Hunter's Moon

By: Joe Lawson

The wolves are out tonight
Under the hunter's moon.

(Tuesday's Child, by: All About Eve.
In: Scarlet And Other Stories, 1989.)

PART THREE

Chapter One

"This feels strange," Larabee mumbled as he stood on his porch, watching the others disappear into the evening twilight.

Buck shot him a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow. "You oughta see it from this angle," he muttered. "*You* only have ta do it twice; *I*'m going ta get laid seven times!"

"Twice?" Chris yelped, his head snapping around in alarm.

"Well, yeah." Buck shrugged. "You're the leader. You're the beginning and the end. We'll do it, then I'll go find the others, an' afterwards I'll come back here and lie with you again. You gotta accept me after they're through with me, or I won't have a place in the pack." He smiled weakly. "I need your blessing, so t' say."

Larabee groaned. "Damn, this is getting better and better."

"Thank you very much."

Chris glared. "You know exactly what I mean." His gaze softened. "Anyway, ain't like it'd be the first time we did something like that."

"Was a bit different back then," Buck said quietly, still staring into the dusk, though not even his keen eyes could make out the forms of his friends anymore. "Different time, different situation."

Larabee couldn't deny the truth behind that statement. Then, sex with Buck had been a means to release some tension, fun with no strings attached. They'd never talked about it, and when he'd met Sarah, those brief, passion-filled encounters had stopped. He'd missed them sometimes, but his wife easily filled that void . . . and after Adam was born he'd been too busy to think about anything but his family. He'd never even considered Buck's feelings on the matter. His friend had never tried to initiate the more intimate contact himself, so he'd just assumed the other man attached as little importance to the act as he did.

Yet, thinking back, Chris couldn't help but wonder if maybe there'd been more to it even then. He'd never seen Buck voluntarily defer to another man in any situation. He wasn't as much of a control freak as Larabee, but, to use his own expression, he was definitely a 'dominant'. He didn't take orders from anybody if not for a damn good reason, and though he usually was one of the most friendly people Chris had ever met, he'd also once seen him throw a man through a first story window when the idiot had made the mistake of uttering one challenge too many.

Unsure of how to approach the topic and even more unsure about whether he wanted to know the answer to that particular question, Larabee decided to leave well enough alone. He pushed himself away from the wooden pillar he'd been leaning against and nodded towards the door. "Want ta go in?" he asked.

Buck straightened, drawing himself up to his full, not inconsiderable height, and nodded. "Yeah. Let's get this over with."

This time it was Larabee who felt vaguely insulted. "Nice to know you're looking forward to it so much," he noted dryly.

Buck ducked his head guiltily. "Sorry. It's just . . . I know you don't want ta do this. Not with me, anyway. I never wanted ta . . . I . . ." His shoulders dropped. "I screwed up once, but I swear ta God, Chris, I won't let ya down again. And I'm sorry as hell I got ya into this awkward situation, but this is th' only way I can think of t' protect y'all from th'
pack."

Chris studied the handsome face, then allowed his gaze to travel south, taking in the tall, muscular frame that even fully dressed managed to exude the promise of mind-blowing sex, and couldn't suppress an anticipatory grin. "Yeah, it's a terrible sacrifice," he sighed. "But for all our sakes I'll try ta git over my disgust an' do my sacred duty." His grin turned decidedly predatory at the thought. "Now git yer ass into th' cabin and out of those damn pants, we haven't got all night . . . much t' my regret."

He'd obviously hit the right tone, because Buck's sorrowful eyes lit up with a touch of their old sparkle. "Impatient, ain'tcha?" he purred, slowly sauntering past the blond, his long fingers already opening the buttons of his shirt.

Chris followed him into the cabin, throat going dry when the worn blue cloth slid down Buck's broad shoulders, revealing skin that shone like living bronze in the firelight. Arms still trapped in the sleeves, the tall gunslinger stopped in the middle of the room and turned around, looking at Chris. His whole stance had changed as he slipped easily from his role of the gunslinger into that of the seducer, offering himself to his friend without so much as a hint of uncertainty.

"How 'bout helping me out of this damn shirt?" And how did he manage to make a simple question like that sound like a straight-out invitation to sin, anyway?

Resisting the siren's call, Larabee forced himself to close the door and put some more wood onto the fire before walking over to where Buck stood patiently waiting for him. Damn, it had never been like this between them before. He'd never taken the time to look at Buck, to enjoy the man's body beyond quick, hot animal rutting. Of course he'd noticed the way his friend was courting women, but he'd never been on the receiving end of his charm. At least, not so openly. He started to suspect Buck had used a much more subtle form of his allure to seduce him that first time so many years ago. After all, he'd never even thought about another man that way before Buck.

He came to a halt in front of Buck, taking a moment to adjust to the realization that he really wanted this. Not because of the Does, or some stupid ritual, but because listening to Buck talk about what it meant to be a Two-Blood had made him realize he wanted the Seven to be like that; more than companions, more than friends. Family. Pack. Buck was ready and willing to forge them together in a way few people would've dared dream about, much less attempt in reality. He offered them a chance of stepping into a world beyond anything they'd experienced before and Chris found himself longing for the change and fearing it at the same time.

He looked up and met Buck's clear, blue gaze, devoid of impatience or judgment. Buck was waiting for him to take the next step, to either accept the invitation or reject him. He was putting his fate into Chris' hands -- hands that had abused him more often than not -- and something in his eyes told Larabee Buck wouldn't hold it against him if he went back on his decision and pushed him away. Buck was used to risking his body and heart with Chris, and nothing the unsociable gunslinger said or did had ever stopped him from trying again. Sometimes, the man's silent courage made Chris feel like a complete bastard.

Then Buck leaned down and rubbed his cheek against Chris' like a big cat wooing for attention, and he just felt hot.

His body swayed forward gently, towards the silken heat of Buck's almost completely hairless chest. He allowed his hands to reach out and grab a hold of his friend's broad shoulders, then slid them down the exposed arms until they reached the material of Buck's shirt. The sleeves were still cuffed, effectively holding the big man trapped. Well, as effectively as a few folds of worn cotton could hold a person of Buck's size and capacity, but it was a nice illusion.

In no hurry to free his lover from the soft restraints, Larabee took a step back and moved his fingers up those powerful arms again, following the contours of the long, hard muscles. He traced the elegant lines of Buck's collar bones, briefly stopping at the hollow beneath the man's throat, feeling the pulse beat a quick but steady rhythm under the soft skin. Again he was amazed by the trust Buck placed in him. The deep blue eyes were half closed, his body relaxed. He never flinched or showed any sign of unease at being touched in such a vulnerable place.

The gunslinger's strong, callused hands skimmed over solid pectorals, thumbs teasing the flat, brown nipples into hard little pebbles. Buck shivered and gasped at the caress, trying to move closer. Chris stopped him by pressing a hand flat against his sternum, then left it there for a couple of heartbeats, liking the feel of his lover leaning lightly against his palm. Most of the time he forgot how damn big Buck really was - not only tall, but strong, not an ounce of unnecessary fat on his body. He couldn't deny it gave him a certain rush to see he could control all that raw power with nothing more than a touch.

When he finally slid the tips of his fingers down the flat stomach, stopping only briefly to circle the slight depression of Buck's navel before fanning out to come to a rest on his narrow hips, his friend was more than half hard. Chris eyed the distinctive bulge in the tan pants with a smirk, for the moment ignoring his own swelling hardness. He'd always known Buck was responsive, and remarkably flexible when it came to loving, but it was a new experience to see him so passive, giving his partner full rein.

