Disclaimer: The characters from The Magnificent 7 don't belong to me, they belong to MGM, Mirisch, and Trilogy. I'm not making any money off them. If you'd like to sue, you'll have to take a number behind the student loan people, Visa, and the car loan people. And since I am now among the ranks of the laid off, it may be a long wait.
Notes: Thanks so much to my wonderful betas: Judy, Trish, Tarlan, and Kap. I'm working on being more romantic, hand positions, and getting rid of those darn fragments. But I'm not there yet :)
Chris Larabee tightened his grip on the reins of his fidgety horse. At least he thought he did; his fingers had gone numb about two miles back from the bitter cold whipping down the plain and straight through his coat, scarf, gloves, hat, long johns, and two other layers he had tried to bundle into. Back in town, all he could think of was getting away to his cabin, away from the crowds and other people's problems. He had envisioned lighting a small fire, pouring a bit of whiskey, and letting the tension run off him like water off a duck's back. The reality was he'd be frozen solid before he ever reached his cabin at this rate, and his ornery horse, piqued at leaving the warm livery, wasn't about to listen to him urging it to go faster.Finally, the outline of his shack appeared on the trail, and he sighed, his breath expelling in a puff before him. The horse saw it too, and quickened to a gallop without his urging, almost knocking Larabee on his ass. As he neared the shack, he reined in the horse sharply, drawing his gun with numb awkward fingers. Another horse was tied loosely to the corral, stamping its feet. Chris glanced around, but didn't see the owner. As he slowly neared, he recognized the horse as Vin's black. The tracker had left nearly two weeks before, despite Nathan urging him not to. Vin had looked ill, although he wouldn't admit it. He was pale and tired, and not eating. He had drank a little more whiskey than usual, and more than once Chris had awakened in the middle of the night and from his window at the boarding house seen Vin walking silently along the deserted streets of the town, staring around with empty eyes. Then one morning the tracker had packed up and left, not telling Chris where or for how long he'd be gone. Chris had let him go, sensing that it wasn't anything physical troubling the private sharpshooter, but something he was wrestling with inside, and if he needed Chris's help, he'd ask for it.
Chris climbed off his horse and led the animal into the corral, untying Vin's and leading it inside too. He still didn't see the tracker, but he assumed he'd gone inside to get out of the cold. No smoke wafted from the chimney of the shack, but maybe Vin had felt loathe to starting a fire in a place that wasn't his. Chris shook his head; he'd tell him how silly that was as soon as he got inside and got a fire lit.
He grabbed the provisions he'd brought back from town and started back to the shack, eager to get out of the cold and anxious to talk to Vin, when he saw a figure huddled in the corner of the porch, hidden behind the small table, coat pulled around tight and hat pulled down low. Gloved fingers rested on the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun.
"Vin?" Chris said, hurrying to him. "What the hell are you doing out here?"
Vin looked up as Chris knelt in front of him, patting him down for injuries. His lips were blue and trembling. "You hurt?" Chris asked. "Shot?"
Vin shook his head.
"Let's get inside," Chris said, helping Vin up by putting his hands under the tracker's stiff arms and practically dragging him to the door when Vin's frozen feet gave out from under him.
Inside, he helped Vin sit on one of the hard-backed chairs by the kitchen table, then closed the door and went to the stove to start a fire. "Why didn't you come inside?" Chris asked, lighting the stove. "It wasn't locked."
"Ain't my place," Vin responded through chattering teeth. He rubbed his hands together to try to get the circulation back.
"That's stupid, Vin," Chris responded, standing. He reached into a trunk and pulled out some socks and long underwear, and placed them in front of the stove to warm. Then he stood in front of the shivering tracker. "Your clothes are wet. You'll catch your death of cold." Vin stood slowly. Chris pushed the sodden jacket off his shoulders and then undid the first few buttons of Vin's light blue shirt.
"I can do that," Vin said.
"Your hands are near froze," Chris replied. He peeled off the wet shirt and the gloves, and handed Vin a dry blanket, wrapping it over his pale shoulders.
