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 Four

J.D. Dunne left Chris Larabee's cabin full of righteous determination and noble pride. By the time he arrived in town, he was a nervous wreck.

He mechanically took care of Dancer, absentmindedly rubbing him down, realizing as he did how fast he must've gone for the spunky gelding to sweat so much. He hadn't even noticed he'd left the others behind, but he was glad he'd done it. He didn't think he could face them right now. Not when he finally started to realize what he'd agreed to do.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He'd thought he could handle it, no problem. This was Buck, after all, *his* Buck, his annoying, over-protective, lovable, loyal-to-a-fault best friend. J.D. would do whatever was necessary to protect him. Well, actually he hadn't thought that much - all he'd known was that *Buck* needed *his* help for a change, and that what he'd said felt right. It had been the most natural thing in the world to draw that cross on the piece of paper and bind himself irrevocably to his six heroes. No big deal, right? In most ways, they already were his family.

Of course, then, on his way back to Four Corners, his treacherous brain had started to work again. Darn, everything had seemed so easy when he left the East. Go West, buy a horse, become a famous gunslinger. A simple, perfect plan. Incredibly naive and stupid, but simple. If anybody had told him then that one day he'd be standing in a shabby livery stable, trying to digest the fact that he was about to lose his virginity to a man . . . or rather, a Two-Blood; a shapeshifter; a werewolf; a . . . //Don't go there.//

He took a deep breath, in a mostly unsuccessful effort to calm himself. Dancer nudged his chest, asking for a treat, and he patted the silky head and fished a piece of dried apple out of his pocket. (Vin's influence.) Leaving the happily munching animal, he walked away, pausing a moment before slipping out onto the street to determine if all was clear. (Chris' influence.) On his way to the Sheriff's office, he exchanged a friendly smile with a black cow-hand (Nathan's influence), neatly avoided stepping into a fresh pile of horse manure (Ezra's influence), and politely tipped his hat at a group of saloon girls (Buck's influence). He also threw a stone at a sleeping crow. (Josiah's influence.)

It was a sobering experience.

When he reached the Sheriff's office, he was well and truly unsettled. He hadn't realized the impact his six friends had on his life, how much riding with them had changed him. The kid he'd once been wouldn't have survived a week out here. He shuddered convulsively. The kid he'd once been would've been repulsed by the mere thought of touching another man like he was going to touch Buck, would've pushed the Two-Blood away in disgust and horror. The kid he'd once been would've crushed his friend's gentle spirit without a thought. He was glad that kid was dead.

He sat down behind his desk, feeling a bit calmer in the familiar room, shielded from the townspeople's prying eyes by the sturdy walls of the jail. He still remembered Buck's reaction when he'd volunteered for the Sheriff job. The gunslinger had been livid, and as was his way, he had vented his worry in a loud, animated lecture - pacing, hands flying, expressive eyes rolling, and completely failing in his attempt not to hover. J.D. couldn't suppress a fond grin at the memory. Heck, he should've guessed what Buck was then and there. The man was even more protective than a mother wolf guarding her cubs.

His smile slipped when his musings returned to the present and he realized he was sitting in his favorite chair, idly thumbing through the stack of wanted posters. What was he doing here? Waiting for Buck at the office, had he gone nuts? This wasn't a normal meeting. They'd . . . they'd . . . well, he wasn't entirely sure of the mechanics involved, but he was pretty certain the act would require getting at least partially naked. No way was he going to do that with only one thin wall between them and the main street!

J.D. jumped up as if bitten by a snake, grabbed his hat, and all but ran out of the office, face flushed in embarrassment. Only when he saw Ezra coming out of the restaurant did he stop his flight, somewhat alarmed by the sight of three members of the pack waiting for the gambler. His right hand came to rest on the grip of his gun without conscious thought. He would've been surprised if anyone had told him how much he resembled his older friends at that moment, his usually boyish face shifting into a neutral mask, his normally warm, bright eyes turning hard and cool.

Where once he would've stormed across the street heedless of any danger, to jump to Ezra's defense, he now stayed where he was, instinctively reading the body language of both his friend and the three strangers. //Just a pissing contest// Buck's voice whispered in his mind, and he relaxed, watching with a slight smirk as Ezra regally strode past the three, not dignifying them with so much as a glare. Leave it to the gambler to deliver an insult without even opening his mouth.

J.D. remained standing in the shadows, prepared to intervene should the situation turn ugly, but not really concerned. The fancy-dressed Southerner had everything under control. The young Sheriff waited until his friend had disappeared into the saloon, then gave it a few more minutes to make sure the Two-Bloods didn't follow him. They didn't.

He thought he saw Georgia disappear around a corner, together with a green-eyed Two-Blood male he'd seen around, but J.D. wasn't about to follow them. He knew what they were, had an inkling of how dangerous they could be, and had no desire to explain whatever trouble he might get into trailing them to Buck. He wasn't in the mood for another lecture. Neither was Buck, he supposed.

Thinking of his friend brought back the nervousness. With Ezra gone he didn't have a reason to linger and stare at the Two-Bloods, though he was half-tempted to stay anyway and pick a fight, just to relieve some tension. Fortunately, he was smart enough to recognize that idea as "the kid" speaking, and curbed the suicidal impulse.

He turned around and walked away, a bit surprised by his own maturity. By the time he had crossed the street and was climbing the stairs to his room, the pack was the last thing on his mind. The Red Stone Pack, that is. The Four Corners Pack on the other hand, just coming into being, was foremost in his mind. He'd thought it was a romantic and wonderful notion when Buck had told them about it. He'd also heard the longing in his friend's voice as he described some of what it meant to be a Two-Blood, had seen the joyful hope flare in his eyes when they'd agreed to become his pack.

Yet, as he entered his room and closed the door behind him, J.D. found himself wondering if taking this step had been a good idea. They weren't Two-Blood. They were human. Buck himself had admitted that to his knowledge there'd never been a pack that consisted primarily of humans. Maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe they couldn't be a real pack, couldn't be like Buck needed them to be. He had an ugly feeling that if they screwed this up, he might lose a lot more than just the chance to be part of a family. Even Buck could only endure so much before he broke.

It was a scary thought.

He unbuckled his gun-belt and flung it over the bedpost, within easy reach. Another habit he'd picked up from Buck. Suddenly feeling very tired, he sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands. God. He didn't know if he could do this. Even without taking into consideration that forming this pack was more than a tactic, that it would change all their lives considerably, there was still that embarrassing intercourse issue.

He'd always been convinced his first time would be with either a prostitute or the woman he'd marry. Any woman, period. Woman, as in: the opposite sex. As in: small, soft, preferably pretty. Not some tall, boisterous, decidedly male gunslinger, no matter how nice a body and blinding a smile he had. And he had *not* just thought that!

Still, he had to think about it, there was no way around it. He'd never be able to pull this off if he couldn't even *imagine* his friend as an object of desire. So he closed his eyes and forced himself to see the bright side. He had to admit, Buck was good-looking. You didn't have to be a woman to see that. From a purely impartial point of view, he was handsome. And he had that charm thing going on, that heart-melting, infectious smile that came from deep within and seeped out through his eyes even before it reached his mouth. Then there was his voice. It wasn't a bad voice even when he was driving J.D. nuts with his lectures, but when he was with a potential lover, it was all whiskey, smoke, and molasses. Ezra had once called it a 'bedroom voice', and that described it perfectly. It was a voice that conjured visions of naked skin and hot kisses, of breathless whispers and bodies writhing in the most intimate of embraces.

