Paradise Lost

by Tiffiny

"Leg botherin' ya?" Vin's soft drawl sent an involuntary shiver down Chris's spine. A reaction he ruthlessly supressed before shaking his head in reply.

"Not really." Chris's hope that Vin would accept the lie at face value died a quick death as the sharpshooter shot him an irritated glance.

"If it hurts, just say so, dammit. You ain't Joan of Arc, so quit tryin' to act like a martyr."

"It doesn't hurt." Chris insisted stubbornly. They'd had this same conversation every night for the past week. Ever since Vin had arrived on his doorstep in order to take his turn at "nursin' the invalid". Chris had hoped his leg would have healed enough so that he could manage on his own before the sharpshooter's turn came around. Dammit, five nursemaids ought to have been enough for any man, in Chris's opinion. But it seemed his doctor had a different opinion. He still insisted it was a good idea for Chris to have some company out at the ranch in case his leg gave out and he fell or did some other fool thing. His doctor might have been an expert on healing bones, but he didn't know a damn thing about healing hearts.

Vin sighed and closed his eyes. "You always gotta do everything the hard way, don't ya, Larabee?"

Chris turned his head away so Vin couldn't see the expression on his face. The sharpshooter didn't know how right he was. Vin had no idea how godamned hard it was for Chris to sit here and look at him and know he couldn't have him.

Chris shrugged. "Not everything. Just... some things." Then he gave an involuntary grimace as another pain shot up his leg.

Vin watched Chris through narrowed eyes. He was getting awfully tired of seeing Chris suffer and even more tired of hearing Chris refuse to let him help.

"Well, this ain't gonna be one of those things." Vin got to his feet and padded quietly on bare feet out of the room.

"I'm afraid you're wrong on that count, Vin." Chris murmured as he watched the lithe form leave the room and tried to tell himself that it would all be over with soon. His leg would get better. And then things could get back to normal.

Normal? Chris quirked his lips mockingly. Yeah. If normal was doing your damndest to pretend that your ex lover, who didn't know he was your ex lover, was now just your friend and that you liked it that way.

Where the hell was Vin, anyway? Getting a cold beer, he hoped. He could use one. Or two. Or half a dozen. Picking up the nearby newspaper, Chris tried to ignore both the pain in his leg and the ache in his heart.

"Got somethin' that might help that leg." Vin's tone brooked no refusal as he came back into the den, holding a small jar in one hand, and walked over to the couch where Chris sat.

"No." Chris didn't want whatever it was. The less he took from Vin, the easier it would be for both of them. Even if Vin didn't know it.

"Fine. We can do this the hard way. Makes no never mind to me." Vin replied amiably, as he unscrewed the lid of the jar and knelt down to one side of Chris. Too amiably. Chris knew what that meant.

"Wait." Chris jerked back as the sharpshooter reached out a hand to grasp his leg.

"Wait for what? Christmas? Your leg is hurtin' now." Vin tugged at the bottom of Chris's sweats til he had them pulled up past Chris's knee, all the way up to midthigh.

"Dammit, Vin." Chris let out a hiss as the sharpshooter scooped out a handful of the faintly minty smelling ointment and began massaging it carefully into the inflamed area around his knee.

"That's ok, Chris. No need to thank me." Vin smiled up at him and Chris closed his eyes in defeat. He would just have to get through this somehow. It was ridiculous to think that he might die from Vin's touch. It was just a fucking massage. Buck had done the same thing for him. And Nathan. He hadn't died from either one of them. But they weren't Vin.

Vin concentrated his attention on the kneecap in front of him. If he could just think about that and not about... his eyes drifted upwards... not about the lean muscular thighs and narrow hips... or the flat stomach... or the bulge... the bulge? Shit. Vin's eyes flew up to Chris's face. It was white and strained and if he bit any harder on that bottom lip, it was going to bleed all over the goddamned place.

Chris Larabee was a hardheaded, mean tempered, sadistic bastard. And Vin Tanner wanted him, dammit. And it looked like Chris might want him, too. Now what was he going to do about it?

Vin continued massaging Chris's knee as he silently enumerated all the reasons why he shouldn't do anything. Chris was his Boss. Chris was his friend. Chris... Chris had a hard on, dammit.

Vin began working his hands slowly up Chris's leg, wanting to explore the flesh and bone he could feel beneath his fingers.