Larabee opened the buttons carefully, freeing Buck's eager cock from its dark hiding place and exposing it to the light. It jumped under his touch, filling out even more when he gave it a few experimental strokes. Buck's hips moved as if on their own accord, rocking gently back and forth, but Chris drew back again. He grabbed a fistful of fabric with each hand and tugged, pulling the pants down those long legs. Buck stepped out of the material and stood before him, wearing nothing but that goddamn blue shirt that was still holding his arms at his sides and a smile that could've bewitched a priest.

Something snapped in Larabee at the sight. He opened his own pants and, with a growl, pushed Buck towards the table, unceremoniously bending him over it. Only to discover he had nothing to use as a lubricant within reach. His vicious curse produced a muffled chuckle from Buck, who was getting over his initial surprise with the ease of a man used to Chris Larabee's infamous temper. "Don't move," Chris warned.

"Don't worry," Buck muttered, shifting slightly to find a more comfortable position on the hard wood. "I'm goin' nowhere."

Satisfied that his prey was going to behave, Larabee crossed through the room with a hunter's determination, heading for the lamp dangling from a hook at the far wall. He splashed a good measure of the oil into his hand and returned to the table, his cock throbbing in anticipation.

Buck sure looked good enough to eat in the embrace of firelight and shadows, all long limbs and supple skin, just waiting to be touched. His body arched when Chris poured the oil over the small of his back, watching mesmerized as it ran down the taller man's flanks and into the crack of his ass in rivulets of liquid gold. The blond used the remainder of the oil to slicken his own member, before parting the firm cheeks and massaging the lubricant into the tight ring of muscle guarding the entrance to his lover's body.

He had to press hard to get a finger past the barrier. Buck moaned in pain, but didn't try to move away. It took him a while to adjust to the intrusion and even then it took long minutes of careful stretching before he was ready to accept the head of Larabee's cock. The smaller gunslinger was fighting his own desire desperately. He wanted nothing more than to plunge into his friend with all the pent-up passion of three lonely years, to take what was his and stake his claim. Under different circumstances he might have done it, but knowing Buck was going to be mounted half a dozen times before the night was over, he forced himself to be gentle.

Unconsciously rubbing the broad back soothingly, he sheathed himself with slow, deliberate thrusts until his jeans-clad hips were resting against the bare skin of Buck's behind. Their breaths came in short, labored gasps, but neither man made a sound as Chris started to pull back, then pushed back in, establishing an easy, unhurried rhythm. At first Buck tensed every time Larabee filled him, but gradually he relaxed and began to move back against his lover with growing confidence.

Chris picked up the tempo, loving the way the strong body bucked beneath him and the soft, breathless sounds Buck couldn't quite suppress. Memories of the man wrapped around him in the dark, accepting his impatient thrusts effortlessly, holding him without making him feel trapped, mingled with impressions of Buck writhing on the table, bound by pleasure and love rather than the feeble ties provided by the blue shirt. He slipped one hand beneath the soft material, feeling sweat-slicked skin stretched taut over rippling muscles, and the other around Buck's body, wrapping strong fingers around his lover's straining erection.

The additional stimulation was enough to undo the last shred of Buck's control. With a hoarse cry, he gave in to the double assault and surrendered, coming all over Larabee's hand and the floor. Chris couldn't hold back a scream of his own when the hot channel closed around him like a vise, yanking his orgasm right out of his balls. He jerked his hips hard, jabbing deep into the delicious heat with short, frantic movements, until the last jet of semen had been spilled and his muscles turned to goo.

Buck gave a stifled moan of mingled pain and contentment and rested his head against the tabletop, easily bearing the weight of his lover who was lying draped over his back, trying to catch his breath. "You still alive?" he inquired, when Chris didn't stir after a few minutes.

Larabee opened one eye, then the other one. "That," he muttered, "depends on whether you want me to move or not."

Buck chuckled and relaxed, feeling Chris slip out of him and lift himself up until he was standing again, all the while swearing like a muleteer. "Damn, I can't believe I came that hard," the blond gunslinger grumbled, putting himself away and buttoning his pants with shaking fingers. "It hasn't been *that* long, has it?"

"Five months," Buck supplied, picking himself up and wincing when his hips protested the sudden movement. He could almost hear the bruises forming. Getting repeatedly banged against the edge of a hardwood table did that to a body.

Chris, who'd been tucking his shirt in, stopped, counted backwards in his mind, then stared at his friend in astonishment. "How d'you know?"

Buck shrugged the shirt back onto his shoulders and went in search for his pants. "I could smell it on you."

"You *what*?!"

"I'm a Two-Blood, remember? I know ya by scent; the others, too. I can even tell yer mood by the way ya smell . . . tellin' when you've had sex is easy."

That, Larabee decided, was a sobering thought. He swallowed. "So ya know when we . . . *every time*?"

Buck shot him an indignant look. "Of course. Why d'you think we're establishin' your dominance this way? The Two-Bloods will smell you on me, and me on you. They'll even know who did th' fuckin' and who got fucked."

Chris was thinking furiously, but not about the other pack. "What if I bathe? Can ya still smell it then?"

Blue eyes rolled in exasperation. Buck grabbed the old towel Larabee used for drying the dishes, cleaned himself, and slipped back into his pants. "First of all - you lot don't bathe so often. Well, except Ezra. And second - yeah, I can still smell it. You'd need t' scrub yerself pretty damn thoroughly t' get that scent off you. Don't know why ya'd want t' do that, though. I like it. It's a good scent, if both partners enjoyed it."

"A good scent?" Chris asked, in a bit of a daze. "As opposed t' what?"

"As opposed t' Mary's ink, fer example," Buck said, fishing his socks from under the bed and tugging them on. "Or th' glue Josiah sometimes uses for repairs in th' church. Ezra used ta use some special brand of shoe-polish that just about did me in. I had t' steal it from his room and bury it, it was so bad. Thank God he was too miserly ta order another batch."

Larabee blinked. "Ya buried Ezra's shoe-polish?"

"Like a dog buries a bone, only I'm never goin' ta dig it up again," Buck declared firmly. He found his boots in a corner and leaned against the wall to put them on.

Chris was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that his friend had a nose that rivaled a bloodhound's, so he didn't realize what Buck was doing until the man snatched up his hat and headed for the door. "Where the hell d'you think you're going?" he snapped then, moving quickly to block the exit.

Buck raised an eyebrow. "Gotta go find Vin," he said. "Knowin' him, he won't be able t' resist th' temptation ta check just how good a tracker *I* am. Since I don't have all night, I'd better get started. Get some rest, I'll be back when it's time t' seal th' bond."

"What, I don't even get a kiss?" Chris quipped. "I'm disappointed, Bucklin."

"Oh, I'm goin' t' kiss ya," Buck promised, leaning in to gently nudge Larabee's forehead with his own. "But not right now. I want ya t' wonder what I taste like, so ya don't fall asleep on me while I'm out with the pack."

"Like that's even a possibility with all that coffee runnin' through my system," Chris muttered, but didn't try to stop Buck again when his friend slipped around him and through the door, disappearing into the growing darkness without a sound.

This was going to take some getting used to.

Chapter Two

Vin knew he should probably go straight to his wagon and wait there for Buck. This wasn't a game, after all, and anyway, he still had half a bottle of whiskey there, to calm his frayed nerves. Thinking back, he couldn't believe he'd actually drawn a cross on that damn piece of paper. It wasn't like he didn't know what he was getting into. Accepting Buck's offer to form them into a pack meant more than just having sex with the man. It was a commitment for life. Something like that would've had him up and running like a bat out of hell if it had been anybody but those six.

Funny, how these men had changed him. Only a year before he'd been a lone wolf, always on the move and for the most part avoiding people, because that was a lot easier than going to the trouble of forming attachments to a person. He'd been on his own, and liked it that way. Now he was on the verge of joining a pack in the truest sense of the word, knowing he was setting himself up for the worst if things didn't work out. He should've been scared shitless. He wasn't. He should've felt at least a twinge of regret at the thought of giving up his freedom. He didn't.

