Part 1
Buck was in his own private, personal hell. The coughing fit had woken him, wrenching him from sleep with painful spasms. All he could do was sit on the edge of the bed and cough, trying desperately to obey his brain's demand for oxygen, but his lungs just couldn't seem to respond. A warm hand came down softly on his back, it rubbed gentle circles. No words were spoken, then as the coughing eased, a glass of water from the night stand appeared in front of him, and still the comforting warm hand rubbed gentle reassuring circles over his back as the coughing died away, leaving only shuddering uneven breathing.
"Thanks," he finally managed to say, after he had drunk some water.
"You okay now?" Chris' voice was full of genuine concern.
Putting down the glass and sinking gratefully back onto the bed, Buck nodded. Chris lay down beside him, propping himself up on one elbow; he let one finger trail in the soft hair on his beloved's broad chest.
"You gonna be alright while I'm away today, I can stay if you want?" They both knew he wanted to stay, but he really should go to work.
"Nah, I'll be fine, I'll just . . . you know, take it easy." Chris lay a hand on Buck forehead, this time he didn't protest or pull away.
"Well?"
"Still cool," Chris informed him with a smile. "but you're not all better yet, you know."
"Believe me I know," Buck commented bitterly. He hated being ill, he hated people looking after him, he hated being inactive, he hated not being at work with the rest of the team, he hated that they might have to go on a bust without him and someone might get hurt because he wasn't there to watch their 'six'. That was after all, his function in life, his purpose - to watch out for others. He had learnt his this from his mother, a good caring woman, whom life had kicked in the teeth more than once, but who never let the setbacks, the insults, the poverty or the scorn get to her. She too took care of others, she would take young girls who came into the 'profession' under her wing and try to see if there was a way out for them. Cindy wasn't ashamed of her job, for that was what she truly saw it as, just a job, but it was a hard life, mentally and physically, and not everyone survived. She helped girls stand up to their pimps, encouraged them to become independent if they could, and she stood up for her son. She could have had an abortion, she could have had him adopted, but she loved her child and nothing was going to part them or hurt him while she was around. No child was ever more loved than Buck Wilmington.
In return young Buck did everything he could to make his mother's life easy, he learned to cook and clean, he tried never to worry her with bad school reports or broken curfews. He learned to hide his worries and hurts. He never told her when he was bullied at school, he never told her about losing friends when they found out about his mother, he never told her about the time he was dropped from the basketball team because the coach was a client of hers. He never told her about the extra work he had to do to keep his grades up just because they kept moving, and he never told her when he was sick. If she needed to stay home and take care of him, she wasn't earning. He would take himself to school if he possibly could or if that was just impossible, like the time he had food poisoning, he left their home, waited until she left and then snuck back in. He was even adept at forging her signature on the letter to the school the to explain the absence when he returned.
All this stayed with him into adulthood, it was ingrained in his character, help others, protect others, don't be a burden. And while it made him a good police officer and federal agent and a great friend, he was a lousy patient.
Chris suppressed a smirk at the expense of the man he loved, had always loved. "Yeah I know how you feel," he empathised. "Take it easy okay, I'll bring something home for supper, seeing as how you seem to have your appetite back," he promised, remembering the food wrappers and plates spread all over the house when he returned from work the previous evening. Buck just grunted and pushed down further into the warm bed. Shaking his head Larabee bent down and kissed his beloved on the forehead, then slipped off the bed and started dressing. Buck glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed.
"It's only five thirty," he commented, wanting Larabee to come back to bed and snuggle.
"Yeah, five thirty, when I get up, every working day."
Buck frowned. "Why would anyone voluntarily get out of bed at five thirty?" he asked.
"Because this is a ranch and I got stock to tend, most of it not mine." All of them stabled a horse with Chris, Chris did employ a young woman to look after the horses during the week and cover for him if he was away. Her wages were divided equally between the seven of them.
"Don't we pay Tory to do that?" he asked
"Sure, but she won't be here until the afternoon, she has classes remember?" Tory - real name Victoria - was studying part time at the community college for the high school diploma she never got at school, mostly because she spent her last two school years in juvenile detention. Nettie Wells was her case worker and knew that she was basically a good kid who had gone astray, mostly due to her family which included an absent father, alcoholic mother and drug taking brother. No matter what else happened to her Tory loved horses, she used to work at stables to earn the money for riding lessons, and when she was older, helped to escort trail rides for the same reason. So Nettie persuaded Vin to persuade Chris to give the girl a chance.
