. Chris fell to one side of the bed, slipping off Vin easily and already missing his presence. Vin pulled the soaked sheeting away and dropped down to lay on his back next to the other man; both were breathing heavily, their hair damp with sweat, their skin glowing with it.

They lay there for awhile not speaking, not really looking at each other. Chris's eyes were half-open but dazed. Vin stared at the ceiling. Slowly, almost tentatively, Chris lifted his hand to Vin's shoulder; rested it there. It felt as if it belonged.

Vin turned his head, a soft smile on his lips at the unexpected touch. "This is it. I figured it out," he said, his voice husky with weariness and traced with satisfaction.

Chris went to pull his hand away but Vin's quickly came up and held it there. "Figured what out?" Chris asked him.

"Why the angels dance on the head of a pin?"

Chris frowned, vaguely recalling their conversation earlier in the week.

"'Cause it's so damn fine," Vin told him, his smile widening.

Chris smiled back and chuffed a small laugh. "How's the hangover?"

"What hangover?" Vin replied. "I'm dancing on the head of a pin, Cowboy, and it's just too good to stop." He rolled over, wrapped an arm around Chris's shoulders, pulling him in close.

"Then don't stop," Chris whispered into Vin's ear, his hot breath sending shivers across the other man's body and heat down to his groin. Chris's tongue darted out to lightly trace the outline of Vin's ear. Vin moved his head so his mouth could take the tormenting tongue for itself. Chris pulled back, a wicked gleam in his eyes, a provocative curve to his lips. "Roll over. The dance has only just begun."

THE END

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