Nothing had ever felt so right.

He still had butterflies in his stomach. It had been a long time since he'd been intimate with anybody, male or female. And this wasn't just some casual encounter in a shabby room or dirty alley, or a friendly game with a lonely or curious brave. This was important. It was almost like marriage, only without the panic-attacks he usually suffered when the word was used in the same sentence as his name. Somehow, with his friends, the phrase "Till death do us part" didn't sound half bad. He knew they had the potential for becoming a real pack. If they all went all the way. If Chris accepted his role as their leader. If nobody panicked when they realized that close physical contact was part of the deal, that the intimacy wouldn't stop with this night. If they didn't try to deny that 'pack' meant more than just 'friends', more than 'family'. If . . . if . . . if . . .

He forced himself to take a deep breath and stop. No use worrying. He'd just have to do his part and hope for the best. Besides, if there was any group of One-Bloods who had a real chance of pulling this off, it was the Seven. They were extremely close already, and the result of the vote showed they were ready to cross the invisible line drawn by 'civilization' and venture into uncharted territory. Also, the townspeople were used to their little quirks, so if they weren't too obvious, they should be able to slowly ease into pack behavior, as Vin knew it, without attracting too much unwanted attention. They'd have to be careful, but -- living the life they led -- that wasn't exactly news.

Still, he found himself reining in Peso just outside of Four Corners, reluctant to go any further. Sure, they'd have privacy in his wagon -- provided they weren't quite as vocal as some other people -- but at the moment, even the familiar confines of his mobile home seemed somewhat oppressive. He didn't want to love Buck under the cover of darkness, one ear tuned to spot possible intruders, with only limited space to move. He wanted to be able to breathe.

Decision made, he turned his horse around and headed north. Peso wasn't too happy about this, but after a brief struggle grudgingly gave in to his rider's superior stubbornness. Vin could almost hear the gelding grumble as they made their way up the hills.

He chose a somewhat winding route to the spot he'd picked for his time with Buck, partly to give himself a little more time to calm down, but mostly because he wanted to know just how good a tracker his friend really was. The gunslinger had never shown any particular talents in that area before, but then, he'd been hiding his true nature from everybody. Vin wanted to see if the man could find him even by night, without a clue as to where he was headed. He selected a course that took him over rocky terrain to make things a little more interesting, but decided against crossing the stream. He didn't want to lose Buck, after all.

The place he'd chosen was a little clearing situated in a hollow nestled between the gentle slopes of two hills. A small creek ran through it, murmuring to itself as it made its way over stones and roots, carving a path into the hard earth with a cheerful patience that reminded Vin of Buck. The grass was thick and generously sprinkled with wildflowers, more comfortable than the softest bed. The spot was beautiful, surrounded by sturdy old trees that provided shade in the summer and shelter against snow and wind in the winter, and it had always filled Vin with a sense of peace.

He'd discovered sites like this before, sometimes in the most unexpected areas. He wasn't sure what it was that made some places so extraordinary. Maybe it was the presence of kind spirits, or just the sight of land untouched by humans that made him feel so at ease. All he knew was that when he found one of these spots, he could spend hours there, doing nothing but lying on his back and looking at the sky, with words and images running through his mind in a lazy stream of his own special brand of poetry. He'd been delighted when he'd come across the clearing during one of his scouting trips while searching for a gang of horse-thieves. It was the perfect retreat from the constant barrage of sights, sounds, and smells he had to endure in town.

This, he decided, would be his gift to Buck. A place nobody knew but them; a hideout in case the Two-Blood ever needed some time out.

Of course, Buck would have to earn his present, so Vin led Peso across the clearing and then up the hill. About halfway up the slope he dismounted and unsaddled his mount, getting him as comfortable as possible without giving him a chance to wander off. The black gelding snorted in disgust when Vin hobbled him, but allowed himself to be placated by a pat on the neck and an apple slice. When not in one of his moods, Peso was as venal as the next horse. Vin left him to graze and climbed one of the trees, looking for a comfy branch to use as a lookout. Then he settled in to watch.

He didn't have to wait long.

About an hour after he'd found a more or less passable position, the tracker spotted movement in the darkness. A large shape was heading straight towards him, only the occasional glimpse of moonlight touching silvery hair betraying its approach. A minute later the familiar gray horse stepped out of the shadows, his coat almost glowing in the light of the crescent moon.

Buck didn't hesitate. He guided Steele across the little creek into the middle of the clearing, then stopped the big gelding and looked up. Vin felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight of the tall man sitting so quietly astride the bare back of his horse, staring directly at him. He'd always been aware of Buck's attraction -- a person would have to be dead not to -- but he'd never been at the center of the man's attention like this. It was enough to make Vin's pants become uncomfortably tight. One more reason to be happy it was Chris who wore those irritatingly snug black jeans. //Damn it, Tanner. Don't go there. Not now.//

As if he'd heard his thought, Buck lifted a long leg over Steele's bowed neck and slid to the ground. The gray's ears twitched, but he stood like stone until his owner dismissed him with a gentle slap on the rump. Then the gelding shook his mane as if in mock sufferance and trotted away to find himself a nice little spot at the edge of the forest to graze.

Buck took off his hat and dropped it to the ground, then looked up at Vin again. The tracker could've sworn he saw white teeth flash in a familiar grin. So much for the protection of darkness, foliage, and distance - Two-Bloods obviously weren't deterred by either. He was about to give up and climb down from his post to join his friend, when a sudden change in Buck's stance stopped him cold. Or rather hot, since Buck was slowly, almost lazily, unbuttoning his shirt.

Vin froze on his branch, growing need and curiosity warring in him. He'd always liked to watch people, choosing if and when to approach them. And Buck sure was easy on the eyes, even when he wasn't trying to seduce someone. If there had ever been a person born for loving, it was the blue-eyed devil standing in the moonlight and teasing the bejeezus out of Vin simply by shucking off his shirt. From the way the garment fluttered to the ground, it could've just as well been a veil made of the purest Chinese silk. How the hell did he do it?

Buck, of course, didn't answer the question echoing through Vin's mind. He only threw his head back and lifted his arms, then turned completely around once, giving the tracker a clear view at his torso. Vin swallowed and wished he'd chosen a tree closer to the clearing. He wasn't that far away, but though the moon provided enough illumination to reveal the powerfully built symmetry of Buck's body, it was still too dark to make out many details.

The gunfighter finished his rotation and faced Vin again. He started to touch himself, running his hands lightly over his chest and sides, and clearly enjoying the sensations. The tracker watched spellbound as agile fingers teased responsive nipples, his own body reacting almost as if Buck was touching him instead. His cock was filling with blood, impatiently pressing against the soft leather of his pants. It made sitting
still increasingly difficult. Obviously, Buck wasn't entirely unaffected by his demonstration either, because when his hands finally wandered further down, the bulge in his crotch was hard to miss. He stroked it leisurely, clearly not in a hurry to finish this game. Vin growled in growing frustration. As if he'd heard the wordless command -- which, come to think of it, he probably had - Buck tilted his head a little in acknowledgement. Vin was pretty sure the scoundrel winked at him, before sinking to his knees in one sensual, graceful motion.

Mouth going dry, the tracker's eyes stayed riveted on the solitary man in front of him, who was popping open one button after the other with maddening thoroughness. Buck allowed the pants to gape open, but those damn shadows hid the treasure within, and Vin almost lost his balance when he leaned forward in an attempt to get a better look. He pulled himself back, waiting for a snicker or at least the traitorous shaking of broad shoulders, but instead the damn cocktease below only smiled and spread his thighs.

"Yer a goddamn bastard, Bucklin," Vin whispered, forced to reach down and adjust himself before he hurt himself or ruined his pants. "Y'know I'm gonna pay ya back fer this, right?"