J.D. swore silently, suddenly all too aware that he was sitting on the bed. The bed! Not the best spot for contemplating Buck. Not in that context. After tonight's revelations, not in *any* context. He jumped up as if stung by a bee and fled to the other side of the room. Buck and beds did not mix. Or rather, they mixed too well. Made him wonder how Buck looked when he was stretched out naked, waiting for a lover. He probably had that tender little smile on his face, the one he rarely showed in polite company - J.D. had always thought that damn smile should be outlawed, simply because it made every female in a two mile radius drop at the bastard's feet. Thinking back, he realized it wasn't only women who looked like they might swoon when that particular smile graced Buck's countenance. Shit.

For a moment he wondered if the man's effect on other people might be due to him being a Two-Blood, but he hadn't noticed anything even remotely similar with any of the strangers. Then again, they hadn't come for fun and pleasure. With the exception of Georgia, none of them had approached anybody with something even close to romantic interest. And he *had* felt drawn to Georgia, though he couldn't say if it had been because of that darn 'animal magnetism' Buck mentioned sometimes, or simply because she was a very attractive woman.

Just thinking about the problem gave him a headache. He leaned against the wall, unexpectedly flashed to an image of Buck leaning against the saloon's rough wooden wall with his head tilted back to enjoy the first rays of the sun, and leaped away from his support. For Chrissakes, wasn't any place safe?

He eyed the chair; thought of Buck lounging on the sidewalk, long legs spread slightly, body curved in a lazy, sensual slouch. He looked at the table; saw Buck casually propped against the edge of his office desk, arms crossed in front of his powerful chest, broad shoulders straining the seams of his oldest, most threadbare cotton shirt. He glanced at the closet; remembered Buck on his knees in front of his wardrobe, tan leather pants hugging his firm behind as he rummaged through the contents.

Only the windowsill didn't produce immediate associations with Buck, though J.D. was sure his memory would come up with something or other if he wasn't careful. What in Heaven's name was wrong with him? He'd never had such thoughts about his friend before! So he'd had the occasional wet dream about Buck, so what? He was nineteen, he had wet dreams just about everything, including haystacks and corncobs. And he was *not* going to think about *that* now. Anyway, it didn't explain his sudden awareness of Bucklin Wilmington's person.

Maybe he was going insane. Maybe he was imagining all that had happened, was really lying in Nathan's clinic with a serious head-wound, trapped in a fever dream. Or maybe he'd been stupid enough to participate in one of them damn Indian rituals that involved peyote and strange smelling smoke. Actually, all of the above sounded a lot more reasonable than Buck being a shapechanger and the Seven trying to become a pack to fend off a whole family of homicidal werewolves by sleeping with Buck, whom he suddenly found alarmingly attractive. And, wow, that sentence was convoluted even for his standards.

He groaned, buried his face in his hands once more, and did his best to rationalize what was going on. Rather, he tried to, because a knock on the door startled him out of his desperate attempts of finding a sane explanation for the events of the past twenty-four hours. His eyes took on the wild expression of a trapped deer. He hadn't realized how much time had passed since he'd last seen Ezra. Oh God, Buck couldn't be here already! J.D. wasn't done panicking! He wasn't even approaching the outer realms of calm yet!

"Buck?" he called, frozen to the spot and hating how much the exclamation sounded like a squeak.

//Let it be someone else, please, please, let it be someone else! Bank robbers, maybe, or a bunch of drunken rowdies. I could deal with them. Heck, I could deal with it being that cursed 'family'. Just not Buck! Not yet! Not now! Not - //

"Y'know, kid, this would be a lot easier if ya stopped panicking."

"I'm not panicking!" The answer was out of his mouth before he thought about it, a blind reflex born of countless hours of bantering with his friend. He glared at the door.

"Hell, yes, you're panicking." Buck sounded infuriatingly sure of himself, and irritatingly unconcerned by the younger man's predicament. It didn't help that he was right.

Enough was enough. J.D.'s limbs unfroze out of sheer vexation. Before his conscious mind could stop him, he stalked through the room and tore open the door, ready to get into Buck's face and tell him in no uncertain terms that J.D. Dunne was *not* panicking. He was a little nervous, maybe, which was completely understandable under the circumstances, but his self-control was perfectly all right, thank you very much.

Buck was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, grinning down at him insolently. He looked rumpled and a bit tired and good enough to eat. J.D. stared at him, took in the slightly kiss-bruised lips, the stray lock of dark hair falling over the man's forehead, and the earthy, musky scent that clung to him, and the air rushed out of his lungs with a gasp.

They looked at each other for the duration of a heartbeat, then J.D.'s instincts of self-preservation kicked in and he did the first thing that came to mind: he slammed the door in Buck's face.

For a second or so, stunned silence ruled. J.D. stared at the door in shock. He couldn't believe he'd just done . . . that. He wasn't so immature, was he? He had not, without a word of greeting, banged the door shut! Oh, crap. Buck was never going to let him live that down. He'd never hear the end of it. Might as well ask Chris to shoot him and end his suffering.

A quiet, polite knock interrupted his brief foray into hysteria. J.D. took a deep breath, steeling himself against Buck's reaction -- most likely either laughter or indignation -- and opened the door again.

If anything, Buck looked mildly amused. He cocked his head, raised an eyebrow, and cleared his throat. "Nice to see you, too."

J.D. could feel himself color - either that, or his face was on fire. He tried to stammer an apology, but couldn't even make sense of the words himself. He hadn't thought it was possible, but his blush intensified. Buck must think he was a complete moron. He already thought J.D. was barely more than a kid,
but now . . .

"It's all right, J.D., you're just nervous, is all. Believe me, you're not the only one." The softly spoken words cut through the young man's dejection and made him raise his head and look at Buck in surprise. Buck wasn't a mind-reader too, was he? "Aww, close your mouth and let me in already," the scoundrel chuckled, effortlessly breaking the tension.

J.D. moved aside wordlessly, determined to keep from putting his foot in it again. He'd promised he'd stand by Buck no matter what, and he'd fulfill that promise or die trying. Even if he died from embarrassment. Which wasn't so unlikely, considering how his breath hitched when Buck brushed past him and flopped down on the bed as if it was the most normal thing in the world. At least he wasn't naked. Yet. Oh God. J.D. would never make it through this night.

He closed the door, then closed his eyes and pressed his head against the cool wood, silently praying for courage. However, inspiration failed to come, so when he'd managed to get his breathing under some semblance of control, he locked up and turned around.

Facing Buck was probably the most difficult thing he'd done in his entire life. He wasn't quite sure what he'd expected, but the 101 worst case scenarios certainly didn't include a fully dressed Buck snoring gently on his bed. He blinked. The picture stayed the same. The tall gunslinger lay sprawled all over the bedspread, one leg hanging over the edge, booted foot resting on the floor. He looked relaxed and tired and a lot younger than J.D. had ever thought possible.

