Chris opened the door quietly and slipped silently into his own
house. The drapes in the den were drawn, even though all the windows
were open there was no wind to move them. Evidence that his house
guest had spent some time on the couch in front of the TV was
everywhere; empty soda cans, a half eaten candy bar, cookie wrappers
and the TV guide littered the coffee table. He pressed on to the
bedroom, stepping into the open doorway he found himself smiling.
There on the bed lay Buck, fast asleep. The heat and humidity had
been building all day and it was now stiflingly hot. The blinds were
drawn against the sun's glare, and the room was thus flooded with a
soft sepia light. The sleeping man had kicked off the sheet and lay
almost on his stomach, head pillowed in the crook of his arm, nude.
In the soft light his skin looked perfect and unmarred. Though Chris
knew this to be an illusion, Buck carried more than a few scars,
scars he fully intended to map and claim just as soon as Buck was
ready. As he stood, watching and listening, he noted how labored
Buck's breathing still was and the slight fever flush to his cheeks,
yet to Chris it was the most beautiful sight.
It had been four days since JD had called to say Buck was sitting
unresponsively beside the Larabee family grave, and today was the
first day he had felt he could leave him and go to work. Rain Jackson
had been out the day before and pronounced that Buck's bronchitis was
receding and he was making good progress. Yet it had taken Buck a
long time to convince his old friend he was going to be fine for the
nine or so hours Chris was away.
Chris leant on the doorframe, he even sighed. For how long had he
pined after Buck? Forever - or so it seemed. The very first time he
had seen a younger Buck, resplendent in his new blue police uniform,
he groin had tightened and tingled like it had never done the first
time he saw a pretty girl. But it was hopeless, Buck was forever
boasting about his exploits with women and off duty he usually had a
girl hanging off his arm, sometimes even two. So Chris pushed his
physical desire to the back of his mind and allowed Buck to become
his friend, the tall, gregarious younger man took up residence in his
heart, far more so than he ever let on. Yet there were times when it
wasn't so easy. He would catch sight of Buck's lean hard frame in the
showers or the locker room - the man had no shame - and the old tight
feeling would return, there were times he had to turn the shower to
cold and recite the alphabet backwards or risk total humiliation.
Sometimes he would catch himself watching his partner get ready for a
patrol, watch him strapping on his belt, adjusting the sit of the
heavy gun in his narrow hips, double checking he had everything.
Since they were organized alphabetically, Buck's locker was at the
end of the row, while Chris' was half way down. The south-facing
window shed sunlight down between the lockers. Buck would stand up,
with the sun behind him and he would be framed ion a glowing halo, to
Chris it was as if he was an angel, an angel in blue.
Sometimes he would sit in the patrol car as Buck went to get burgers
or doughnuts, admiring the way his body moved, the way the heavy gun
belt accentuated the roll of his hips as he sauntered along. Buck
always sauntered; he never looked like there was any urgency to his
stride, which since it was so long, was deceptively fast. He would
always hang back when Buck went to the working girls for information;
he was the only cop they trusted. He would watch the tender way
Officer Wilmington spoke to them, how he would stroke their cheek
with the back of his finger, how his eyes would twinkle for them and
just for once a man made them feel special, and he would wish for
Buck to make him feel special as well.
Ezra had nothing on the young Chris Larabee, he was the uber-master
at hiding his feelings.
Then he met the fiery, independent, sassy Sarah, and for the first
time in his life his body reacted to a woman the way it did to Buck.
It took a lot of pushing from Wilmington, but eventually he worked up
the courage to ask Sarah out. Life with Sarah was good and when Adam
came along, it was better than good, it was perfect. It was so
perfect; his physical desire for Buck left him totally. And then they
died.
When the first sting of grief and rage was over, and Buck was still
there, the rage was turned on him. Buck had made him ask Sarah out,
he made him love her. Buck, who had been unable to see how he felt
about him, had seen how he felt about Sarah. If only Buck had been
open to any advance Chris might have made, then he would never have
loved Sarah, and so he wouldn't have been in pain. It was a stupid,
twisted logic, so stupid that later, when he was sober, he was
ashamed of it. He never did explain to Buck why he acted the way he
did, and Buck never asked him or left him. They continued to work
together, Chris buried his desire for Buck as deep as he could, so
deep it never showed, even when he caught sight of Buck's naked form -
he was still shameless - he no longer had to take an instant cold
shower. But he still loved him; he had always loved him.
And now here was Buck, in his home, in his bed. He and Buck had
shared the bed for the last four nights. Nothing happened, only very
gentle cuddling, Buck was far too sick for more that. But Larabee
loved to lie beside the bigger man, listen to him breathe, however
raspy and noisy it was, be there to help him sit up when he had a
coughing fit and hand him a glass of water and bring him his
medication. Buck slept on Sarah's side of the bed. Chris hadn't
thought about it, but that first day Buck had just naturally lain
down on the closest bit of bed that presented itself, Sarah's side.
No one had slept there since she died. The few, and it was very few,
times he had slept with anyone, male or female, since Sarah died it
was never at the ranch, and it had never meant anything to him. Most
of his sexual experiences in the past few years had revolved around
his right hand and visions of Buck. He had accepted this was how it
would always be, until four days ago.
Buck had confessed he loved him, stated he couldn't live with what he
believed was unrequited love. Chris had been living with it for
years, but he wasn't Buck. Buck Wilmington lived by his passion; he
wore his heart on his sleeve, was a slave to his emotions and let his
heart rule his head. For Buck to be in love and never be able to act
on that love was like asking the sun not to rise.
He watched the rise and fall of that broad chest, he watched the way
his unruly hair fell over his eyes, he watched the way his eyes
fluttered as he dreamed, the way his mouth twitched. He loved to look
at Buck's long fingers as they lay there all relaxed, he liked to
imagine what those fingers would feel like on his skin. He gazed on
the perfect, softly rounded but wonderfully firm ass, and the broad
shoulders with their well-defined muscles. He loved to watch those
impossibly long legs, and imagine them wrapped around him.
Chris stepped forward; he picked his way past the collection of
plates, soda cans, glasses and cookie wrappers littering the floor
and squatted down beside the bed.
"Wan . . . ?" Buck muttered as his eyes opened.
"Sorry love, didn't mean to wake you." Chris smiled at the love of
his life. "Don't I remember Rain and Nathan telling you to look after
yourself, to eat properly?" He eyed the debris at his feet.
"I'm a sick boy, have a heart." Buck lent forward and kissed him
gently. "Please?" he added.
"Well, I guess, how do you feel now?" Chris asked, pulling back,
unable to deny Buck anything.
"Better - I think."
Chris frowned and lay a cool hand on his brow. "You're still hot."
"Who isn't in this weather, honest Chris - love - I do feel better,
just tired." He levered himself up a little so he could lean forward
and kiss Chris more fully, on the mouth.
More than anything Chris wanted to reciprocate, but he had to
consider Buck's health, and beside before they took things too far
they needed to talk, so he pulled back.
"Did you take your meds at three o'clock?" he asked by way of a
distraction.
Buck looked over at the clock on the nightstand. "Oh, no, I forgot,
must have fallen asleep, sorry, I meant to, honest, just forgot."
Chris smiled, not because Buck forgot to take his medication, but
because he still needed him, he liked to be needed, so long as it was
Buck who needed him.
The End
Continues in
Hidden Beauty