Pushing Vin lightly back into the chair, Chris knelt in front of him to remove his boots and socks, his fingers brushing Vin's toes. "Goddamn, Vin, your toes are like ice." They were white and curled under. "Can you straighten them? You might have frost bite," Chris continued.
Vin shook his head. "Ain't that bad," he said. "Had frost bite once. Lost a toenail." He lifted his right foot to show Chris the small toe, which was without a nail.
Chris lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-grin. "That's lovely, Vin. Thanks for showing me." He pushed Vin's foot down and reached for the socks warming near the fire, slipping them over Vin's frozen feet. "Maybe this'll help you keep the rest of your toes pretty."
Vin pulled his legs into his chest and curled into the blanket, closing his eyes. "Didn't think I was ever gonna get warm again," he sighed quietly.
Chris looked at him, only his tousled head visible above the Indian blanket, eyes closed, eyelashes dark against pale skin. Damn stubborn fool, he thought, waiting outside in the cold because it ain't his place. He shook his head and took a few steps further into the tiny kitchen. The stove had warmed the room up quickly, but there were still occasional gusts of cold that came in through the walls, not from faulty construction, because although Chris was not an expert carpenter, he did a solid job building his house. The cold gusts came from the plugged bullet holes left over from the Nichols brothers' visit. Most of the boards that made up the walls had to be replaced after their barrage of gunfire, but some planks comprised the foundation and had to be plugged with sap and mortar, which despite his best efforts still couldn't stop all the cold.
He scooped some coffee into an urn and placed it on the stove, and grabbed the provisions he had brought from town to make dinner. He always felt a certain sadness when he came here and noticed the holes in the walls. It reminded him of the short visit and even shorter reconciliation with his father-in-law. Hank Connelly had dredged up some painful memories, but more than that, had shocked him to the bone. The man had been driven mad by grief and the need for revenge, traits that Chris felt in himself with every breath he took. Vengeance was why he got out of bed in the morning, and grief was what kept him from truly living.
A soft sniffle from the table interrupted his musings, and he smiled wryly as he stirred beef and beans into a pot. If grief kept him from living, then Vin Tanner kept him from dying. The scruffy quiet man had somehow worked his way into his life, and with his solid comforting presence and bizarre sense of humor, he gave bad ass Chris Larabee a handhold when he thought he might fall. Even if the damn fool didn't have the sense to come in out of the cold.
He poured coffee into two cups, added a healthy dose of whiskey, and set a cup in front of Vin. "Drink this," he said. Vin opened his eyes and grabbed the cup with both hands, nodding his thanks. He stared out the window as he sipped the hot brew, and Chris couldn't help but wonder what was going on in that head of his, and if it had anything to do with his hasty departure two weeks earlier. He wasn't going to ask, though. Vin would tell him when, and if, he was ready.
As dinner simmered, Chris changed into warm clothes, and handed Vin some long johns to put on instead of his wet pants. He then set the plates full of food on the table, and they ate in silence.
After the plates were cleaned, they sat around the table, sipping coffee. Vin added more whiskey to his. Chris looked at him, but Vin was still staring out the window. Only when Chris started to stand to clear the dishes did he speak.
"It's gone," he said quietly.
Chris set his plate back and sat down. When Vin didn't continue, he asked, "What's gone?"
Vin looked at him startled, as if he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. Then he sighed. "The circle of trees, out near Hot Springs."
Chris nodded; Vin had pointed the circle out to him once about three months back as they had ridden to Ridge City, but when Chris had suggested they stop, Vin had declined. "It's sacred," he had said, and pushed them on.
"Gone how?" Chris asked. "Fire?"
"Nope, chopped down. Them trees were older than there's been people here," he said, staring back out the window. "Probably built a cabin out of it."
"Are the Indians upset?"
Vin looked at him questioningly.
"You said it was sacred," Chris explained.