This time, he did catch a pearl of quiet laughter floating up from the clearing. "Now, Vin, don't be so ungrateful," Buck scolded, just loud enough for his friend to hear. "Sit back 'n enjoy th' show." He chuckled. "'N try not ta fall out of that tree."

"I hate ya," Vin breathed with feeling, then his voice died with a dry rasp when Buck hooked his thumbs through a belt-loop each and started to slide the tan pants down.

Smooth skin shimmered in the moonlight as the gunfighter rose from his knees in a vision of silver and shadows, every line of his body screaming 'predator'. He was utterly and undeniably beautiful, but it was the fierce, savage beauty of tooth and claw, breathtaking, captivating . . . and deadly. This was the Buck Vin had only ever seen in the heat of battle, when the stakes were highest and the blood ran hot and wild, when gunsmoke and chaos provided cover for the not-quite-human hunter who was moving among them like a ghost, taking out their enemies with ruthless precision. The sharpshooter had spied him from his vantage point on the roofs, a part of him recognizing what he saw, but he hadn't consciously made the connection until Buck had changed in front of them.

The Two-Blood looked up and met Vin's stare head-on. They remained completely motionless for the duration of a couple of heartbeats then Buck's stance changed subtly, turning from proud declaration of power to open invitation, and Vin moved before his brain had time to verify the decision his body had already made. Every trace of doubt evaporated as his feet touched the ground, carrying him down the slope and across the clearing with quick, almost soundless strides.

He pounced on Buck with a rather animalistic growl of his own, pushing the taller man over and tumbling them both to the ground. Buck landed on his back with a surprised "Ooof", blinking in astonishment at the usually so reserved tracker. He sniffed, his eyes widening when he took in the half-wild scent emanating from his friend, then grinned in delight.

Vin didn't give him a chance to say something. He pressed his hands against Buck's shoulders, effectively holding him down, and crushed his mouth against the gunfighter's. There was no resistance when he pried the soft lips apart and thrust his tongue into the moist heat beyond, staking his claim. Buck relaxed beneath him, spreading his legs so Vin could comfortably lie on top of him. His hands slid under the thick hide coat to rest lightly against the cotton-covered sides, asking permission to touch. Vin gave it by leaning into the gentle caresses, though he didn't once stop his assault on his lover's mouth. Damn, if he'd known Buck tasted so good, he would've kissed him a lot earlier!

He felt impatient hands tug at his shirt and chuckled, drawing back just enough to be able to catch his breath and slip out of his coat. Buck moaned contentedly when he descended again, arching up to rub himself against Vin even while responding to the kiss enthusiastically. Somehow they managed to get rid of the tracker's many clothes with much squirming and muffled swearing, but without breaking the connection.

Content to finally feel the other man's skin against his, Vin pressed himself against the hard body beneath his own. Buck uttered a deep rumble that sounded suspiciously like a tiny growl when their cocks touched, pushing and sliding against each other, creating enough friction to arouse them even more, but not nearly enough to satisfy their growing need. The tracker swallowed the sound eagerly. He was drowning in the taste of Buck, driven half out of his mind by the way the scoundrel moved against him. Every last shred of mystification as to why Buck's lady loves seemed so besotted with this man was gone, evaporated with the first electrifying touch of Buck's lips against his.

He had to come up for air eventually, but only under protest. Sitting up he looked down at the panting, handsome creature between his thighs, smiling up at him with happy anticipation, and found himself grinning back inanely. Here he was, in one of the most beautiful places he'd ever seen, with a more than willing, gorgeous lover, a new family waiting not so far away, and not a danger in sight. Damn, but life didn't get much better.

Then the little devil never far from his mind raised its head and his grin turned positively wicked. "Time fer a li'l payback, don't'cha think?" he whispered, his fingers dancing teasingly over silken sides, just barely digging between the gentle ridges of Buck's ribs.

The scoundrel's eyes widened in alarm. "Don't ya dare!"

Vin leaned back leisurely, rubbing his backside against Buck's erection and vastly enjoying the resultant shudder. "Gimme a good reason why not," he drawled.

"How 'bout, if ya do that, I'll shoot ya?"

The tracker snorted in amusement, his thumbs tracing widening circles on his lover's sensitive belly, causing the taller man to suck in a shaky breath. "Hell, Bucklin, Chris' been threatenin' t' do that more often than I kin count. An' don' take me wrong, but he's a lot scarier than you."

Buck frowned, trying to form a coherent sentence while squirming under the merciless hands. "Stop or I'll bite your head off?" he offered, his hopeful smile ruining the effect of his words thoroughly.

Vin poked his right index finger into a particularly ticklish spot and was rewarded with a yelp and helpless laughter, the involuntary flex of muscles pressing Buck's hot body up against Vin's. The tracker moaned in pleasure and rode the undulations easily. "C'mon, Bucklin," he scolded, when he'd regained his wits enough to remember what they'd been talking about. "Ya kin do better."

"Damn well I can," Buck growled, surging up suddenly and flipping them over. "Behave - or else."

Tanner blinked in surprise of finding himself so unexpectedly sprawled on the springy bed of moss and grass, looking up into the glowing eyes of a highly aroused Two-Blood. Buck was glaring at him, but he'd slipped a large hand to the back of Vin's head to keep it from smacking the ground during their sudden spin, and was still cradling it protectively. The tracker relaxed into the firm hold and started to stroke up and down his lover's chest, brushing the hard nipples with every pass and getting continually closer to the stiff rod resting lightly against his belly. He waited until Buck's stare grew a lot less focused as the man's attention got diverted by the teasing touches, then he whispered in his best come-hither-and-fuck-me tone, "Or else what?"

It was Buck's turn to blink. "Huh?"

Vin smirked, grabbing a hold of his friend's cock and sliding his fist up and down the smooth length. "What're ya gonna do with li'l ol' me, hm? Considerin' I'm totally helpless an' all."

The gunslinger almost choked at that. "Yeah, right," he drawled. "An' Ezra never cheats." He whimpered when Vin started to massage his balls, then stroked upwards between his cheeks. "Lord, yer killin' me here!"

"Nah, jist goin' t' fuck ya," Vin grinned. He pushed two fingers into the tiny opening, delighting in theway Buck jerked and gasped. "An' havin' a li'l fun in th' process."

"Just wait till th' damn pack's gone," Buck threatened, straightening up to give the tracker better access. He winced when the callused digits stretched him roughly. "Christ, Vin, go slower!"

The smaller man murmured an apology and withdrew. They moved again, Vin's wiry form coming to rest on top of Buck's more muscular one. The dark-haired gunslinger sighed in pleasure when the tracker bowed his head, his long curls whispering over heated skin. Vin rubbed a whiskered cheek against a hard nipple, causing Buck to flinch at the unexpected sensation, then turned his head, soothing the sting with his lips and tongue.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of earth and grass and Buck, for the first time consciously recognizing the dark, tangy animal smell teasing at the edge of his perception. Licking around the inviting soft nub of flesh, he wasn't surprised to taste something sharp and spicy beneath the familiar salty flavor of clean sweat. He ran his hands over the hard body bowing up into his touch, loving the silk-over-steel feel that was spoiled only by the various scars marring the smooth skin. He could see the marks, pearly white lines against the darker silver of tanned skin in the moonlight. Pressing his ear against the broad chest he took a moment to listen to the man's heartbeat, strong and fast like a lone drum in the night.

He knew Buck had long memorized all their scents, could probably pick each of the Seven out of a crowd with his eyes covered and hands bound, and tried to imagine how the world must feel to someone like him. Did he smell the desire pouring off Vin? Did he hear the pounding of the tracker's heart? Did he sense how close Vin was to losing control? And if he did, did he mind?