J.D. hesitated, thrown off track by the unexpected turn of events. A part of him was extremely grateful for the respite. Every minute Buck slept was a minute J.D. could use to scrape together what courage he possessed. However, there was another part of the young man that wasn't quite as pleased with the sight of a peacefully slumbering Buck. How dare he? J.D. was close to a nervous breakdown and that aggravating, no-good, contrary, sorry excuse for a part-time canine fell asleep on him!

Wounded outrage won over temporary relief and without thinking twice J.D. stalked over to the bed and slapped a bent knee. "Hey," he snapped. "Buck!"

One blue eye opened and glared balefully up at him. "What?"

J.D. couldn't believe it. "In case you've forgotten - we got a pack to form!" So much for unbridled passion. Bastard.

Buck yawned, showing two rows of perfect, white teeth and a glimpse of a pink tongue. "I thought I'd wait for you to get over your panic first."

Oh, that goddamn . . . "I'm not panicking!" J.D. hissed. "I'm fine! I'm a grown man, y'know? I can handle this!"

His friend sat up and leaned against the bedstead, with the patient, tolerant look on his face that said he gave the younger man points for cuteness and trying, but didn't believe a word of what he was saying. "Of course you can handle this," he soothed, his tone of voice clearly stating the opposite. "I know you can."

"Damn right, I can," the youth shot back hotly, moving closer defiantly. "I'm not entirely without experience! Just because I haven't yet . . . uh . . . actually done something . . . That doesn't mean I'm clueless, y'hear?!"

Buck snorted. "Yeah, right. Like you wouldn't bolt the minute I told ya t' get naked!"

"I wouldn't!" Maybe he wasn't 100% sure what exactly to do with another man, but he did know the participants couldn't do it with their clothes on. He wasn't totally naive, damn it!

"Prove it," Buck demanded.

J.D. blinked. "What?"

"Come on, kid, we're wastin' daylight. Or lamplight. Whatever. Let's get a move on." He grinned, the familiar playful twinkle back in his eyes. "Race ya."

For a full second J.D. could only gape at him, then he noticed the gunslinger was already undoing the buttons of his shirt. That competitive cheat! Suddenly feeling a lot better, the youth hurried to catch up, struggling out of his clothes as fast as he could. He didn't know whether his friend had done it on purpose or not, but the lack of awkward attempts at romance made things so much easier. He knew this Buck, the laughing, teasing rogue who had a singular talent for riling J.D. and talking him into the craziest things.

Buck must've been more tired than he cared to admit, because he lost the race even though he was wearing considerably less clothes than J.D.

The young Sheriff kicked off his longjohns and pumped a fist through the air in triumph. "Done!" he crowed. "So much for me bolting!"

A pair of tan leather pants hit him in the face, testimony to Buck's refusal to accept defeat quietly. "Oh, shut up," the gunslinger grumbled, stretching a bit to loosen his muscles. He noticed J.D. discreetly eyeing his body and smiled easily. "Contrary to some rumors, I don't bite. Why don't you have a closer look?" he offered, stepping closer to the lamp.

Only Buck could make a suggestion like that sound like an invitation to tea. And only Buck could stand there with infinite patience in his eyes and allow a male virgin to inspect him at will. J.D. hesitated, but only for a moment. It still felt mighty strange being naked in a room with his best friend, but the initial terror was gone, only a faint echo of unease remaining . . . and that was almost drowned out by growing curiosity.

It wasn't that J.D. had never seen another man's body. The Seven often shared a room in the bathhouse when they returned from a longer ride or when Chris decided they all needed a bath. (Usually when they reached a stage where every accidental touch produced a cloud of dust and a sneezing fit from a disgruntled Larabee.) However, hopping into a tub full of soapy water while loudly debating the qualities of a horse or philosophizing about the mysteries of the fairer sex was hardly the same as facing the man you were going to fuck in the near future.

So J.D. inched closer carefully, gaze fixed on the first thing that caught his eye, namely the saber scar on his friend's chest. Buck lifted his arms and rested his hands at the back of his head, then spread his legs a little and stood like a statue. J.D. glanced up at his face and didn't find a trace of embarrassment. Buck seemed perfectly at ease with the situation, prepared to give his less experienced friend all the time he needed.

J.D. slowly circled the gunslinger, forgetting his own nakedness in the face of the opportunity to compare his memories of Buck's body with the real article. The first thing he noticed was that there were a lot more scars than he'd realized before. Some of them he knew, like the saber slash and the marks of bullet wounds on his right thigh and left upper arm. Others came as a surprise, like the ugly scar on Buck's left flank where a rifle bullet seemed to have ripped through his body from behind, leaving a mass of ugly scar tissue right below his ribs. J.D. was no doctor, but even he was pretty sure the injury must've been nearly fatal. He saw an assortment of narrow white lines; the remnants of deep knife wounds. He had one or two of those himself.

There were fresh bruises forming on Buck's pelvis and a big one at the junction of his left shoulder and neck that looked suspiciously like a bite mark. He wondered who of the others had gotten so carried away.

However, two discoveries made the youth's stomach roil: the thin, pale crisscross of long scars all over Buck's back, and something he found only by chance. He was just trying to digest that somebody had taken a whip to his friend when -- judging from the age of the marks -- he couldn't have been much more than a child, when his gaze strayed downwards and came to rest upon a scar at the inside of Buck's left upper thigh. Forgetting about modesty he hunkered down and reached out to gently prompt his friend to spread his legs a little wider. Buck sighed quietly but obeyed, revealing a weirdly shaped burn mark.

"What's that?" J.D. asked, puzzled.

The gunslinger shrugged. "Bastard burned his initials into my leg. I erased them with a hot knife." He shifted, glanced down at J.D.'s pale face. "You do realize you're killin' the mood here, right?"

"Mood?" J.D.'s fingers dug into the hard muscles of Buck's thigh without noticing. "Jesus, Buck, what happened to you? What kind of life did you lead? And why did you never say anything?"

Buck rolled his eyes. "It's over and done with. Can't be changed. Anyway, nobody ever asked." Seeing his friend's distress he freed himself from the hard grip and knelt on the ground beside the young Sheriff, touching the pale face with a gentle hand. "Hey, don't look so upset, kid. I doubt this is any worse than what happened to Nathan. Vin could probably tell a few stories himself, and the little I've heard about Josiah's dad wasn't too nice, either. And you can bet your ass Ezra's childhood wasn't all laughter and roses. Hell, none of us has led an easy life. But we're here now, and we're fine." His eyes darkened for a moment, and J.D. knew he thought of Chris. "Well, mostly fine," he amended with a rueful smile. "Getting there, anyway."

J.D. looked at him, hurting for the man in front of him. He opened his mouth to apologize -- for what, he wasn't quite sure -- but before he could say more than Buck's name, the gunslinger leaned forward quickly and captured his lips with his own, silencing him with a kiss. When he drew back, J.D.'s eyes were wide as saucers, his face flushed.

"Buck . . . ?"

"Pack," Buck reminded him patiently. "Scent marks. Sex. Get back on track, please."