"What the hell?" Chris's eyes flew open as Vin's hands traced circles on his bare thigh.

"This is what." Vin curled his fingers over the bulge in Chris's sweats and looked up at him.

"Vin." Chris's eyes were dark. Like the sea during a storm.

The sharpshooter just knew Chris was going to tell him to stop and he didn't want to stop. Well, if Chris's mouth was otherwise occupied, then he wouldn't be able to say anything, would he? It sounded like a plan to Vin. He quickly got to his feet and straddled Chris, pinning him back against the couch. Then he leaned down and kissed the man like he'd been wanting to do for what seemed like forever.

Chris remained frozen beneath him for a long gut-wrenching minute before his arms went around Vin's waist, fingers digging into his back through the thin material of his shirt.

Vin threaded his fingers through Chris's short, blond hair, the strands sliding through his fingers like rough silk. He could feel Chris's hands slide down his back to grasp his hips, pulling him closer, cocks rubbing together and sending licks of fire into his belly and along his spine. He moaned softly and Chris tensed up, trying to push him away. Vin tightened his fingers in Chris's hair, refusing to let Chris push him away. He slid his lips across Chris's jaw to nip sharply at the tender skin of his neck.

"Vin..." Chris groaned and the sound of his voice raspy with need sent a surge of blood rushing into the sharpshooter's cock. Vin decided he could really grow to like that particular sound. He leaned back far enough so that he could pull Chris's t-shirt over his head and toss it to one side.

"Don't move." Vin ordered softly, running both hands over Chris's chest, his thumbs grazing the tips of Chris's nipples.

Chris knew he'd passed the point of no return when Vin slid his sweats off and began licking all around his cock, spreading apart his legs to kiss the inside of his thighs. Making Chris crazy with his teasing. Up until then he'd harbored the faint belief that he might come to his senses and stop this before it was too late. But it was definitely too late for anything else except...

"Fuck me, Vin. Please. Jesus Christ, you're about to kill me." Chris could hear himself beg. Could hear Vin laugh softly in reply. And then Vin was fucking him and it was almost as good as Chris remembered except for one thing. But Chris was damned if he was going to utter some stupid cliche about love, even in the privacy of his own mind.

"Sayin' it was good don't hardly seem adequate." Vin's words after were a low murmur in Chris's ear, an eerie echo of Chris's earlier thoughts, as he slid out of Chris and rolled over to lean back against the couch.

"Good is good enough." Reality was making an abrupt return to Chris Larabee's world.

"I reckon it could get even better. With practice." Vin gave him a sidelong glance that Chris pretended not to see.

Please don't let Vin say it. Chris thought. Please don't say it, Vin.

"Maybe we could give it a try?" Vin persevered.

"Give what a try?" Chris asked curtly, still trying to head Vin off at the pass.

"I don't know. Us, I guess."

"Dammit." Chris couldn't stand any more. He struggled awkwardly to his feet and grabbed his sweats off the floor.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Vin demanded. He was feeling a bigger fool by the second.

Chris stared at him for a long moment, his face drained of all color. When he finally spoke, his voice was expressionless. "It might be best if you went home tonight, Vin." Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving a confused, hurt and angry Vin Tanner behind.

TWELVE

"Might be best if I went home tonight." Vin repeated Chris's last words aloud, as if they might somehow sound better coming from his own lips. They didn't.

"Damn you, Larabee. What the hell does that mean, anyway?" Vin leaned over and snatched his clothes angrily off the floor. He got to his feet and stepped into his jeans, jerking them up over his hips and buttoning them quickly. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his flannel shirt and grabbed his boots. He was ready. He was more than ready. Vin Tanner didn't need to be told twice. No siree. Chris would have to beg hard before Vin would darken this doorway again. Beg hard and sweet. Like he'd done earlier when...

For a moment Vin paused, remembering. Then he shook his head and tightened his lips. "Forget about it, Tanner. Just go home like the man said." He had to force himself to not look back as he left.

+ + + + + + +

Chris stiffened slightly as he heard the sound of Vin's jeep starting up and then the sound of tires crunching on loose gravel. He listened til he could no longer make out any sound at all except that of silence.

"Damn you, Vin." Chris stared into the bathroom mirror as he listened to the silence. His face was pale under the glare of the overhead light. His eyes were tired. He was still so skinny a one eyed blind man could count his ribs from fifty feet away. He looked like shit. Chris stared at his reflection a moment longer before smashing his fist into the mirror, shattering the reflection of the pale stranger that was him into a thousand tiny pieces.