"Sacred ta me," Vin said, sounding resigned. "Don't matter," he finished. Chris looked at him, his blue eyes drooping and tired, his cheeks flushed against pale skin. The gunslinger stood and lightly touched the tracker's forehead, feeling a slight warmth before Vin pulled away.
"Get in bed," Chris said. "You're getting sick."
"Ain't takin' yer bed," Vin replied.
Chris picked up the plates and cups and set them aside to wash later. "I won't be going to sleep for a while yet," he said.
Vin watched him, then reached for his boots. "Much obliged, but I'll head back ta town." He started to slip his boot over Chris's bulky sock. Chris reached over and grabbed the boot.
"Get in bed, dammit!" Chris said through clenched teeth. Vin sat back with his arms crossed and a stubborn set to his jaw.
Chris sighed. He knew better than to order the mulish cuss to do anything; he'd do the opposite just to prove he could, even if it meant catching pneumonia. Although it frustrated him to no end, Chris also knew that's why he and Vin got along. Each was an individual and neither infringed on the other, although sometimes they tried. He ran his hands through his hair and tossed the boot back at Vin's feet. "Fine," he said. "Suit yourself." He nodded at his heavy coat hung on a peg inside the door. "Take my coat if you want. It's heavier than yours." He poured himself the last of the coffee and the last of the whiskey and sat back down in front of the stove, his legs extended and the warm cup resting on his stomach.
Vin glanced at the bed; he didn't really want to ride out in the cold, but being around Chris wasn't a good idea either. The taciturn gunslinger was the reason he had left town in the first place, but it was also the reason he'd come back. "Might be able ta share?" he asked quietly.
Chris didn't respond, and Vin was afraid the man had retreated deep inside himself where he didn't listen anymore. After a few moments and a sip of coffee, Chris said, "Long as you don't steal all the covers."
Vin grinned and stood. "Fine by me, but if'n ya snore, I'm smotherin' ya with a pilla." Chris smiled slightly back, and turned back to the fire. Vin climbed into the bed, the mattress thin but surprisingly soft. He scooted to the far side, giving Chris plenty of room, and wrapped himself in the blankets.
He barely heard Chris climb in beside him later; if he hadn't trained himself to sleep like a cat he didn't think he would have noticed the slight dip of the mattress or the light tug on the blankets. He turned away so his back was to the gunslinger, and he knew Chris's back was to him. He wondered if he'd be able to sleep with Chris so near, but the long ride, the cold, and the hot heavy meal worked against him, sending him to a sleep deeper than he'd had in a while, where the dream he treasured and feared started as it always did, with Vin shedding his clothes and waiting for Chris. Then they were going at it like rabbits, hard and fast, over and over, Chris pounding into him, Chris coming, again and again, and Vin trying, straining, reaching, but ending up unfulfilled yet again.
When Vin woke, sunlight was hitting his face. It was early yet, and still chilly, but he was snug under the covers. He had also moved closer to Chris sometime during the night, nearer to his body heat, his head leaning into Chris's curved back, his hand resting lightly over his hip. He pulled quickly away before Chris woke up to find Vin draped over him like a two-bit whore, but he heard the gunslinger's quiet drawl: "Don't suppose you want to get up and stoke the fire?"
Vin moved back to his side of the bed, answering, "Yer closer." He pulled the blankets to his chin.
"My house," Chris replied.
Vin didn't answer. Chris was right; it was his house. He readied himself to sit up and face the cold, but Chris interrupted him.
"Didn't mean it like that, Vin. You're welcome to anything here, any time you want. Don't even have to ask."
"Didn't mean ta put ya out," Vin said.
"You didn't, and it's not an open invitation to just anyone. Only you." He finally turned to face Vin, and Vin could see he meant it, and it did nothing to solve his problem. One of the things that drew him to Chris Larabee in the first place was the impenetrability that the man wore about him like he wore that black duster. Vin hadn't wanted any entanglements and Chris let him have his space. Yet something in back of his head wasn't listening. It was trying to bust out and ruin the precarious balance between the two lone men who had decided to let their guards down long enough to watch each other's backs.