Probably not, judging from the way he gasped and arched upwards when Vin started to lick his way down the taut abdomen and towards the pulsing prick, giving it a long, affectionate stroke and suckling on the tip until he tasted the first viscous drops of pre-cum. Buck seemed perfectly happy with the treatment he was getting, spreading his legs willingly when Vin pressed his hands against the insides of his thighs. Still he almost jumped out of his skin when the tracker's tongue found its way between his buttocks and slid into him. "God, Vin!"

Vin was too busy to answer, slickening the tight entrance and enjoying the taste of Buck and the faint traces of something else. Or somebody else. If anyone had told him two hours before he'd get his first taste of Chris Larabee while preparing to fuck the man's oldest friend, he would've called Nathan to take the madman away.

When he was reasonably sure Buck was ready for him, the tracker pulled back and prompted his lover to turn around. The gunfighter complied without a word, rolling over in a movement that was by far too lissome for a man in his position. There were, so Vin reflected absently, definite perks to dancing this dance with a Two-Blood. Then he stopped thinking altogether, reduced to pure physical pleasure as he pushed into the narrow channel, moist silk grasping his throbbing cock and driving him insane with pressure and friction.

Sooo good.

He wanted to go slower, wanted to savor the sensation of being inside his friend, but Buck obviously had enough of his teasing and pushed back against him with a low growl. The deep, rumbling sound caused what was left of Vin's rational mind to rush into his cock with a figurative Rebel yell, his hips jerking forward hard. He grabbed hold of Buck's hips, threw his head back, and started fucking the other man with single-minded determination.

Of course Buck, true to his nature, didn't just hold still and let Vin do him. He must've been the least deferential submissive in the history of Two-Bloods, seeing as he kept trying to take over control. It was like attempting to restrain solid fire. Every time the tracker thought he could finally keep the scoundrel still enough to find completion, Buck would find a way to squirm out of his grip, dragging him back from the edge. And he did it on purpose, too! His movements kept Vin within a hair's breadth from coming, building the tension until the tracker was ready to scream.

Finally Vin rose from his knees, bracing himself against his lover's broad back and changing the angle of penetration so he could thrust even deeper into the sweat-glistening body beneath him. His fingers digging into the hard bulge of muscle lining Buck's spine, he leaned forward until the elegant curve of the gunslinger's neck was right in front of him. Vin might not be a Two-Blood, but he knew a bit about wolves and the way they communicated. So he used his weight to press down against the taller man and bowed his head to clamp strong teeth into the crook of Buck's neck, firmly enough to bruise the skin, but not hard enough to break it.

It worked. Buck huffed an indignant breath, but stilled, allowing Vin to find a more comfortable position and ram into him with steadily increasing tempo. He even spread his legs wider to grant better access. Vin moaned in appreciation and made ample use of the opportunity, his lean, sinewy body moving with the lithe gracefulness of a large feline.

He cried out hoarsely when he came, driving into his lover's ass with almost brutal force as he shot long streams of semen into the tightly clenching passage. Buck took it with nothing more than a yelp and a quick tensing of the muscles in his arms and shoulders to compensate for the hard thrusts and to keep Vin from pushing them both over. Then the heady scent of Vin's seed triggered his own climax.

Steele and Peso watched their coiling, writhing, and amusingly noisy owners with lenient bewilderment, ears twitching at the strangled sounds of the men's lovemaking. Steele took a hesitant step towards the two when they collapsed in a sweating, panting heap of long limbs and glistening skin, then snorted as if in disgust when he heard Buck chuckle breathlessly. Realizing his human was perfectly fine and only fooling around with one of his herd, the big gray shook his head and ambled over to where Peso was hobbled. The mean-tempered black always made for entertaining company.

Vin and Buck, oblivious to their mounts' exasperation, lay tangled up in the grass, trying to catch their breath. Vin was in the more comfortable position, resting on top of his prone friend, still buried deep in the taller man's body. Pressing his forehead between Buck's shoulder blades he allowed himself a slow, smug smile. He'd known sex with the passionate scoundrel would be good, but damn if the man hadn't surpassed all expectations. Vin honestly couldn't remember if he'd ever enjoyed the act so much before, but he had certainly never laughed so much with his clothes off. It was almost impossible to feel shy or distant with Buck, and if he'd still had any doubts about his decision when he'd chosen the spot, they'd evaporated the moment his friend had looked up and grinned at him.

All in all, Vin Tanner was a happy, very satisfied man.

"If you're done grinning, could ya get off my back?" a hopeful voice inquired from under him. "There's something diggin' into my ribs . . . feels like half th' Rockies."

"Only you, Bucklin," Vin moaned. Reluctantly he slipped out of his lover and gave up his nice, warm berth, sliding to the ground so Buck could find a more welcoming spot. "Ya must've found th' only damn stone on this whole damn clearing!"

"It's a talent," the scoundrel replied dryly, rolling onto his back and pulling the tracker back against him, one strong arm wrapping around the younger man's shoulders and cradling him close.

They lay quiet for a while, pleasantly exhausted and at ease with each other and their surroundings. Buck was staring up at the moon, a soft smile on his lips, his left hand painting a random pattern of circles and lines on Vin's back. Looking at him, Vin felt a strange wave of mixed tenderness, envy, and shame. Tenderness, because he'd never met a more generous and loyal soul than Buck Wilmington and could hardly believe the man had chosen him as a member of his pack. Envy, because it seemed so easy for Buck to trust in them, to offer them his body and heart, when it was so hard for Vin. And shame, because he knew it wasn't easy at all and in fact demanded more courage than the tracker thought he possessed.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Vin stared down at his companion, his gaze sweeping over the relaxed form of the gunslinger until he came to rest upon Buck's hand. He studied the long fingers, surprised at how elegant, almost fine-boned they seemed when not holding a weapon or being balled into a fist. He'd seen Buck knock out a hard-headed cow poke with one well aimed punch, then touch the face of a woman with a gentleness that brought the light of something akin to devotion into the eyes of the most hardened prostitute. Those hands, the tracker decided, were as contradictory as the man himself. And as fascinating.

Buck watched with a bemused blink as Vin grabbed his hand, studying it more closely, but the usually talkative rogue remained silent for a change. Vin ran his fingers over the sharp ridges of his lover's knuckles, then along the slender digits, feeling the smooth skin on the back of the hand and the calluses on the other side, and finally pressed his own hand palm to palm against Buck's. Such a large hand. Larger than Josiah's. Almost larger than Nathan's. Large like . . .

He sat up abruptly, gaze locked on their joined hands, mind racing. Buck frowned, sitting up too when he sensed his friend's sudden tension. "Vin? What's wrong?"

Vin tore his eye away from the hand, looking at Buck's face instead. "Ya wouldn't happen t' run around these parts as a wolf a lot, by any chance, would'ya?" he asked.

Buck cocked his head in confusion. "Well, yeah, sure I do," he said with a shrug. "Need ta get out and be myself sometimes. Why?"

"'Cause I've seen yer tracks." Vin chuckled. "Damn, I would rec'gnize those huge paw prints everywhere. I's wond'rin' 'bout that giant loner prowlin' th' area, why he never moved on 'n stayed so close t' th' town. Even showed J.D. th' marks, let him practice his trackin' skills on 'em."

The gunslinger laughed at that, his eyes twinkling mischievously in the moonlight. "Ya know, ya could continue t' do that," he suggested. "See how long it takes till the kid catches on."

The tracker grinned. "Wanna place a bet?"

White teeth flashed in a wicked grin. "Sure. Why not? Five dollars says he'll figure it out first time he sees th' prints again."

Vin thought about it. "Nah, don't think so. Boy's smart, but he still has t' learn t' draw connections like that. I give 'im two days." He snickered. "Jist have t' be careful so Ezra doesn't hear. He'd love that. I kin jist see 'im bettin' on you a lot now that he knows who you are."