"I . . . I'm afraid I can't," J.D. admitted, still reeling from the glimpse into his friend's past. Confessing his performance anxiety didn't seem such a big deal compared to the things he'd learned. "I'm too nervous."

"I think we can find a way around that," the gunslinger murmured. "Wrap your arms around me."

J.D. just stared at him. "Huh?"

"What? You afraid to touch me?"

"Of course not!" the youth huffed, not entirely truthful. He could do this. Buck was Buck. He'd touched him before, had even slept pressed against him for warmth once or twice. No need to panic now. So he lifted his arms and placed them on Buck's shoulders, acutely aware of the sensation of naked skin beneath his fingers.

Buck moved towards him and toppled him over gently, one strong arm preventing J.D. from falling and lowering him carefully to the floor. He felt the cool wood against his back and forced himself to stay still, though his heart was hammering like crazy in his chest. Wasn't he supposed to be the dominant one?

"You all right?" the gunslinger asked softly.

Unable to squeeze a word past the anxious knot in his throat, J.D. nodded, hoping like hell he wouldn't disappoint Buck. His worries intensified briefly when his friend started to kiss his way down J.D.'s body and same body didn't immediately react, but by the time the scoundrel reached his stomach, fear was the last thing on the younger man's mind.

It felt . . . good. More than good, actually. Buck's tongue was an amazing little fella, eager and knowledgeable, and when it started to lap at his cock, J.D. could've kissed Buck for introducing them. Lord, but it was a miracle the man could move around freely, without a throng of paramours trailing his every step! Come to think of it, women did have an astounding tendency to pop up where ever the scoundrel went . . .

Then something hot and moist wrapped around J.D.'s erection, and his eyes opened wide at the incredible feeling of having his cock sucked. That devilish tongue teased him mercilessly, making him squirm and buck and scrabble fruitlessly for purchase on the floor. Finally he latched on to one foot of his bed, holding on for dear life while his hips thrust upwards helplessly.

"B- Buck?" Was that really his voice? Wasn't it usually much deeper? "What- what're you doing?!"

Buck, damn his hide, stopped whatever it was he was doing, and sat up, looking down at him with a curious mixture of laughter and affection. "Old home remedy against nervousness," he grinned. "Also helps to relieve grouchiness, tiredness, and a bad mood."

Oh. Well, in this case . . . "Then why did you stop? Get back down there!"

Deep, rumbling laughter filled his ears, just before he was grabbed without a warning, lifted by a pair of capable arms, and picked up from the hard floor as if he didn't weigh more than a child. Unable to suppress an indignant yelp, he started to struggle, only to find his world spin unexpectedly when Buck dropped onto the bed, pulling J.D. on top of him. He hadn't quite gotten over the sudden change of location when that bewitching tongue found his earlobe, killing every form of protest with remarkable effectiveness.

"Got something better for ya," Buck whispered into his ear in the most beautiful example of his bedroom voice J.D. had ever heard.

Then the words seeped through the haze of want clouding the youth's mind and his eyes opened wide. Better? There was something better than that talented mouth on his jubilant member? Hell and damnation, he'd missed out! He should've asked Buck for a demonstration of his skills much earlier! What the devil had stopped him?

"Show me," he rasped, wanting to do something, *anything*, to relieve the throbbing pain in his shaft, but still clueless of how to achieve that goal.

"Easy, J.D., no need ta hurry." The tall gunslinger shifted beneath him, maneuvering him into position between Buck's legs. Large hands danced lightly over his skin, soothing and arousing at the same time, showing him where and how to touch to give the highest amount of pleasure.

J.D. whimpered when he felt the head of his cock slide between his lover's cheeks and against the firm ring of muscle guarding the entrance to Buck's body. Worry flashed through him at the realization what he was supposed to do - Buck was so tight, how could he fit in there? As if reading his thoughts, the older man rose up to lightly kiss him on the lips, drawing J.D.'s attention from their lower bodies to his friend. "It's all right," Buck murmured, his right hand stroking gently from J.D.'s shoulder to his buttocks and up again in a slow, almost hypnotizing motion. "Don't concern yourself with preparation tonight. The others took care of that. I'm ready for ya." As if to confirm his words, his hips tilted upwards a bit, increasing the pressure.

The young man gasped when his cock started to push past the barrier, sliding into Buck. So different from using his hand, even better than having Buck's mouth on him. He'd never imagined making love would feel so incredibly good. No wonder Bucklin loved it so much. He started to move his hips, rocking forward experimentally, and groaned in bone-deep satisfaction when his cock sank deeper. Losing his virginity couldn't have been any better with a woman.

He looked down at his lover, eager to share his joy, and found Buck watching him with pride and pleasure and a tenderness that nearly made his heart break. He swallowed a lump of emotion, realizing his friend was doing more than giving him a place in his new family - he was making sure J.D.'s first time was with somebody he could trust implicitly, who'd never hurt him or laugh at him. Mother-hen Buck had found the perfect way of initiating his young friend to the world of carnal pleasure without exposing him to the usual risks involved with this step.

Once again torn between laughter and exasperation at the man's overprotective streak, J.D. decided to try something new for a change and bent down to thank Buck with a kiss. His body took over while he wasn't watching and started to move in the age-old rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of the slick passage with increasing self-confidence. Buck shifted again to accommodate him, then opened his lips, allowing J.D. to explore his mouth at leisure. He tasted faintly of wine and something spicy, and beneath that the distinctive, addictive flavor that was all Buck.

The scoundrel's tongue came out to play then, though J.D. couldn't shake the impression it was struggling to behave itself so as not to deflect his attention from the task at hand. He was grateful for the consideration, since he was already balancing on the fine edge between passion and sensory overload. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the onslaught of sensations and emotions he was experiencing with Buck - well, nothing but the man himself, whose presence had been like a constant touch since the day they'd met.

They moved against each other without hurry, kissing, stroking, their pelvises touching occasionally when J.D. changed the angle so he could drive deeper into his lover. Buck seemed content to let him figure out the details by himself, like varying the tempo and intensity of his thrusts, or exploring his partner's body with his hands while spinning closer and closer to the brink.

It was completely different from what J.D. had expected. Not that he'd really known what to expect, but it wasn't this slow, easy lovemaking in almost complete silence. The flickering candlelight painted Buck in fire and shadows until JD could hardly recognize his familiar friend in the beautiful, feral creature beneath him. Far from bothering him, the effect only added to the dreamlike feeling of the moment. He'd never forget the sweet pain of desire rolling through his veins, the heady tang of his lover's scent, the sound of his own heavy breathing mingling with the gunslinger's whisper-soft gasps, or the way Buck looked when J.D. couldn't hold out anymore and came with a strangled cry, holding on to his friend while ecstasy washed over him in waves, leaving him breathless and satisfied and weak as a kitten.

Buck caught him when his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of the taller man, his head coming to rest against a muscular chest. He could actually feel Buck's heartbeat, strong and regular as always, not nearly as rapid as J.D.'s. The youth stopped at the thought, and replayed the past half hour in his mind. Realization hit him hard enough to chase away some of the heavy drowsiness weighing him down and helped him lift himself up far enough so he could look into his friend's face. "You didn't come!"