Buck hadn't really thought about this, about how much extra work seven horses could be.
"Oh yeah, I forgot, I could help." He started to push himself up.
"No you don't, you stay put, I've been doing this on my own for a good few years I reckon I can manage." Then he grinned devilishly. "Stay there Wilmington! That's an order."
Buck didn't really want to get out of bed, so didn't argue, he just lay back and watched Chris dress. He had seen Larabee dressing dozens of times, but he had never watched him. He took in the way the soft cotton of his black jockey shorts -**Jesus even the man's underwear is black!** - rode smoothly over the lean, nicely toned but not over muscled legs, he watched with rapt wonder as Chris casually pulled them over his cock and adjusted it to so it sat comfortably on the left hand side. Chris reached for the jeans hanging casually over the back of the chair, not the jet black, nearly new 501's he wore to work, but an old worn and faded pair. They ranged in colour from dark charcoal grey to nearly white. Buck noted how they hugged Chris frame perfectly, the most faded patched corresponding to his knees, crotch and ass cheeks, emphasising and extenuating them in a way that he now found almost erotic. Chris walked to the bureau and opened a lower draw; he pulled out a tee shirt, black of course, and without turning around, pulled it on. Buck all but sighed as he watched the soft folds of cotton tumble down past the well defined shoulder blades, past the slim, smooth waist and come to rest on the narrow denim clad hips. Before he knew what was happening, Chris was sitting on the bed beside him pulling on a pair of socks, black socks. **Gonna have to do something about his wardrobe** Buck commented to himself.
He wasn't sure but he must have dozed off because the next thing he knew Chris was shaking his shoulder.
"Don't go back to sleep yet, here." A glass of water and a penicillin capsule appeared in front of him.
Buck made a face but took the medication. Chris was almost at the door, promising to make breakfast once he was back, when Buck suddenly needed to know something. He didn't understand why the question came to him then or why he needed to know then but he did.
"Chris," he called.
Larabee turned in the doorway to look back at the man on the bed. "Yeah?"
"I need to ask something, something personal."
"Ask, nothing is personal between us now."
"I know we're gonna have this big talk, but I have to know. You? Have you . . . with a man . . . before I mean." There was something endearing about Buck Wilmington, a man who talked about sex the way other people talked about the weather, getting all tongue-tied and shy.
"Yes I have slept with other men before." The two long time friends stared at each other for a long time. Finally it was Chris who spoke again. "You okay?"
Buck nodded weekly, as he lay back on the pillows. "Think I'll sleep a bit how."
Part 2
Chris walked toward the barn with a knot in is gut, terrified he'd blown his chance at happiness already. Why? Why did he have to ask that, then? He wanted to explain it, put it in context, now Buck was thinking . . . actually he didn't know what he was thinking. That Chris had lied to him all those years? Well he hadn't lied exactly, Buck had just never asked about his sexual orientation. But it was a big part of his life that he hadn't shared with his oldest and closest friend, a man who had been as close as any brother. Not that Chris ever thought of Buck that way, to Chris he was always the adored one, the unobtainable one, the cherished one. Over the years he learned not to die a little every time Buck went off with yet another girl, but he never stopped dying inside each time Buck was hurt or distressed. More than once he had had to stop himself taking a hurting Wilmington into his arms, offering a joke or a few words of comfort or support, when what he really wanted to do was hug the man close and stop his pain, be it physical or emotional. He fed and turned out he horses with unusual haste, not because he was late or desperate to get back to the house, but because he needed physical activity. He needed to direct the emotion inside him someplace or it would turn into self destructive rage - like it always did without Buck there to deflect or defuse it - and this was one situation that couldn't be resolved with violence or by simply ordering people to do what he wanted. He had done that to Buck more times than he wanted to think about, and felt a cold hand close over his own heart every time he saw the hurt his words caused.