At the mention of the gambler Buck started, torn out of his drowsy after-sex lassitude. "Speakin' of Ez, I gotta go. He's next on my list, an' I know better than t' keep him waitin'." He let go of Vin regretfully. "Where's my pants?"

The tracker flopped back with a lazy smile, enjoying the play of muscles as the Two-Blood rose to his feet and started looking for his clothes. "You'll find 'em. Got yerself a good nose . . . or so I hear." He watched Buck bend down to retrieve his hat and leered. "Or ya could always go nekkid. 'S a good look on ya."

Far from being embarrassed, Buck only laughed and stuck his tongue out at him, which, of course, led Vin on a whole new track of thought. He'd definitely have to grab Buck some day in the near future and see what the resourceful charmer could do when he wasn't in such a hurry. Judging from the way the women of Four Corners acted around him, it might just be worth risking Larabee's wrath. The blond gunslinger wasn't one for openly showing affection - it would definitely take him a while to get used to the ways of a pack. The others, too. Vin was looking forward to their reactions when Buck tried to teach them the finer points of Two-Blood etiquette.

He watched Buck get dressed and retrieve Steele from where the big gelding was trying to charm Peso out of his foul mood. God, that horse was so much like his owner it was scary.

"You gonna stay here?" Buck asked when he reached the spot where Vin was still reclining on the ground, blinking up at him sleepily.

The tracker yawned. "Might as well," he said. "So when n' where're we s'posed t' make our stand against th' Red Stone Pack?"

"How 'bout we meet at Chris' shack, at sunrise?"

Vin nodded amiably and stretched, snuggling deeper into the gentle hollow he'd found. "See ya there." He smirked. "Have fun."

Buck flashed him a broad grin. "I will." He mounted Steele in an effortless, fluent motion and made himself comfortable on the gelding's bare back. "Oh, and Vin?"

One blue eye opened again. "Yeah?"

This time Buck's smile smoothly bypassed Vin's brain and went straight to his groin. "Sweet dreams."

Cheeky bastard.

Chapter Three

Ezra P. Standish was not a happy man.

Riding into town he couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't in the process of making the biggest mistake of his life. He knew with unshakable certainty his dear mother would've pitched a fit if she'd so much as *suspected* what he was doing, and he seriously contemplated doing the same thing. What the hell had he been thinking? Other than that Buck needed them -- all of them, even him -- and that he could imagine many things a lot worse than spending the rest of his life with the big-hearted gunslinger, that was.

That idea alone should've propelled him into a state of panic. Ezra didn't make plans that involved long-term relationships. Not with women, and surely not with men. He paid for sex when he needed relief, or took lovers when he felt like it or when it suited his strategy during a con, but he did - not - get - emotionally - involved. It simply wasn't done. His mother had taught him better. Hell, *experience* had taught him better.

He'd broken too many of his rules already, since coming to Four Corners. What was it about that godforsaken little hellhole that had drawn them all, had compelled them to stay and form the extraordinary bond that connected them? And why wasn't he more upset about it? He'd been immune to the notions of trust and friendship since he'd been five. He'd known he could rely only on himself even before that. He was a con-artist, a gambler, a survivor. What in God's name had induced him to go back to that thrice-cursed Indian village instead of getting away while he still could? And to practically offer himself as a lawman after that! What had possessed him?

He knew the reasons for his folly, of course, though that didn't make it any better. It had been the pull of an almost psychotic gunslinger's charisma; the calm self-confidence of a long-haired, scruffy tracker; the compelling enthusiasm of an idealistic youth; the deep, strangely soothing voice of an extremely weird preacher; the gentleness and compassion of a former slave; and the warm, laughing eyes of a natural born protector.

Six reasons to break his rules. Six reasons to stay. Six reasons to throw caution into the wind and risk his heart in the biggest gamble of them all, signing over his soul with a cross on a smudgy little piece of paper.

If Maude ever found out, she'd have a coronary.

Hmmm . . .

Shaking his head and firmly suppressing the positively evil smile that threatened to break through his poker-face, Ezra reined in his horse in front of the livery and slid out of the saddle. The group had split up on the way back home, each man needing time alone to work through his own thoughts and emotions. J.D.'s pretty bay was already munching contentedly in his box, still a bit damp from the run back to town. Knowing the young Sheriff, Ezra suspected the kid had tried to outrace his growing panic. Ezra only hoped he wouldn't try to keep running. Buck didn't need that kind of problem on top of everything else.

He took his time taking care of Maverick, trying to decide how to proceed. Should he just go up to his room and wait there for Buck? That seemed rude, somehow, and wasn't his method of dealing with matters of the heart anyway. He'd rather do this his way, with style. His gold tooth flashed in a sudden broad smile. Oh, yes, he knew what he wanted to do.

Time for the seducer to get seduced for a change.

The moon had already risen, but it wasn't that late yet. Ezra did a quick mental calculation and came to the conclusion that Buck had probably left Chris' shack by now and was on his way to Vin. It was a safe bet the tracker hadn't made it back to town but was luring Buck up into the mountains, preferring their joining to take place in some secluded little spot far away from anything even resembling civilization.

The thought of Vin and Buck, out there together, touching each other without inhibitions or restraint, caused his pants to become uncomfortably tight. He'd seen Buck when he was on the prowl, and though Vin acted a little shy around women most of the time, he had the tendency to go straight for what he wanted. Ezra just hoped the heat generated during their encounter wouldn't set the forest on fire.

One of the Two-Blood women was sitting on a chair in front of the restaurant when he went there to order dinner. He half-expected her to stop him and was ready to trigger the mechanism that would catapult the derringer into his hand, but she just sniffed discreetly and leaned back again. Her eyes reflected the lights of the restaurant, making them look like they were glowing . . . an unsettling sight even for the rather unshakable gambler. Damn. The sooner those creatures left, the better. It was time things went back to normal. Well, as normal as they got in Four Corners.

He stalked past the woman, refusing to acknowledge her. Ezra might not know much about wolves, but he had a sense for power-plays. Appearances were important. She had to see he wasn't afraid of her, even knowing what she was. Considering that she could smell fear, it was a good thing he really wasn't scared. He was too mad to be frightened. Those people knew nothing about Buck, and after what they'd done to him, they had no right to try and claim him. Their mere presence was an offence. It made him want to take them down, or at least chase them out of town. However, the situation being as it was, they couldn't do that without an obvious reason beyond them being an annoyance, so he had to content himself with donning his most arrogant, derisive air, and pointedly ignoring her.

By the time he left the restaurant again, carrying a basket filled with food, two more Two-Bloods had joined her. They didn't talk to him, didn't try to stop him, but he could see the unspoken menace in their eyes. Suddenly, he understood why Buck had declared them his pack. Without the strange, convoluted strands of the pack law protecting them, the 'family' might've decided to cut Bucklin free in the literal sense. He felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards in a sneer nasty enough to impress Chris Larabee. The pack might've been surprised at the outcome of such a confrontation.

There must've been something in his grin warning them that crossing this particular gambler was a bad idea, because they cleared a path for him without prompting. He didn't know whether it was the realization that Ezra didn't scare so easily, or the unspoken threat of six hardened gunslingers at his disposal, and frankly, he didn't care. They'd deal with these annoying critters in the morning. Right now, he had more important things on his mind.

Like preparing everything for Buck's arrival.

Walking back to his living quarters, the gambler shook his head at the growing list of arrangements that kept popping into his head. So much to do and so little time. It was a shame, really. He would've liked to spend the entire night with Buck, to learn the scoundrel's body and preferences, to see him drop that smiling mask in the throes of passion. Maybe, if Ezra made the experience delightful enough, Buck would agree to a repeat performance. And wasn't that pathetic, that he was already trying to figure out how to draw the man into his bed again, before he even had a first taste of him?