Guilt and self-recriminations assaulted him instantly. Had he done something wrong? Had he hurt Buck? He hadn't even noticed at the time the other man hadn't been more than half-hard, had assumed his partner enjoyed the act as much as he had. Yet Buck obviously hadn't. He'd given J.D. an infinitely precious gift, and gotten nothing in return. He'd -

A not-so-gentle slap on the head brought the screeching downward spiral of J.D.'s panic to an abrupt halt. He yelped, blinked, and finally focused on Buck's face instead of his remorse. The scoundrel shook his head at him, somehow managing to scowl and smile at the same time. "God, J.D., would'ya stop that?" he demanded, laughter warring with frustration in his voice. "You're worrying too much!"

"But you - "

"God, kid, I'm a Two-Blood, not a breeding stallion!" Buck huffed, rolling his eyes. "After three orgasms in a row, even I need a break! Doesn't mean I didn't enjoy myself."

"You didn't come!" J.D. couldn't help the slightly accusatory undertone weaving through his words.

"So what?" The gunslinger chuckled at the young man's confused statement and raised a hand to brush a strand of dark hair out of J.D.'s face. "Makin' love isn't all about comin', y'know?" he said gently, meeting the perplexed brown-eyed stare calmly. "Not when you're with someone ya care about. You're a good lover, kid. You made my whole body sing. Won't be long 'til you'll be breakin' hearts left and right."

J.D. swallowed, taken aback by the praise. "You think?" he asked, uncharacteristically shyly.

"I know it." Buck smiled at the pleased flush his declaration produced and drew the youth's head back down against his chest, enfolding the smaller body in a protective embrace. "Just remember what I taught you 'bout care and respect, and you'll do just fine."

That sounded too much like a goodbye for J.D.'s taste, and he instinctively tightened his hold on his friend. "I'll do just fine, because you'll be there to watch my back."

"Always." There was no hesitation in Buck's answer. J.D. relaxed a bit, reassured by the simple promise. Fatigue was pulling at him, muddying his thoughts. It was an effort to pry his eyes open when Buck moved beneath him, carefully shifting them both so J.D. came to rest on the bed, then starting to slip out of the bed.

"Where're you going?" the young man asked, not liking the idea of Buck leaving at all. He'd never felt safer than in the tall gunslinger's arms and had looked
forward to falling asleep listening to his heartbeat. It was a sound he wouldn't mind getting used to.

"Nowhere," Buck replied. "Not right now, anyway. Just wanted to get off that wet spot. It's rude ta leave without sayin' goodbye, I wouldn't do that ta you." He winked. "So I'll wait 'til you're asleep and then take a French leave."

"You're all heart, Buck," J.D. grumbled without much heat. "When and where do we meet tomorrow?"

Buck crossed the room to collect a towel from the washbasin. He cleaned himself quickly, then came back, hugging J.D. close again. "We'll meet at Chris' shack, in the morning. Since Chris is goin' ta be promoted to leader of the pack, he can at least spring for breakfast."

J.D. chuckled sleepily and buried closer to the living heat of his best friend. The past days had been hell on his nerves and the activities of the night only added to the strain. Sleep was pulling at him, and for the first time since John Doe and his pack had broken into their lives, he didn't resist it. Buck would watch over him. He and the rest of the Seven.

His family. His pack.

Chapter Five

Nathan Jackson and Josiah Sanchez watched in silence as their three younger friends disappeared into the night. In unspoken agreement, they reined in their mounts who habitually tried to follow the other horses - like their riders, the Seven's equine companions didn't care much for being separated from their chosen herd.

"Methinks young Brother Dunne is getting a tad nervous," Josiah remarked when they continued down the path at a leisurely walk.

Nathan snorted. "Methinks he ain't the only one."

The former preacher smiled ruefully. "Touché."

They rode quietly for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, yet comforted by the other's presence. There was no hurry for them and they both appreciated the respite, knowing their outward calm was going to be put to the test that night.

Finally, Nathan stirred uneasily in the saddle, needing to talk before they reached Four Corners and went to prepare for the things to come. "Josiah?"

He couldn't see the deep-set eyes of the man in the growing darkness, but he could feel their gaze on him when Josiah cocked his head to look at him. "Yes?"

Nathan chewed his lower lip for a second, unsure of how to begin, then decided to jump right in. He'd never been one for dancing around the issue, and with these men he knew he didn't have to anyway. "Why did you draw a cross on that paper?"

Josiah sighed. It was a pretty personal question, but if anybody had the right to ask him personal questions, it was these six men, who had somehow come to mean so much to him. If they wanted to succeed in their endeavor, they had to trust each other implicitly. He had a feeling they were going to get a hell of a lot closer than this before this whole thing was over. So after mulling the question over in his mind, he sighed and tried to give words to the sentiments that had induced him to his decision.

"I have met many kinds of man in my life," he began slowly. "Some good, some bad, but most of them neither. What I learned in all my travels was, basically, that mankind is a selfish breed, and true loyalty is extremely rare. It doesn't mean that people are evil or unkind. It just means that it lies within human nature to look out for yourself, first." He thought for a bit. Nathan kept quiet, listening intently.

Josiah nudged his big sorrel over a cluster of stones, frowning in concentration. "There is something between the members of this group," he said after a while, quietly. "Some sort of energy, a bond that connected the seven of us from the start and has only grown stronger since then. We all have felt it at one time or other, even though it is never mentioned. I think Buck, being what he is, might have sensed it more acutely than we did. Maybe a part of him recognized it, or recognized what it could be. And when push came to shove, he decided to take a leap of faith." This time, his smile was visible even in the darkness. "And what a leap that was."

Nathan laughed, thinking of the looks on the others' faces when they'd found themselves suddenly face-to-face with that huge, almost pony-sized wolf. He must've appeared rather stupefied himself. And Buck . . . "Lord, he looked so *apologetic*," the healer chuckled.

"It was a rather pitiful look for such a majestic creature," Josiah agreed, his lips twitching.

They shared a broad grin, then sobered. "It was a brave thing to do," Nathan said softly. "He risked everything, trusting us like that."

"That he did," the preacher nodded. "And that is the reason why I drew the cross on that slip of paper. Because if Buck had the courage to show us his true self, to bare his throat to us and put his life in our hands, I will not shy away from making a commitment I want to make just because I am afraid."

The healer swallowed, his hands kneading the reins nervously. "I'm scared, too," he admitted.

The night hid Josiah's smile, though he was fairly certain Nathan could sense it anyway. "I know."

"Fact is, we have no idea what we're getting into," his friend continued, his voice tight with apprehension. "I know I want to do it now. Hell, I couldn't imagine a life without y'all. But what if a few years up that road, I decide I want ta go my own way? And then there's Rain. I don't wanna give her up. I don't wanna lose her to this." There it was, his greatest fear. He clenched his jaws, blindly staring straight ahead, hoping and waiting for some piece of advice from the older man.

Josiah sighed. "I can't tell you what to do, Nathan. I don't know what the future will bring. Nobody does. All I can say is that you should listen to your heart." He glanced at his companion. "But I suppose you did that already, or you wouldn't have drawn a cross yourself. The question is - can you go through with it? Can you touch Buck tonight and claim him, make him yours like we will make him ours?"