Worse yet, whatever it was, wasn't just staying in his head. Vin wanted to disappear into the mattress when he saw Chris's eyes travel down to the hard-on causing a mound in the blankets. The gunslinger grinned at Vin's predicament.
"Looks like you had quite a dream," Chris said.
Vin blushed from his ears to his toes. "Yep," he said quietly, trying to think of something, anything, to wilt his traitorous cock. Gutting a buffalo, old Mrs. Connors eating prune jam, Mary Travis in a tizzy, Buck and Old Mrs. Connors, Buck and Old Mrs. Connors eating prune jam...Vin sighed. That was working. His hard-on was slowly sinking back where it belonged.
But his cock sprang back up again as Chris lifted the covers to peek at him. "Couldn't have been too good," he said, lifting his head back up. "I don't see a wet spot."
Buck and Old Mrs. Connors, Vin thought. Buck and Mary Travis. Buck and a buffalo. Nothing worked. His dream still pulsed through him, in one sensitive place in particular. "Not bad," he said finally, deciding not to fight it any more. The object of his dream was lying in bed next to him, grinning and ribbing him about having a hard-on, his blonde hair tousled from sleep and his eyes relaxed without the normal wariness.
Chris's next words sealed his fate. "Gonna take care of it?"
Vin suspected he was teasing. "Gonna watch?" he replied.
"Ain't planning on getting out of a warm bed just so you can finish your dream," Chris said, leaning back on the pillow.
Finish the dream. The words echoed in Vin's head. If only he could. That was part of the problem, part of the fear that made him not want to tell Chris what was going on. The fear of rejection, revulsion even. But more the fear of losing the delicate balance they had achieved if Chris took advantage of the power he had over him, as so many others had tried to do. Deep down, he knew Chris wouldn't, but deep down he was dreaming crazy things too. Maybe asleep he was smarter than he was awake.
He turned away from Chris suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut. These were the whirlwind thoughts that had sent him running from town, which he had hoped to sort out in the sacred circle of trees. He'd gotten nowhere then, and it was paralyzing him now.
Chris was puzzled as Vin suddenly turned away. He didn't seem angry, more embarrassed, which surprised the gunslinger, since although Vin was quiet, he wasn't exactly a shrinking violet. He'd never seen Vin back down from a challenge; although he tended to put other's needs before his own, he still went after something if he wanted it. Like Charlotte, or that assassin's gun, or when he'd written that poem. Chris had been proud of him then, although he hadn't said so. Saying so would mean the two of them would have to put words to what they both already knew: Vin had done good and Chris was happy for him. End of conversation. A lot of their conversations were like that really: wordless. That suited Chris just fine, except for when he couldn't figure out what Vin was trying to tell him, like now. He'd teased him about his hard-on and his dream, half hoping that Vin would share it, since his own dreams tended towards fire and burnt earth. Just when it seemed like the tracker was about to, he'd backed away. That must mean he'd dreamed about something uncomfortable. Now what could that be? If it were a girl, Vin wouldn't hold out on him, unless it was somebody they knew. Mary Travis? Inez? Old Mrs. Connors? He dismissed all those options; they'd get a good laugh out of those. Charlotte? Even though he'd never spoken about her, Chris thought Vin would still share a wet dream about her. So who? Maybe it wasn't a girl at all. Maybe it was Buck, or Ezra; he was awful pretty for a man. But with Vin's bizarre sense of humor, he'd get a laugh out of that too. Josiah? JD? Or...
Chris nearly sat bolt upright when he figured out who Vin had dreamed about, and why the sharpshooter wasn't going to tell him. It also explained why'd he'd left town in a rush, and why he'd come back to Chris's place. Damn, he should have seen it sooner. Vin's dream was about him. Now that he knew, what was he supposed to do about it? It was causing Vin grief, and ignoring it wasn't going to solve anything. Chris Larabee had never backed away from a challenge either, and he wasn't going to let Vin try to make this one disappear by closing his eyes and turning away.