"I need a drink." Chris ignored the blood dripping slowly from his hand and opened the bathroom door. He made his way purposefully into the den. He very carefully did not look at the couch where Vin had fucked him senseless less than an hour ago. He grabbed a full bottle of whiskey from the wet bar in the corner of the room and then just as purposefully, made his way into the kitchen and sat down at the table where Vin had not just fucked him senseless. At least not recently.

Chris gave a short, bitter laugh as he raised the bottle of whiskey in a mocking salute. "Here's to old times." A drop of blood fell onto the table as he tilted the bottle to his lips.

+ + + + + + +

Vin stalked into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. "Well, I'm home." He muttered, looking at his rather spartan surroundings with a frown. Funny. He'd never noticed how bare the place was before now. Not like Chris's place. Chris's place didn't have a lot of stuff either, but what he did have was good quality. It said something about the man. That he was a bastard with damn good taste, that's what it said. Didn't say nothin' about being home to a stupid ass sharpshooter with more hormones than sense.

"And hell. My place says something about me, too." Vin sighed as he threw himself into the old recliner that he'd picked up at a garage sale a few years back. "Says I'm a stupid ass sharpshooter with more hormones than sense and godawful taste to boot."

Vin got back to his feet. "I need a drink."

+ + + + + + +

Why the fuck couldn't Vin have left well enough alone? If it had been pure sex, Chris could've dealt with that. But he couldn't deal with Vin wanting a relationship beyond the friendship they'd managed to salvage. He'd already lost Vin once. He'd be damned if he was going to go through that again.

Chris glanced down at the table, swearing under his breath as he caught sight of the blood on it. What the...? Shit. He'd forgotten he'd cut his hand when he smashed the bathroom mirror. That hadn't been one of his proudest moments. He inspected his hand, which had begun to hurt now that he was thinking about it.

"Could be a metaphor for my life." Chris muttered, getting to his feet and moving over to the sink. He turned on the cold water and stuck his hand under the faucet, scrubbing halfheartedly at the blood. Should he put some stuff on it? All he needed was for it to get infected or something. He finished rinsing his hand and tried to remember the last place he'd seen that herbal ointment Nathan swore by.

Chris wrapped his hand in a clean towel and walked into the bedroom. He'd finally remembered where the ointment was. And now he wished he could forget. He didn't want to remember him and Vin together in this bedroom. Laughing. Fucking. Fighting. And he didn't want to remember the last time he'd used this ointment. Vin had burned himself trying to cook Chris breakfast one morning. So instead of eating pancakes and eggs, Chris had found himself rubbing that ointment on the burned fingers of Vin's left hand while licking maple syrup off the fingers of Vin's right hand. It had been better than any damn breakfast he'd ever eaten.

"Dammit." Chris yanked open the drawer of the nightstand and rummaged around til he found what he was looking for. As he was closing the drawer, he felt something catch on the edge of it. It was a picture of him and Vin. One of those old time photo deals with the two of them dressed up like gunslingers. Chris slowly drew the picture out. He stared down at it, tracing a finger across the smiling image of Vin. He and Vin weren't those two gunslingers anymore.

Chris hesitated before finally placing the picture carefully back in the drawer and sliding the drawer shut. He and Vin and their whole relationship might be dead as the proverbial doornail, but he wasn't in the mood for any funeral gestures right now. Right now he just wanted to drink enough whiskey for him to sleep.

+ + + + + + +

"Dammit." Vin scowled down at the empty shelf in the fridge where his beer used to be. "I'm gonna start stocking whiskey."

Well, it didn't look like he was going to be doing any drinking, after all. Shit. He'd already had thirteen different imaginary conversations with Chris tonight on the way home. All of the conversations had started out with him telling Chris what a bastard he was and all of them had ended with him bending Chris over the back of that sofa, while telling him how much he loved him. How the hell had Larabee managed to come out the winner in a goddamn imaginary conversation, anyway? And where the hell had this love shit come from? Dammit. Vin had really been looking forward to a drink.

Ok. Life was a bitch. Or maybe a bastard. So no consolation drink for Vin Tanner. He could always rearrange his sock drawer. Or alphabetize his spices. Anything to take his mind off Chris. Well, not much of a choice there really, since the only three spices he owned were salt, pepper and chili powder. It was the sock drawer or nothing.