"I don't know." The healer hesitated. There wasn't much point in having this discussion if he wasn't honest, at least with himself. "No, that's not true. I know I can do it. That's part of what scares me so much. I shouldn't be able to think about him that way. I'm not in love with him or anything. And I usually prefer women. It's just . . . he's so . . . so . . ."

"Buck," Josiah supplied dryly. He understood exactly how Nathan felt.

"Yeah," the younger man snorted, half laughing, half resigned. "Buck's definitely Buck." He shook his head. "And to think I used ta laugh about that 'animal magnetism' of his. Who would've thought he meant that literally?"

"Well, he did say he never lied to us," the preacher pointed out. "And he didn't. It just never occurred to us to ask." He winked. "Though judging from Vin's reaction to the whole thing I suspect our perceptive tracker might've been on to him."

"He sho' didn't look surprised," Nathan remarked, shaking his head. "We all accepted it amazingly quickly. Thinkin' about it, I gotta say I can't believe not one of us fell apart. Not that we're usually easy to shock, but still." He frowned. "Not even Chris seemed overly concerned 'bout the whole werewolf issue. He was a lot more bothered by Buck's reluctance to tell him before."

That was true. Josiah had to admit it was a bit uncanny how readily they had gotten over the supernatural aspect of Buck's story. Of course, one could argue about the 'supernatural' part. From what little Josiah had learned about the Two-Bloods in the last couple of hours, they were as much a part of nature as wolves or humans. They just happened to be both. Or maybe neither. Who was he to judge a people for being the way they were born?

"Could be that some part of us recognized what our brother was long before the circumstances forced him to reveal his nature," the preacher mused aloud, not really worried about his lack of fear. It would have alarmed him a great deal more if he'd found himself afraid of Buck. "'As a face is reflected in the water, so the heart reflects the person,'" he quoted. His gaze met Nathan's solemnly. "I never met a person with a kinder or nobler heart than our lupine brother."

"I still can't believe I agreed to have sex with the man," his friend groaned.

"Me neither," said Josiah, then he suddenly winked at his companion and flashed him a toothy grin. "But I'm mighty curious if he'll live up to his reputation!"

And off he rode, leaving a poleaxed Nathan staring disbelievingly at his back.

//==//==//==//

Just when the healer had come to the resolution that the situation might not be so bad after all and was carefully beginning to look forward to his meeting with Buck, Fate, the Seven's old nemesis, decided to waylay them again. Or rather, a pair of Two-Bloods
did.

Seeker and Quinn snorted in alarm and shied back when the two dark shapes stepped from the shadows of the Labovs' homestead just out of town, blocking their path. Josiah and Nathan reined their mounts in easily, their hands dropping to their weapons reflexively. They drew on the strangers before the horses had come to a complete halt.

"Whoa, calm down," the man drawled roughly, raising his hands to show he was unarmed. The woman followed his example. "We just wanna talk."

"Leave your hands where we can see them and stand straight," Nathan ordered harshly, his heart still thundering in his chest. God, those two seemed to have materialized out of thin air! "If I so much as suspect you're tryin' ta change, we'll gun you down."

"Don't worry," the woman said coolly. "If we wanted you dead, you already would be."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Josiah's deep bass rumbled, notably unimpressed. "I wouldn't get too cocky if I were you, Georgia." He nodded at the man. "Seth."

That got to them. Nathan could see the over-confident calm surrounding the Two-Bloods waver and once again couldn't help but admire the older gunfighter's talent for unsettling people. Good to know Josiah was on their side.

"How d'you know our names?" Seth asked, trying to sound only mildly curious. He might've fooled less experienced men, but the two gunslingers in front of him had a lot of practice in reading nearly impenetrable masks. Working with Ezra Standish and Chris Larabee made that skill a necessity.

Josiah smiled, about as benignly as a hungry shark. "I know all your names." Seeing Georgia shake her head, clearly doubting his claim, he directed his smile at her, capturing her gaze with his. "John Doe," he whispered. "Jane Doe. Georgia. Arrah. Grace. Lila. Rebecca. Victoria. Bennett. Gabriel. Lucas. Morgan. And Seth."

Even Nathan couldn't quite suppress a shiver at the eerie rustle of his companion's voice. It wasn't only that Josiah had somehow managed to learn all of their names, but the way he recited them, like Death reading from his to-do list.

The Two-Bloods stood very still, absorbing the unspoken threat in silence. They had guts that was for sure. Nathan had seen professional killers retreat from the quiet menace seeping from the preacher's words, unnerved by the barely perceptible edge of insanity weaving through the deceptively civil tone. Josiah was good with his guns, but, damn, the terror he evoked in his opponents was of a much more primal nature than the fear of bullets. However, the pair in front of them didn't budge, even though their posture grew a lot more wary.

"We just want t' talk," Seth repeated.

"Then talk," the healer said, allowing just the hint of a growl to slip into his own voice. "We're listening."

Seth and Georgia exchanged a quick look, then Seth took a small step back, wordlessly deferring to his female partner. Nathan briefly wondered if they were a couple, but then remembered it had been this woman who'd approached J.D. He doubted she would've done that if she'd been mated.

Looking up at them, Georgia seemed unsure whom to address. She probably had a hard time telling which one of them was the dominant. Since the two humans considered themselves equals, the healer decided to make it easier for her. "What do you want?"

She straightened then, meeting his gaze in the light of the rising moon. "We ask you not to do this," she said.

"Do what?"

"Don't try to form a pack. Don't keep Bucklin from us." Was it his imagination, or did her voice sound pleading? "He's a Two-Blood. He's John's son. He belongs to us. Only we can give him what he needs."

"And that would be?" Josiah inquired with honest interest.

Almost luminous eyes turned to him. "Family. A place where he belongs. Unwavering support. People who know what he is and love him for it." She swallowed, clearly unused to asking anything of humans. "You don't know what your kind has done to him in the past. You have no idea what it means to be pack. If you mess this up -- and you will -- it'll destroy him. I don't want to see my kin destroyed."

"You had no qualms killing his mother," Nathan noted coldly, unable to forget the look in Buck's eyes when he told them about it.

"It was a mistake," Georgia admitted. Her hands balled into fists. "But I don't regret it. She deserved what she got for taking him away from us, separating him from his pack. We would've never allowed anybody to threaten or hurt him. We would've kept him safe."

"It's too late for that now," Josiah remarked, not unkindly. "Bucklin has made his choice, and he decided he'll rather take his chances with us than join you. If you know anything about him, you'll realize he won't change his mind. Accept his wish. Let him go his own way."

Seth stepped closer at that, stopped only by Georgia's quickly outstretched arm. "We don't give up on our own, preacher," he hissed.

The gunslinger didn't even blink. "Neither do we, son."

"Stay the hell away from Buck," Nathan added, already urging his horse forward. "Or you'll see just how much damage a human pack can do."

The Two-Bloods didn't try to stop them when they circled around them and continued on their way into town, but the men could feel their stares almost burning holes into their backs.

It only served to strengthen their determination.