+++++++
Buck's day passed slowly, when he awoke the second time, he found a note beside the bed, it read:
"You are asleep and I cannot bring myself to wake you. Please know that I love you, I have always loved you, I my not have ever shown it before but I love you. Call me if you need to talk or need anything. There are fresh waffles and biscuits beside the toaster. Don't forget to take your meds at two o'clock. Love you - Chris"
The letter made him smile, as he hauled his still aching body out of bed and not bothering to dress, wandered into the kitchen to made himself some breakfast. Then he took a shower; pulled on a pair of old jeans from the bag of clothes JD had dropped off for him, slipped his still bare feet into his sneakers and headed out to the field were the horses were grazing. Having collected a handful of pony nuts from the barn, he called to his horse. The big grey picked up his head instantly and began to amble over to the rail. Buck had been there when he was born, the first horse born at the ranch, when he arrived he was black, in stark contrast to his pale grey mother. Buck was honoured beyond belief when Chris gave the new-born colt to him. Max was ten now, in his prime, he was loyal and gentle, fast, he had enormous endurance and he was patient. His company meant more to Buck then he could ever articulate, when ever he needed time to think, when he needed someone to just listen and not judge, Max was there.
The velvet-soft, dark muzzle rubbed against his hand. "So you think I have something for you do you?" he asked the horse quietly. "Cupboard love, that's what it is." He pulled out a few nuts and smiled as the big horse lipped them neatly of his hand. "I don't mind old friend, I'll take my loving any place I can get it."
He stood there, stroking the horse for what seemed like only a few minutes but was actually nearly and hour, Max fell asleep, the big head resting over Buck's broad shoulder as the gentle rhythmic stroking on his neck lulled him. In the end it was Peso, curious as ever, who nosed his way in and broke the spell. Deciding he was probably getting burned standing in the summer sun with no shirt on, Buck reluctantly gave Max the last few pony nuts. He refused point blank to give even one to Vin's ill-mannered black, if he did that he would never get a quiet moment with Max in the field again, then he turned away and headed back to the house.
+++++++
Chris got tied up at work, a meeting with the new regional director that he just couldn't avoid, ran on and on. He tried to listen; he tried to sound interested and appear enthusiastic about the new initiatives but his mind was twenty miles away on the foothills, with the most beautiful man on earth. Driving too fast and stopping only to pick up pizza, he arrived just as the sun was setting. Buck was sitting out on the porch, rocking back and forth gently on the old swing seat, a can of soda in his hand.
"Hello," he greeted.
Chris stood and took in the sight before him, reassuring himself one more time that Buck really was there and not another erotic dream. Then he put down the pizza on the corner of the rail, walked up to Buck, cupped his face in his large warm hands and kissed the love of his life long and hard. Letting his tongue explore the warm softness of Buck, tasting the slight sweetens of the coke he had just drunk. Finally he pulled away, gazing down at the man he adored.
"I do love you - you know," he stated.
"I know," Buck whispered. "Pizza?"
"Hmmm?"
"Pizza, over there or is that box just for show - I'm starving."
Buck stood and walked to the rail, grabbed the pizza box and sat down. They sat together on the step, eating pizza and watching the sunset in silence. The wind picked up, and for once it was cool breeze.
"Storm coming," Buck commented idly.
"'Bout time," Chris added.
He put down the last crust, one that was just too hard to be bothering with, and looked at the man beside him. He was still bare chested and as the cooling breeze picked up, he shivered.
"We should go inside," Chris stated, moving to get up.
"Been inside too much," Buck said, remaining were he was.
Not wanting a fight, Larabee hopped up, grabbed the closest coat from the back of the door and sat back down on the step, handing over the dark leather jacket. "Here, you don't need pneumonia as well as bronchitis."
"So."
"So, were do we start?" Chris asked.
"I have been thinking and I have some questions - okay?"
"Shoot."
"Well, you said you love me . . . "
"I do, always."
"That's just it, what does always mean?"
"Always, from the moment I saw you walking into the squad room on your first day on duty, your uniform all new and unfaded, sharp creases, shiny badge, I had it for you bad from the start. By the time we had been out together on that first day I was in love, always have been."
"Fifteen years?"
"Yeah, everyone of them."
"What about Sarah? You mean that was . . . ? No Chris that was love. I know, I saw the way you guys looked at each other. That was love."
Chris took a deep breath, he looked away from Buck and out across the land, his land, the land he was going to share with his wife, the land he was going to leave to his son.
"I did love her, she was bright and intelligent and sassy and she made me laugh and I loved her, but . . . " He raked his long fingers through his hair. "If - before Adam - if I had thought I had a chance with you, I would have given her up."
Buck didn't know what to say. "Hell Chris, now you're talking crazy," he finally muttered.