He tried to distract himself by ordering a bath and then scrubbing himself until not even the most sensitive nose could feel offended by his scent. He shaved again, not wanting to irritate skin with stubble when his lover-to-be was so accustomed to the smooth cheeks of female bed-partners. Fretting over his wardrobe for almost ten minutes, he decided to forego underwear and tricky buttons and chose snug dark pants instead and an emerald green silk shirt. It was a deliberate choice, for he knew the color not only accentuated his eyes, but also had a soothing effect on people. After going two rounds with Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner, Buck would be jarred enough as it was.

Next was the room. He opened the windows wide, leaving them open while changing the bed clothes. And, oh, the delicious irony of using Maude's favorite satin sheets for something that would *so* ruin her day if she ever found out. Which she wouldn't, if Ezra had any say in it. Buck meant far too much to him to risk exposing him to Maude Standish's scalding tongue. He made sure there were no wrinkles in the sheets, grinning when he envisioned what the others would say if they'd see him like this. Yes, he knew how to make his own bed. He'd been living alone for most of his life, after all. He could even do the laundry and cook, though he wouldn't admit that under torture.

Tidying up the rest of the room was quickly done, seeing as Ezra kept his quarters meticulously clean. His life was chaotic enough without adding to the mess. It was also more practical that way - if need be, he could be all packed and gone within five minutes, if he took only the essentials. Old habits die hard.

He had just closed the window and was lighting the candles he'd arranged all over the room, when a knock at the door announced Buck's arrival. Ezra glanced at the watch lying on his dresser. Right on time. Damn, he was good. Nevertheless he took his gun with him when he went to open the door. Even if the timing was right, he wasn't about to get careless, especially not after his run-in with the pack at the restaurant.

Funny how he detested these cold-eyed beasts but didn't mind that Buck was a *loup garou*, too. He should've been shocked at the revelation, yet he'd been ready and willing to accept his friend's explanations, finding himself a lot more fascinated than perturbed. Then again, he'd suspected there was a lot more to the man than he let on from the day they'd first met. And he'd seen a number of rather strange things down in New Orleans. So Buck could change into a wolf. As long as he didn't decide to take a bite out of Ezra, the gambler didn't have a problem with that.

Standish couldn't help but smile when the opening door revealed a grinning and thoroughly disheveled Buck Wilmington, windblown and smelling of grass and earth. God help him, but the man managed to be irresistible even when he looked like he'd just spent the past hour rolling around a mountain meadow. Which, come to think of it, was probably exactly what he'd done.

"I see you were successful in your quest of initiating Mr. Tanner into your new pack," he noticed, waiting for a jab of jealousy that didn't come. It was impossible to feel resentful when Buck was standing there, eyes full of life and laughter, strong body humming with energy.

"*Chris'* new pack," Buck corrected, brushing a squashed wildflower from his shirt before moving past Ezra into the room. "I'm certainly not goin' ta fight *this* alpha!" He stopped then, eyes going wide at the sight that greeted him. "Christ, Ez, where'd ya get all those candles?"

For a second the gambler felt embarrassed, wondering if he'd gone too far. He loved candle-light and his female lovers had never complained, on the contrary, they'd thought it was a "dreadfully romantic" gesture. He'd never done this for a male lover, but had thought Buck might like it. Feeling stupid all of a sudden, he closed the door and locked it, trying to think of a good excuse for the candles. However, when he turned around he found Buck standing in the middle of the room, eyes closed and a tiny smile dancing around his lips.

Ezra's defensive poker-face melted into a softer expression. "I suppose this is an acceptable arrangement then?" he asked, just to be sure.

Blue eyes opened and gave him a look of unadulterated delight. "Looks great. Smells great. Feels great." Buck sniffed happily, then shook himself and went to explore the rest of the room. Ezra watched him with growing amusement. Something told him his living quarters were just being annexed to Buck's territory.

While his friend walked around the elegantly furnished room, giving a running commentary and an indignant exclamation at the sight of Ezra's very own bathtub, the gambler sat back and looked his fill, too. Who cared about silver candleholders or satin sheets when such a magnificent specimen of a not-quite-human male was wandering around within reach, waiting to be touched? He'd been aware of Buck's good looks for a long time now -- they all were, with the possible exception of Nathan and J.D. -- but he'd never thought he'd ever get a chance to see for himself if the man lived up to his reputation. You didn't jeopardize a friendship like theirs just because you were horny.

He still wasn't entirely sure this wasn't some kind of weird, if undisputedly exciting, dream, but he was more than willing to play along for as long as it lasted. He stood up and walked over to the dresser, where he'd left the plate he'd collected at the restaurant. "Do you feel the compulsion to take some nourishment before we engage in the pleasant task of 'signing the contract', so to speak?"

Buck turned around from where he'd been inspecting Ezra's pillows and raised an eyebrow. "Speak English, Ez."

The gambler rolled his eyes and breathed a greatly put-upon sigh, but obediently reformulated his inquiry. "Are you hungry?"

The gunslinger's handsome face lit up at the mention of food. "Hell, yes!" He eyed the covered dish hopefully. "How 'bout I get th' beef, you get th' vegetables, and we share th' pecan pie?"

So much for the surprise. He had to admit, that Two-Blood nose of Buck's was impressive. Pulling the napkin off the plate, he revealed already cut pieces of rare, unsalted loin roast, an assortment of fresh vegetables, and a generous portion of hot pie. "Why don't you get comfortable," he suggested evenly, reaching for the bottle of excellent red wine he'd won off a traveler two months before. He'd been saving it
for a special occasion.

"I can do that," Buck replied amiably, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

"Oh no, you don't," Ezra snapped, glaring at him. He'd been waiting for this long enough, he wanted to unwrap his present himself, damn it! "Take off your boots and lie down on the bed. I fully intend to unclothe you myself."

Buck eyed the bedspread dubiously. "D'you really want me t' hop on there like that? I'll get dirt all over your purty sheets," he warned.

"Are you trying to stall, Mr. Wilmington?"

That surprised a startled laugh out of the scoundrel. "Ez, I've finally found me a pack. If it wasn't for your One-Blood sensibilities, I would've gotten y'all t' fuck me right then and there in Chris' shack! I'm just worried 'bout them sheets, 'cause I know it has t' be a bitch t' clean 'em."

The gambler darted a quick glance heavenwards, praying for patience. "At the moment, I couldn't care less about the sheets, Mr. Wilmington. But if you prefer, you can take a bath before you lie down."

Buck glanced at the bathtub longingly, but shook his head. "Can't. I want all your scents strongly on me when we confront th' pack tomorrow." He pulled off his shoes and socks and carefully climbed onto the bed. "Maybe I can come back when this is all over?"

Obviously, the man wasn't quite as fond of the bathhouse as some of the ladies seemed to think. Ezra wasn't surprised - Mrs. Mayer, the proprietress, had an unfortunate fondness for lavender, and the smell of perfume had to be hell on the Two-Blood's sensitive nose. "Feel free to make use of my tub whenever you want," he offered, carrying the plate and a glass of wine over to the bed and sitting down beside his friend. "But if you bring a lady-friend, I will cause you severe pain. This *is* a private room."

"Aww, Ez, would I do that?" Buck protested, trying not very successfully to look completely innocent.

"In a New York minute," Ezra deadpanned. "Open your mouth."

The gunslinger obeyed without thinking, then blinked in surprise when the Southerner slipped a piece of meat between his lips. Whatever he'd wanted to say was forgotten as he chewed happily on the tasty morsel. He swallowed and licked his lips. "Y'know, I *can* do that myself."

"Indulge me," Ezra said softly. This night was going to be rough on Buck, no matter how strong he was and how much he liked what he was doing. If Ezra could make it a little easier on him by spoiling him a bit, he'd do it gladly. And he did love the expression in those blue eyes every time Buck realized somebody really cared for him. Buck wasn't used to people worrying about him. He spent his life trying to protect others and didn't seem to expect anything in return. The gambler couldn't truthfully say he understood why Buck did it, or where he got the strength to carry on like that without falling under the weight people kept heaping upon his broad shoulders, but Ezra admired him for it. He'd never met anybody like Buck, and he was determined to do everything in his power not to lose this special man.