Chapter Six

Dancer and Maverick nickered a soft greeting to Seeker and Quinn as the two big horses were led into the stable. Josiah and Nathan exchanged a glance upon noting that Peso and Steele were still gone. Josiah grinned. Nathan swore and dug a dollar out his back pocket, slapping it into the preacher's hand. Ezra's habits were contagious.

They took care of their mounts, taking their time brushing the animals and cleaning their hooves before leaving them with a little extra-helping of grain. Usually neither of the two men was prone to spoiling his horse, but being around J.D., Buck, and Vin had rubbed off on them. It was also a nice excuse for staying a bit longer.

"So," Nathan said when they finally left the livery. "What now?"

Josiah took a deep breath, trying to steady his quickening heartbeat. "Now we wait," he answered.

"Where?" the healer asked, desperate to draw out the conversation as much as possible. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. "Should I go to my room, or to the clinic, or . . . ?"

"Doesn't matter, I suppose." This was awkward. Josiah hated awkward. "He'll find us. I, for one, will be at the church. Since there's not much hope for finding rest tonight, I might just as well finish sanding down that doorframe." He cracked a wry smile at his friend. "You might want to go to the clinic and make sure you've got your medical supplies in order and handy. Something tells me tomorrow's going to be an interesting day."

"Interesting." Nathan snorted. "So that's what they call it nowadays."

The crooked smile grew wider. "Did you know there's an ancient Chinese curse that says 'May you live in interesting times'?"

"No, I didn't know. But it certainly applies to our situation."

"Looks like somebody cursed us, doesn't it?" Josiah smirked. "And successfully, too."

They shared an amused grin, thinking of what Larabee would have to say about that theory, then Nathan sighed, slapped his hat against his pants leg, and bowed gracefully to his fate. "I'll go check my supplies. Try not to strain something, all right? Buck's not exactly a fragile little filly."

That earned him a dirty look. "Careful, Nathan. I've sowed my seed long before you knew that little noodle between your legs could do more than pee."

The healer lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture, fighting hard to suppress a grin at the older man's defensiveness. "No need t' get insultin', Josiah," he soothed. "All I was sayin' was, don't break yo' back tryin' ta lift a man who's taller'n you. I know you. You get carried away."

"'Wounds from a friend'," Josiah recited gravely, "'are better than many kisses from an enemy.'"

"Yeah, but a lot more painful, too," Nathan retorted soberly. "So behave."

Mournful blue eyes gazed at him from below a grizzled brow. "'Pride leads to arguments; those who take advice are wise.'"

"Mustn't be a one wise man in this whole damn town then," Nathan muttered, wondering why he still wasted time and effort trying. They never listened to him anyway. At least not when he was talking about their health. When one of their own was in danger, those six combined had the survival instinct of a lemming. //Thank God at least *I*'ve still got some common sense// Nathan mused, completely ignoring the fact that, since he'd met the other men, facing 10-1 odds had become fairly commonplace for him, too.

Josiah watched him stalk away, all the while grumbling about hard-headed, mule-stubborn, irresponsible gunslingers and their penchant for getting into all kinds of predicaments, and smiled. //Takes one to know one, Nathan// he thought. Wasn't denial a wondrous thing? He sighed, sadly shook his head at the healer's refusal to accept the facts -- namely, that he was as bad as the rest of them -- and made his way over to the church. Thank God Josiah was there to keep an eye on that bunch of troubleshooters. Somebody had to be the level-headed one in this group.

He shucked his jacket, collected his tools, and went to work.

As always, the familiar manual labor helped clear his mind of darker thoughts, until he reached a state close to a meditative trance. Nothing existed but him and the wood that slowly became visible under the thick coat of paint the big preacher was patiently removing. //Sometimes, things are most beautiful in their natural state.//

He didn't know how long he worked. Time wasn't that important when he was focused on a particular task. All he knew was that when a barely perceptible shift in the air announced Buck's arrival, one side of the doorframe was nearly finished, and the queasy, apprehensive feeling in the pit of his stomach had disappeared completely.

He turned around slowly, silently asking God to refrain from giving any untimely 'signs' while he participated in yet another pagan ritual, and put away the abrasive paper. He took a deep breath at the sight before him. Buck had already shed his clothes and was striding towards him soundlessly on bare feet, looking like a dark angel with the two lamps shining their light on him from behind. He was moving with the lithe, easy elegance of a large predator, his long, powerful limbs in perfect coordination, body proud and tall instead of hunched over to make himself appear smaller.

The hound had been replaced by the wolf, and the transformation left Josiah staring at his friend in uncharacteristic awe. Buck didn't stop when he reached the outer boundaries of the older man's personal space but kept right on walking, melting into the preacher's embrace as if it was his rightful place. Maybe it was. It certainly felt like it when Josiah's arms enfolded the younger man protectively, drawing him even closer.

He felt Buck nuzzle the side of his head, then a warm tongue gave his ear a gentle lick, sending a shiver through Josiah's whole being. Such a tiny little touch, but it felt more intimate than any French kiss the grizzled gunfighter had ever received. The feeling was only enhanced by the curious sensation of holding his naked lover against his own still fully clothed body. Buck was all fire and life and warmth, twining himself around Josiah as if trying to crawl into the sturdy shelter of the preacher's stocky frame.

Josiah closed his eyes and turned his head, burying his face in the other man's silky, dark hair, his arms unconsciously tightening around his friend. He was torn between his emotional need to protect the beautiful soul in his care and the equally strong physical urge to fuck the enticing young body into next week. His member was waking up to the stimulation of Buck's groin pressing hard against his own, and he pushed a leg between the long thighs, smiling when the taller man moaned in appreciation and rubbed himself against it sensually.

Deciding to go with the flow for the time being, Josiah pulled back a little, wanting to get rid of the layer of coarse material that separated him from his lover's skin. Buck growled irritably, obviously preferring Josiah's hands just where they'd been before. Sharp teeth nipped the older gunslinger's earlobe in gentle admonition, then the scoundrel's long, dexterous fingers went to work on Josiah's buttons with a skill that spoke of long practice. They still didn't speak; the only sounds were their harsh breathing and the occasional disgruntled muttering from Buck when he discovered the preacher wore almost as many layers of clothing as their thin-blooded tracker.

For a second, when Buck sank to his knees in front of him and pulled down his pants, Josiah felt a twinge of embarrassment. He knew he was in great shape for a man of his age, his body still strong and solid, but looking down at the vision in front of him made him keenly aware of the fact that he couldn't compete with his companions' magnificent physiques. It made him feel like a bear amongst a pack of timberwolves - a fitting comparison given their situation. Then Buck looked up at him, his heart in his eyes, and the moment of insecurity was gone. It was hard to feel inadequate when seeing the unfeigned hunger in those dark orbs.

His cock reacted to the sight of Buck Wilmington crouched before him with an excited twitch, rising to meet the man's parted lips. And Buck, bless his well-honed instincts, didn't even try to avoid him, leaned right forward and took him into his mouth. Josiah couldn't suppress a pleased rumble as his thick, aching pole slid into the moist warmth. The scoundrel's tongue was already waiting for him, dancing up and down his shaft like a dog eagerly welcoming his master. The preacher's hips jerked forward involuntarily when the tip of that intriguing tongue started to play with his foreskin, alternately swirling around the head of his cock and rasping down the veiny length.