Vin wandered into the small bedroom of his apartment and lay down on the bed, rubbing his temples. Great. Just what he needed. A headache. He had to have some aspirin around here somewhere. He sat up, cursing as the pain in his head began to grow at an exponential rate. He stalked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. No aspirin. Shit. He searched through the bureau drawers in his bedroom. No luck there, either. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had just about resigned himself to venturing out to the store and was trying to decide if he wanted whiskey or aspirin or both, when he remembered the emergency medicine kit on the shelf of his closet.

Vin opened the closet door and reached up to grab the medicine kit. There was another box behind it. A small, battered metal box that Vin didn't recognize. What the hell was in there? He grabbed it, too. Maybe it held a treasure map or the family silver or old love letters. Something that would take his mind off Chris, anyway.

THIRTEEN

Vin turned from the closet and tossed the battered metal box onto the bed so he could use both hands to pop open the lid of his medical kit. He needed those aspirin now. The family treasure could wait. With his luck, the box contained overdue bills or something like that, anyway. Now where the hell where those aspirin? He rooted through the items in the kit, tossing aside bandages, bacitracin and a bottle of antacids with equal abandon.

"Awww... the hell with this." Vin turned the kit upside down and dumped the contents on the floor. Kneeling down he grabbed the bottle of extra-strength Tylenol that had rolled to a stop halfway under the bed. He ripped the cap off, tilted the bottle and shook three of the capsules onto his palm. His left temple throbbed. Better make that four. He shook out another one.

"Cheers." Vin muttered, pulling himself to his feet. He lifted his hand to his lips and let all four capsules slide into his mouth. He looked around for a a glass of water. There wasn't one. Nor was there a half empty bottle of beer or a three day old can of soda. Heaving a sigh, Vin grimaced and then swallowed all four of the capsules dry. It made JD cringe every time he did that. Kid couldn't even swallow an itty bitty aspirin without an entire can of Pepsi to wash it down with. But he didn't have Vin's headache, either.

Vin eyed the metal box on the bed with a frown. He really wasn't much in the mood for surprises anymore. But he supposed he might as well open it. It wasn't like he had anything else to do. Goddamn Chris Larabee, anyway. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keyring. He spotted a small silver key he didn't recognize. Kicking aside the first aid debris on the floor, he made his way over to the bed and sat down. He picked up the metal box and peered closely at the rather battered lock. Yep. The key looked like it might work.

He had the key halfway in the lock when his cell phone yodeled. Shit. Where had he left it? He could hear the damn thing plain as day. And for that he might have to hurt JD one of these days. Vin wanted a cell phone that rang, dammit. Not one that yodeled the theme from the Magnificent Seven so loud that anyone in a five mile radius could hear it.

Vin searched his pockets, then glanced around on the floor. No cell phone. It had to be out in the other room somewhere. As he heaved himself off the bed to go look for it, his feet caught in the blanket, causing him to fall painfully to one knee. The metal box slid off the bed, forgotten by the man cursing worse than a drunken sailor as he got to his feet and hobbled out of the room.

He finally found the cell phone in the pocket of his jacket on the floor near his sofa. He sat on the floor and stared at the phone yodeling away in his hand. What if it was Chris? Calling him to... To what? Apologize? Invite him over for some hot sweaty sex? Yeah right. Vin took a deep breath and punched the button.

"Tanner." His tone was curt, but other than that he didn't sound like a man who'd just fucked his boss and former best friend that he couldn't remember, but what the hell did that matter anymore anyway.

"You don't sound like Lolita, the Goddess of Love." The voice was accusing.

"Does your wife know what you do in your spare time?" Vin snapped, hanging up the phone in disgust.

Stretching out on the floor, he stared up at the ceiling. God, his life sucked. He couldn't even get a decent wrong number.

+ + + + + + +

Chris stared at the phone hanging on the wall in his kitchen.. Should he call Vin? And what? Apologize? Invite him over for another bout of hot, sweaty sex? He took another sip of whiskey from his glass to keep his hand from reaching for the phone.