He moved closer to Vin's stiff back, pausing as Vin flinched as their feet touched under the covers. "What was your dream, Vin?" he asked softly.
Vin didn't answer, couldn't answer. Refused to answer. Chris' soft tone hinted that he'd already figured it out, but he'd be damned if he'd spell it out for the man. Embarrassment and ridicule weren't his only fears. The real fear was if the dream came true, if he wasn't able to follow through even if Chris decided to help him out. So he scooted further away until he was almost completely pressed against the wall, his erection, still hard and painful, pushed against the wood through the blanket. He could do a quick one-two jerk-off and end the whole situation; he had actually started to reach for himself when he felt a feather light touch ease over his hip and rest there momentarily, waiting for his reaction.
He held his breath as Chris's fingers dipped inside the loose opening of the long johns, lightly tracing the edges of his hipbone before snaking down to rest on his rock-hard cock. He couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips as Chris lightly slid back the foreskin and just rested his hand there, the slightly callused fingers wrapping him in a loose but warm grip. His cock twitched as Chris slid even closer behind him, his head raised slightly so his chin rested on the back of Vin's tense shoulder. He could feel Chris's breath on his neck, slow and controlled.
"Was the dream about me?" he asked softly.
Vin nodded. He felt Chris smile into his shoulder. The gunslinger pushed away the blankets, then unbuttoned the cotton material of Vin's underwear and pulled it down Vin's body, pushing it to his knees. Vin kicked it the rest of the way off. Chris's hand returned to Vin's cock and started a light stroke, barely a flex of his wrist. Vin wanted to thrust into that warm hand, but he couldn't move, afraid to break the tenuous mood.
"Were you in the dream too?" Chris asked.
Vin nodded again.
"What were we doing?"
"Fuckin'," Vin answered.
Chris chuckled at the answer. "Suspected that much. Who was where?"
"Yer cock," Vin said breathlessly. "My ass."
Neither spoke for a few moments, as Chris continued the light stroking. Vin started to relax as Chris kept the pace of his hand slow. Vin suspected he was being calmed, as Larabee would calm a wild animal, with a gentle touch and soft voice.
"Was it a good dream?" Chris asked finally.
Vin closed his eyes, as the images of the dream flooded over him, and he tensed again. "Most of it," he answered.
Suddenly, the hand was removed from his shaft, and he felt cold, but he didn't look back. His cock still hummed where Chris's hand had been.
Chris knew Vin was skittish about what they were doing, but his hand was about to fall off. He sat up, looking at Vin's body scrunched against the far side of the bed, the pale skin of his back dotted with freckles, the telltale curve of his spine, the tight globes of his ass. He'd never been attracted to another man in his life, not even the one time Buck had come on to him in a drunken hard-up frenzy, and he wasn't sure he was now. If it wasn't attraction he was feeling, it was something, because his own cock had been slowly swelling the more he touched and looked at Vin, and the thought of filling the inside of that tight ass in front of him was definitely appealing. However, he'd have to make sure it was what Vin wanted, for the right reasons. He slipped quickly out of his long johns, goose bumps rising on his flesh as the cold air hit him. He then flexed his tired hand, and reached around to grab Vin's cock again, a bit harder this time, a bit more exploring. Vin turned on to his back, and Chris moved his hand between Vin's legs, cupping Vin's swollen balls, smiling as another low moan escaped Vin's throat.
Vin wasn't sure what was going on, or what was going to happen next, but judging from Chris's hard-on he felt brush against him every so often, he wasn't going to have long to wait. Vin had never been seduced before, but if this was what it felt like, he'd like to do it more often.
"So you liked this dream?" Chris asked softly, cupping and kneading Vin's pliant flesh.
"Yep."
"You have this dream a lot?"
"Every night," Vin answered, raising his hips slightly into Chris's hands.
"You had the dream last night?"
"Yep."