Buck, blissfully unaware of the turn his friend's thoughts had taken, seemed fairly content stretched out on the soft bedding and picking slices of beef from Ezra's hand. The sensual rasp of the gunslinger's warm tongue licking his fingers drove the usually so focused gambler quickly to distraction. He caught himself staring at Buck's familiar face, thoroughly enchanted by the drowsy invitation in those clear, blue eyes. His hand moved of its own volition, touching the silken softness of his friend's moustache, caressing his cheek, cradling his face. Buck turned into the touch readily, nuzzling Ezra's palm, then cleaning his fingers from the last remaining traces of grease with his tongue. The Southerner felt a pleasant tremor run through his body and swallowed dryly. Who was seducing whom here?

Disposing the half-empty plate and the glass on the nightstand, Ezra concentrated his whole attention on his companion. Buck licked his lips and lay back, still watching him from under thick, dark lashes. He sighed softly when Ezra moved closer and reached out to trail his fingers over his face again, sweeping a gentle thumb over his left cheekbone, then down the hard line of his jaw. The gambler bit his lip unconsciously at the unexpected surge of some nameless emotion at the sight of Buck closing his eyes and tilting his head back, exposing his vulnerable throat and belly to Ezra.

His fingers actually trembled slightly when he opened the first shirt button, parting the worn cotton with something approaching reverence. Button by button he uncovered well developed pectorals, a deep chest, and a hard, flat abdomen. His hand stroked over the curve of a collarbone, brushed lightly over the long, ugly scar left by a madman's cavalry saber, circled the gentle hollow of a ticklish navel. By the time he cupped the swelling bulge in the tan pants, his own member was pressing uncomfortably against the insides of his britches.

Buck shifted on the covers. He parted his thighs, his eyes blinking open again, then inhaled sharply when Ezra's knuckles pressed harder against his groin,
slowly stroking down. The gambler saw the gunslinger's hand lift from the sheets, then felt those long, strong fingers rub over his leg, towards his rapidly filling erection. His own movements stilled as he watched Buck touch him, once again displaying the gentleness that seemed so at odds with his size and occupation, yet came so natural to him. Hips rose instinctively to press into the intimate caress, and Ezra found himself helplessly swaying towards the supine man.

Their lips met lightly, in a sweet, almost chaste kiss that sent little sparks and tingles from Ezra's mouth down his spine and right into his penis. He had to withdraw his hand from Buck's crotch to support himself on the bed, but immediately leaned back down again, slanting his head to achieve a better angle. Buck's lips parted at the first easy prompting, inviting the gambler's tongue into the hot cavern of his mouth.

Ezra delved in with relish, hungry for a taste of his lover. He was instantly greeted by Buck's tongue, a lively, agile little devil with no shame or mercy whatsoever. What was left of his cognizant mind was ambushed, tied in knots, seized by the reptile brain, and completely corrupted until nothing was left but the wild, primal desire to mate. Now.

The next thing he knew was that he was naked on top of Buck, ready to sink his aching cock into his partner's slick opening. Somehow he managed to stop, the head of his member pressed hard against the twitching pucker, Buck's long legs wrapped around his hips. He blinked, tore his mouth away from the gunslinger's, and gasped. "What in Christ's name am I doing?" Looking down he noticed Buck was still on his back, a pillow beneath his hips to elevate his ass, dark eyes clouded with passion. Ezra very nearly whimpered at the sight. "What did just happen?"

His body screamed loudly that it didn't care what the hell had transpired in the last ten minutes -- or the last twenty-eight years, for that matter -- it wanted to finish what they'd started. Ezra fought it with all he had, appalled by his obvious lack of restraint. He'd promised himself he'd be gentle with Buck, would make slow, careful love to him, not ravish the poor man the second their lips touched! He had more control than that! He had more *finesse* than that, damn it!

The 'poor man' beneath him didn't look too happy with the interruption. His eyes cleared a little as the expected penetration didn't happen, and he lifted his head from the bedspread to glare at the flustered gambler. "*What*?" he snapped. "What, Ez?!"

Ezra stared down at him, torn between the purely carnal desire to bury himself in the hot body straining against his, and the equally strong determination to regain at least a measure of his customary self-discipline. He'd never, ever before so utterly lost his head just because of one -- admittedly mind-blowing -- kiss. It scared the shit out of him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wilmington," he rasped, his voice shaking almost as badly as the rest of him. "I . . ."

One long, powerful arm shot up, hard fingers curling around the Southerner's neck and pulling him down until his face was inches from the Two-Blood's. "Buck," the tall man growled, heat and raw need rolling off him in waves and battering against Ezra's feeble defenses. "We're about to fuck each other's brains out, ya can damn well call me by my first name while we're naked! And now stop tryin' ta hold back and drill me through th' mattress, or I swear t' God, I'll throttle you with your own tongue!"

Ezra blinked, the part of him that wasn't emphatically agreeing with Buck weighing the validity of the threat. His green gaze took in the heaving chest of his lover, the glistening sheen of sweat covering the sculptured body, the sheer wild beauty of the man, and his panic got squashed rather unceremoniously beneath a surge of want.

Buck laughed when he saw the gambler's trademark grin, dimples included, break through the hesitation and let go of his friend's neck. "C'mon, Ez, show me what ya got!" he challenged, then cried out hoarsely when the Southerner complied promptly, driving his hard length into him in two quick, rough thrusts.

"Your wish is my command, Buck," Ezra smirked, then yelped when Buck got over his initial surprise and retaliated by spinning them both around so the gambler ended up on his back with a highly aroused gunslinger straddling him. "Not fair," was the last thing he managed to say before he lost all ability to speak thanks to the sight and sensations of Buck Wilmington sitting back on his lap and riding his cock.

So much for slow and tender.

Oh, screw it. Who needed slow and tender when one had a lap full of the hottest piece of ass ever to walk the earth? Not Ezra P. Standish, no sir. He was perfectly happy grabbing hold of Buck's narrow hips and plunging into that deliciously tight channel again and again and again. Buck arched back, muscles stretching taut under skin that shimmered like young bronze in the light of more than two dozen candles, his fully erect cock standing proudly at attention.

Ezra wrapped one hand around his partner's jutting arousal, the other firmly anchored on his hip, and started to pump the thick rod in time with his thrusts. Buck moaned deeply in response, the sound rumbling through the room like distant thunder. He picked up the tempo, clenching his ass tightly around the welcome intruder, driving them both towards orgasm with a skill that easily catapulted Ezra from pleasure into ecstasy.

Buck came first, head thrown back and every muscle standing out in sharp relief, only Ezra's firm grip on his waist keeping him from losing his balance. The gambler pushed up forcefully, shoving his cock as deeply into Buck's body as possible. It took three thrusts and a sharp, unexpected twist of his lover's hips to set him off, then he spilled his load into his velvety sheath.

He vaguely felt Buck lift himself up and off his softening member, then clean them both haphazardly with something that felt suspiciously like a corner of the expensive satin sheets, but for once Ezra was too spent to protest. He breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction and snuggled into the embrace of his best friend's strong arms, nodding off almost instantly.

When he woke up half an hour later, Buck was gone. He'd left a note asking Ezra to come to Chris' shack in the morning, half a slice of pecan pie, and his scent all over the Southerner's skin and bedspread. And the King of Hearts leaning against a half-empty bottle of almond-scented oil on the nightstand.

Ezra bowed his head and chuckled helplessly. "My pleasure, Mr. Wilmington," he murmured, carefully tucking the card away. "Always at your service."

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