Three glasses later, Chris was finally starting to feel like maybe he could sleep. Like maybe he'd washed enough of Vin's taste out of his mouth, enough of Vin's scent off his skin. He got to his feet and the phone rang. His chest tightened, his breath quickened and his cock tingled. God, he hoped that was Vin calling. Calling to invite him over for some hot sweaty sex. Calling to invite him to a quilting bee. Hell, Chris didn't care.

"Hello." Chris's voice was terse, but that was hardly unusual.

"No. There's no Pedro here." Chris slammed the phone down and limped into the bedroom. He stripped his clothes off and threw them in the corner of the room before sliding into bed. He stretched out on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Wishing things could be different. Knowing they never would be.

+ + + + + + +

"Chris, ol' pal, ol' buddy. You busy next Friday?" Buck's innocent sounding tone had Chris looking up from his beer and frowning before Buck even finished the sentence.

"Yes." Chris glanced back down at his beer.

"Too busy to make time for Miss Denver 1997?"

"Yes."

"She also speaks three languages, advocates world peace, and is kind to children and small animals."

"Good for her."

"Chris, now you know I never ask you for nothin'..."

"Really? Then that means I don't have to give you those three days off next month?"

"Oh come on, Chris. It ain't like I'm asking for a pint of blood. I'm just asking you to spend a few hours in the company of a beautiful, intelligent woman so her sister, who's even more beautiful and intelligent, will spend a few hours in my company."

"Why don't you ask Ezra? He and Miss Denver '99 can practice their Italian together or whatever."

" That's '97 and she speaks French and Japanese, not Italian."

"Ezra speaks French."

"Yeah. But she's expecting you Said she's looking forward to meeting you."

"Not only beautiful and cultured, but foolhardy as well." Ezra drawled, with a sidelong glance at Chris's glowering countenance.

"There's a saying amongst the natives of South America about what happens to the man foolish enough to refuse a beautiful, foolhardy woman." Josiah said solemnly, looking down the table at Chris.

"Really? What do they say happens?" JD asked, turning his attention from the bowl of pretzels on the table, to Josiah.

"Well, I don't know, son. Apparently the men of that tribe are all very careful not to find out. Not being foolhardy themselves, you see."

Inez rolled her eyes as she approached their table with another pitcher of beer. The so-called saloon was busier than usual this Friday, but Inez always managed to find the time to serve them personally. "Are you telling loco tales again, Senor Josiah?"

"He's just adding his two cents on whether Chris oughtta go out on a blind date or not." Nathan explained, secure in the knowledge that he had Rain and was therefore not subject to his friends' importunings and machinations and out and out blackmail when it came to the dating game.

"But surely Senor Chris is handsome enough to find his own dates. If it was Senor Buck now, then I would understand."

Vin stared grimly down into his beer as his friends bantered back and forth. So what if Buck was trying to set Chris up with a beautiful woman? Chris was his boss - nothing else. No matter what kind of fantasies he'd spun in the shower for the last six weeks. Ever since that one night.

"What about you, Vin? What do you think?" Buck's voice dragged him out of his cloud of depression.

Vin lifted his head and stared into Chris Larabee's green eyes. The distance between them was much greater than the mere length of the table. "I think he might as well be obliging and go out with her. Ain't like it matters."

Ain't like it matters. Chris felt like Vin had kicked him in the stomach. The sharpshooter really wanted him to go out with someone else? True, they'd never talked about that night, and Chris wanted to keep it that way, but still you'd think Vin wouldn't be in such an all fired hurry to throw him to the she wolves. Unless he was ready to move on himself. Chris swallowed bitter jealousy along with his beer as he tore his eyes away from Vin long enough to nod curtly in Buck's direction.

"Anything to shut the lot of you up."

The bastard had agreed. He was going out with a beautiful woman who spoke three languages next Friday. He wasn't supposed to agree. He was supposed to say no. How could he not know that? What the hell had happened to that much vaunted unspoken communication the two of them were supposed to have had? Everyone from Judge Travis to the gal in the forensics lab had mentioned it, but Vin had yet to see a sign of it. Hell, if Chris could really read his mind, he wouldn't had to have spent the past six weeks jackin' off in the shower.

But maybe Chris Larabee couldn't care less what Vin Tanner wanted. And why should he? Ain't like he'd ever brought up that night. In fact, he acted like he'd be happier than a pig in shit if he could just forget about it altogether. They didn't have to have any special unspoken communication for Vin to know that.

Well, fine. Peachy. Dandy. Strike up the goddamn band. God, his life sucked.

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