Chris paused, long enough for Vin to thrust a bit into his hand, then started his ministrations again. He remembered back to his last erotic dream, grimacing as he recalled how long ago it had been. He didn't even remember the particulars, but he did remember one thing in particular. "You didn't finish? In the dream last night?"
Vin leaned his head back, completely lost in Chris's hands.
"Vin," Chris asked. "Do you ever come in the dream?"
"No. Can't," Vin answered.
"Why?"
"Don't know."
Chris was silent then, his hand still working. He knew he probably wouldn't bring Vin to climax this way, but he wasn't quite ready yet to take it to the next level. Looking at the relaxed expression on Vin's face, he wasn't going to get any complaints.
"Is it guilt?" he asked, moving his hand lower so he stroked the sensitive skin between Vin's balls and ass. He almost heard Vin giggle at the touch, his eyes still closed.
"Don't think so. Ain't real guilty over it. Tryin' ta ignore it."
Chris chewed thoughtfully on his lip as he tried to puzzle out the complex quiet man slightly writhing under his hands. "Is that why you left town?" he asked.
Vin nodded.
"Tell me about the dream," Chris said.
"It's not fancy. Not like this," he said, opening one eye to grin at Chris. "We fuck, that's it."
"What happens before you wake up?"
"Ya shoot yer load." His eyes were closed again.
Chris thought some more. His hand unconsciously tightened as he considered.
"Careful there, pard. Ain't milking a cow," Vin said.
Chris loosened his grip. "Sorry," he said with a chagrined grin. "Vin, you been fucked before?"
"What's with the damn questions?" Vin said, sitting up on his elbows. "Are we gonna do it or not?"
Chris removed his hands. "Not unless you answer my questions," he replied.
"You gonna just leave me like this?" He looked down at Chris's swollen cock. "Us like this?"
"You showed up here, remember? You want a quick fuck, go somewhere else."
Vin sighed and lay back down. He didn't really expect Larabee to react any different. "Yeah, I been fucked. Once, long time ago. Just curious, I guess. Lonely, too, maybe."
"Did you like it?" Chris asked.
"I reckon."
"Did you come?"
"You got a one-track mind, Larabee," Vin said, but he was smiling. "No, I didn't."
A picture started to form in Chris's mind. Vin Tanner was the most self-sufficient person he'd ever met, and if necessary, could probably go for long periods of time without human companionship; hell, with only trees and rocks for company. That life was lonely, though, yet Vin didn't want to mess up a friendship by asking for relief, even if he needed it. He wondered if Vin had ever been treated real nice before, soft and caring like he was trying to be now, exploring the skin rather than just hanging on for a ride. He sure had been; he and Sarah knew every inch of each other, inside and out, and sometimes didn't do anything for hours but touch, or taste. That idea put a wicked grin on Larabee's face. He leaned down so his mouth hovered above Vin's hip, and blew lightly on the flushed skin. Vin's eyes flew open, but he didn't speak as Chris lightly blew a path down his hip to his thigh and up again. Vin shivered. Chris nuzzled his cheek against the soft skin of Vin's inner thigh, inhaling the musky scent and feeling the hairs thicken as he neared Vin's groin. He took a deep breath, knowing he was past the point of no return, and licked the hard cock in front of him, starting at the base and working up to the head. Vin groaned beneath him, and Chris pulled away, tasting the slight tang left on his lips, fascinated by the pulsing and aching muscle throbbing at the center of this man.
He traced the vein with his fingers, swirled the pre-cum around the head. "How many girls you been with?" he asked.
"Jesus, ya ask a lot of questions. Get yer clothes off and ya turn into a regular chatterbox," Vin replied, tempted to grab the man's hand and keep it on his cock. He grabbed the sheet instead.
Chris raised an eyebrow.
"Don't know how many," Vin answered. "Five, six, maybe. Didn't make notches in my gun or nothin'." His hand inched down the sheet, coming to rest near Chris's leg. "And before ya ask, yes, I came."
Chris smiled, and resumed his work with his hands. Vin thought he was going to die from the quiet torture. It was a slow burn on his cock and stomach, gradually building like flames licking at him, strong firm hands molding him to their will.