"No. No I'm not." He reached out and with the gentlest of touches, turned Buck's face back towards him. "It's the truth."
"I never had any idea, not one. Oh Chris how the hell did you manage? It's only been a few months and I was going crazy. I mean that, really crazy, seeing you every day, being close to you but never able to touch you, I was . . . well you know how I was."
Chris didn't let his tender hold on his love go. "I'm not you." Chris moved his hand to caress the back of Buck's neck. "I know this is all new to you, I may have been waiting for fifteen years, but I don't want to push you faster than you want to go. This is all going to happen at your pace - alright?"
Buck nodded, then looked up. "I have more questions." Chris took a deep breath; he pulled his hand back, though he didn't let go altogether, taking one of Buck's large hands in his. "You said you had slept with men before, I need to know, when . . . how long, I mean have you . . . always?"
Chris gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I started to notice men-
boys in high school, about the same time I noticed girls. The locker room was a nightmare I can tell you. Imagine how you would have coped if you were allowed into the girls locker room?"
Buck laughed. "What makes you think I wasn't!"
Shaking his head in disbelief Chris carried on. "My roommate in collage was gay, he made advances, I didn't repel them, it went from there, we were together, but not 'out' for two years. After that I dated, mostly one night stands, male and female." Chris looked up into those midnight pools that had drawn him in and captivated him from the moment he first beheld them. "Then I joined the Denver PD and met you. Now you know I went out with girls then, we went on enough double dates - but . . . " He gave another little squeeze. "I never slept with another man while we were partners, and I never cheated on Sarah."
"And since?"
"In the last five years, I have slept with . . . " he frowned as he mentally counted up his sexual encounters. "eight people, six women, two men, all one night stands."
Buck looked at him incredulously. "Eight times in five years - shit! You'll go blind!" he laughed.
"And if I did go blind, it would be with a vision of you in my head."
Suddenly Buck's laugh was gone. "You jacked off thinking of me?"
"Yes I did, pretty much every time I did it for the last fifteen years - I'm sorry if it freaks you out but I don't want there to be any lies between us."
Buck sat back and regarded the men he was learning he loved more and more. How did he feel about being Larabee's masturbation fantasy? Good, actually very good, flattered, titillated, his crotch gave a quick warm spasm, nice, very nice. "Well we will have to see if the real thing lives up to the fantasy won't we?"
"Oh it will, I know that." Chris leaned forward to kiss Buck, first closing his lips over Buck's lower lip, pulling and sucking, then he pressed forward, pushing his tongue into Buck's all too willing mouth.
Buck finally pulled back. "So how come you never told me you were bi?"
"You never asked. It never came up in conversation, not exactly locker room talk."
Buck could hear the fear in Chris voice, fear he had alienated Buck in some way. "It's alright, I understand."
"I don't know why I didn't tell you. I knew you would be cool with it. You remember Tony Franco?"
Buck nodded. Tony had been a young detective when they were both still in uniform, he was caught in the washroom late one night with a civilian aid called Albert. The were 'outed' in a very cruel and ugly way. Buck and Chris walked into a squad room were poor Tony was being physically intimidated and verbally abused. In only half a second, Buck had barged his way through the ugly mob, to stand beside Tony, daring anyone to take him on. The very public support of someone so obviously straight as the station's resident Don Juan, silenced many and made others, including Chris, publicly supportive of Tony.
"I was so proud of you that day, I was ready to leap on you then and there."
"Well that might have been a bit of an eye opener!" Buck joked, then his mood changed and he pulled his hand out of Chris' looking away into the gathering gloom. "I've never, with a man, not once."
Now it was Chris who detected fear. "Remember what I said, what ever happens, happens at your speed, your choice, you call the shots. I would never want you to be uncomfortable, or feel you have to do something you aren't totally comfortable with . . . " he reached out again, laying his and over Buck's but not closing around it. " . . . okay? Trust me?"
"Yeah, always, you know that." Just then the distant mountain peeks were suddenly illuminated as lightening lit up the sky, seconds dragged on into what felt like minutes until the rumble of thunder came, still some way off. "Let's go inside." With that Buck turned, took Chris' hand and began to rise. Larabee had no option but to follow. Buck lead him through the house toward the bedroom, and as he did the small smile on Chris' face turned into a huge grin.
The End
Continues in For He Who Waits