Before he knew what was happening, he was fucking his lover's mouth in a steady, hard rhythm, his hands cradling the back of Buck's head to hold him in place. He met the dark eyes, smiling involuntarily when the younger man winked at him, his self-satisfied hum almost sending Josiah over the edge.

With a deep moan, the preacher stopped his movements and pulled out reluctantly. "Patience, Brother Buck," he gasped. "You don't want me to shoot into your mouth, now do you?"

Buck eyed the weeping cock speculatively. "Can't say I'm completely opposed ta that idea," he stated matter-of-factly. "Ya taste good. Kinda spicy. Interestin'." Once again the tip of his tongue snaked out to catch a drop of precum from his lover's prick. Josiah almost came from watching him swallow the seed. Buck leaned forward again, inhaling deeply. "Smells good, too," he decided, a pleased smile on his lips. He looked like he wanted to thoroughly explore his friend's body, but didn't quite know where to start yet.

"Glad you like it," Josiah forced out in a strangled voice. God, that man could seduce a saint! Realizing that if he didn't act quickly, he'd come long before his cock was anywhere near the alluring charmer's ass, he allowed his knees to buckle and sat down on his haunches in front of the dark-haired gunslinger. "C'mere," he ordered roughly, opening his arms.

Buck laughed at him, well aware of the power he had over the other man, but he moved forward without delay, parting his legs so he could straddle Josiah's thighs. Supporting himself on the preacher's broad shoulders, he braced himself against Josiah, waiting for the man to position him to his liking. His muscles tensed when blunt fingers parted his cheeks and firmly rubbed over his opening, but he didn't give his lover the chance to draw back, pushing down and impaling himself on the questing digits instead.

The narrow passage was fairly well stretched, thanks to Buck's previous activities, and still slick from whatever lubricant the others had used, but Josiah heard the faint hiss of discomfort at the intrusion and frowned. He drew out carefully, alert to every sign of unease. Two-Blood or not, Buck must be pretty sore by now. Knowing how thick his cock was, the gunslinger hesitated to push it into the tender hole, afraid to hurt his friend.

Sensing his trepidation Buck straightened until he could look into Josiah's eyes, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile. "Do it," he breathed, tilting his hips to slowly drag his balls over the massive erection aiming at his body. "I want it. Want you."

"Are you sure?" There was no way Josiah was going to proceed if he ended up causing his lover unnecessary pain.

"I'm sure." Buck smiled, then showed his teeth in a grin that was just this side of dangerous. "Believe me, you'd know if I didn't want this. Last man tried ta take me against my will ended up feedin' the crows in two different states."

Josiah smiled right back at him, not put off by the gruesome picture at all. If the bastard had tried to rape Buck, then he deserved whatever the Two-Blood had done to him and more. The preacher took hold of his partner's hips, carefully guiding him so the tip of his member was just barely touching the gunslinger's opening. "You're in control," he said, locking gazes with the younger man to make sure he understood. "We've got time, and I can hold out as long as I have to, so don't worry about me."

"Hell, Josiah," Buck chuckled, his voice rough with affection. "I worry about you all th' time. Each of ya. Sometimes, that's all that keeps me alive."

Before the preacher could digest that new piece of information, the gunslinger cradled his head between his hands and kissed him, deeply, passionately, intensely. It was almost enough to distract Josiah from the painful moan escaping his lover when he sat down on his lap, driving the waiting cock deep into his body.

"Goddammit, Buck!" he yelled, tearing free from the captivating mouth and glaring up at the trembling scoundrel. "I said, take it slow!"

Buck clung to him for a moment, getting his bearings, then grinned unrepentantly. "No, ya didn't," he shot back. "You said I was in control. Now move, 'fore I fall asleep here!"

Still vexed by the unexpected maneuver, the preacher shoved upwards cautiously, getting accustomed to the sensations of being so intimately connected to another man. He could feel the hard length of Buck's cock sliding against his stomach, trapped between their bodies and seemingly quite happy with it. The muscles of Buck's thighs flexed and relaxed in the rhythm of Josiah's thrusts and he cupped the tight little ass, taking some of the gunslinger's weight.

It didn't take him long to reach completion. When it happened, Josiah wrapped his arms tightly around his lover, instinctively holding on to the most precious thing he'd found in years. Hot jets of creamy jizz filled the satiny channel, easing the passage until it felt like pure silk against the preacher's sensitive cock.

He pulled out slowly, taking care not to hurt his friend, and shifted them both so he could prop Buck up against his chest and embrace him from behind, one hand splaying out over a sweaty, heaving flank, the other wrapping around the man's still swollen shaft. Buck arched into his touch with a whimper of gratitude, desperate for release. His right hand came to rest upon Josiah's - not pushing or commanding, just feeling the preacher's callused fingers stroke him. The sound he made when he came was so like a sob that Josiah's heart clenched painfully.

He continued to hold his friend until Buck's breathing evened out and his head sagged against the older gunslinger's shoulder, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. "Mmmhhh," he sighed, eyes still closed. "Thank you, Josiah."

"You're welcome," Josiah replied, grinning at the look of happy contentment on the scoundrel's face. It seemed only natural to bend down and kiss the dozing man's forehead, tasting salty sweat and warm skin. "Rest," he murmured, deliberately pitching his voice to the low, vibrating rumble he used to calm down his friends whenever they were either injured or losing their temper. "Let me take care of you for a change."

Buck opened one eye and smiled drowsily. "It's all right," he yawned. "I can take care of myself. But I'd be obliged if ya could throw me out of here in a little while; I gotta go visit Nathan and then get back to Chris."

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Josiah couldn't quite keep the concern out of his voice. Now that he wasn't distracted by Buck's expert handling of his body, he noticed how tired the Two-Blood looked.

The eye drifted shut again. "I'm fine."

Josiah grimaced. He'd come to dread that phrase. It usually meant that whoever of his companions uttered the words was feeling rather crappy. However, he knew better than to call Buck on it. So he just used his bandanna to clean them both up, then leaned against the doorframe and cradled the younger man closer to his chest. "Did you know that wolves played an important part in some old European cultures?" he asked, his deep, mesmerizing tone wrapping Buck in a warm blanket of sound. "The legend of the lycanthrope, the werewolf, is mentioned in Ovid's Metamorphosis. The Norse believed that Wotan, father of the gods, was often accompanied by two wolves. Hel, the underworld, was guarded by Garm, another wolf. And Loki, god of fire and lies, was the father of Fenris, the wolf who ended up biting off Tyr's arm. Tyr was the god of war."

"Served him right," Buck muttered. "Bastard double-crossed Fenris."

Josiah raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You know the story?"

"Sure." The gunslinger opened his eyes, clearly entertained by his friend's consternation. "It's a popular Two-Blood fairy tale."

Josiah made a mental note to question his friend about that later. There were obviously a lot of things he had to learn about Buck's people. He was looking forward to it.

However, for the moment he was content to hold Buck and feel his heartbeat reverberate through his body, knowing that his friend was safe now, in the circle of his arms. He didn't care about the future. No matter what happened, they'd deal with it.

Together.

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