Chris shifted his position, so his hip rested against Vin's, his legs bent, his feet near Vin's head. His own cock was needy, but he ignored it, intent on his explorations. His shaft twitched as he felt Vin's hand rest lightly on his foot, tentatively, as if ready to pull away in an instant.
He tightened his grip more, his hand encircling the slick steel of Vin's shaft, pumping the tender skin from base to shaft. "When was the last time?" he asked.
Vin suddenly bucked off the bed, the suddenness of his orgasm startling them both. Vin continued to thrust his weeping cock into Chris's hand, overwhelmed by the loss of control that wracked his body, the sudden shot of lightning that flared through him and left his toes tingling and his breath catching deep in his chest. Chris continued pumping until Vin lay still, even then lightly squeezing the swollen balls to empty them.
Vin turned away, his back to Chris, still panting. It was the most intense orgasm he'd ever had, but it was over too suddenly. It was like he'd been floating comfortably in a warm still pond, then he'd been bitten in half by a gator. The after effects still tingled through him, and he breathed deeply as his heart continued to pound.
He felt Chris's tentative touch along his ass, the fingers sticky with his own cum, tracing the crease and pressing slightly against his hole. He rolled over more, kicking one leg forward so his cheeks spread further, Chris's soft touch growing more insistent over the stretched skin.
"Don't have to do this," Chris said. "I can use my hand on myself too."
Vin shook his head. "No. I want to."
"You're sure? Don't owe me nothing."
"I know that. I'm sure." He smiled, leaning his head down into the pillow. "Want to finish the dream."
He stayed resting on his side as Chris's fingers entered him, first hesitantly, then more confident, spreading his channel and coating the way. Chris shifted, lying down behind him, his chest pressed to Vin's back. When he first felt Chris's cock breach his entrance, Vin tensed, and Chris stopped, allowing him to adjust, both of them quietly waiting, relaxed and tense, in anticipation and recognition. When Vin was ready, Chris began to move, slow and sure, and Vin moved with him, enjoying the length pushing him forward and pulling him back as they rocked side by side.
Then Chris hit something inside him, and the quiet and calm shattered. Vin cried out as he was struck by lightning again. This time it didn't end, continuing over and over, each time Chris thrust into him, the white heat streaking to every cell in his body. He felt Chris's confusion at the change, and took control, impaling himself back onto his friend, hard enough to knock Chris onto his back. Chris's cock fell out of him, and Vin rolled away, then straddled the shocked gunslinger, aiming his cock back into him, hitting the lightning spot on the first try and bouncing on it, his head thrown back, his voice pitching between grunts and pants. His own cock was rock hard, jutting up against his belly, harder than it'd ever been, and he was close, so close, so ready, and he tried to push himself over that edge, rode Chris harder, alternating long hard thrusts then stopping and grinding his ass on Chris's cock, moaning as every nerve of his being screamed for release.
He felt Chris's hand on him again, moving up and down his aching shaft, not even having to hold on as Vin moved up into his hand and down onto his cock, the two pleasure points almost unbearable, but he still couldn't go over the edge. "Come for me, Vin," Chris said quietly, and Vin looked down into the smoldering green eyes of the man beneath him, his own need held in check, his own chest straining and rivulets of sweat running down his chiseled face. "Come for me," Chris repeated. "Let go." For once in his life, Vin trusted another person enough to completely let go, and as he did, his back arched and his hands clutched at Chris as he cried out, spurting streams of semen over Chris's chest. At the same instant he felt Chris swell inside him, and warm seed coated his insides. Vin felt as if he'd poured out his soul as well, and he collapsed on Chris's heaving chest, asleep before Chris even pulled out.
Chris looked down at the sleeping man, flushed but relaxed. He reluctantly pulled himself out and nestled closer. He still wasn't quite sure what had happened between them, or where the hell it would end up, but he decided he was going to ask Vin about his dreams more often. Maybe then his own dreams might get a bit more pleasant.
The End
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