Worry pulled the corners of Elizabeth Stone’s mouth into a frown as she examined her patient one last time. Something just wasn’t right. Oh, physically he was better than he had any right to be; even the effects of his concussion were proving minimal. She’d be signing his discharge papers without hesitation, freeing up this bed for someone who really needed it.

No, it wasn’t his physical condition that bothered her, but his psychological one. Chris Larabee had been nothing but quiet, compliant, even, God help her, submissive throughout her entire examination, had done everything she’d asked without once growling or snapping. Even when she’d purposely given him openings he hadn’t challenged her, but had remained on his best behavior.

It just wasn’t natural.

Testing her theory, she drew the hated penlight from her pocket, flicked it on and shone it again in each of his eyes, holding it just a little longer and moving it just a little more erratically than necessary, drawing from him only a patient, long-suffering sigh. She clicked off the light, dropped it into her pocket and drew upright, arching a slender dark brow and crossing her arms against her chest.

"All right, what’s wrong?"

He squinted up at her, startled by her words. "What makes you think anything’s wrong?" he asked guardedly.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Larabee, give me some credit! I’ve been in here for a good fifteen minutes now, poking, prodding and generally doing everything I can to irritate you, and you’re just lying there and taking it. You’ve been patient, calm, obedient, well-mannered, everything I could ask for in a patient. In short, you’re acting nothing like yourself and that worries me. Also," she looked around the room, "we seem to be one person short of our usual crowd. Tanner should be right over there," she pointed to the wall opposite Chris’s bed, "watching every move I make and growling if I so much as make you wince. But he’s not here, you’re being nice … I want to know what the hell is goin’ on!"

He closed his eyes and absently rubbed an aching temple, silently cursing her perceptiveness. Or maybe it was his own fault. Maybe he was just too tired and in too much pain to care what she saw. "The best laid plans," he sighed.

She frowned thoughtfully at that, then winced and sighed deeply as understanding dawned. "Not exactly the Christmas Eve you’d envisioned, is it?" she asked gently, sympathy softening her voice and eyes.

He gave a sharp snort. "Not hardly!" He opened his eyes and let his hand fall to the bed, his face twisting into bitter lines. "I had some damn fool notion about it bein’ a perfect night … Can’t imagine what the hell I was thinkin’."

She sat down in the chair and crossed her legs, wondering why nothing could ever be simple for these men. "I’m sorry."

He exhaled sharply and waved a hand in dismissal. "Not your fault."

"No, but I’m still sorry." She folded her hands in her lap and studied him carefully, noting the pain in his eyes that had nothing to do with his injuries. "I have a pretty good idea of what this Christmas means to you," she said quietly, carefully. "And to Vin."

A wave of alarm raced through him at her words and he shot a hard stare at her, his green eyes gone cold and guarded. "I don’t know–"

"Yes, you do," she countered calmly. A slight, wry smile lifted one corner of her mouth. "I’m a pretty bright girl, Chris. And you’d be surprised how much two strong, stoic, stubborn men can show when someone they love is bleeding on my table. You and Vin haven’t been ‘just friends’ for quite some time now, if you’ve ever really been ‘just’ that at all. But this is your first Christmas Eve together, isn’t it? And whatever plans you two had didn’t include Jack Connor running his car right down the middle of them."

Chris’s mouth curled into a sneer and anger kindled in his eyes at the mention of the man’s name. "Bastard’s got an awful lot to answer for!" he growled. "Why the hell couldn’t he have stayed home to celebrate?"

She shrugged tiredly, her over-long shift finally catching up with her. "He wasn’t celebrating," she sighed. "He was trying to drown his sorrows." When Chris threw her a puzzled glance, she rose from her chair and began pacing slowly about the room. "I am not excusing what he did," she said pointedly. "There is no excuse for it. His losses do not justify his putting other lives at risk."

Chris frowned at her words. "Losses?" He suddenly recalled his lover’s words from earlier, and a deep unease rose within him. "Vin said … some of the nurses seemed to feel sorry for Connor," he said slowly, certain he would not like where this was going. "Why?"

She stopped pacing and turned slowly to face him, considering. She knew his history and had no desire to cause him any more pain. But she also knew he’d find out eventually and figured that sooner had to be better than later. And wasn’t cutting into people what she did for a living?

"Earlier this year," she began slowly, hating that it had come down to this, "Connor lost his wife and two children in a traffic accident. A truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and his rig slammed into their car, killing them all. This is his first Christmas without them."

Chris groaned thickly and turned onto his side, away from her, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his jaws hard against a sudden surge of nausea. God, he didn’t want to know this!

"I’m sorry," she breathed, moving slowly toward the bed. "I know that you of all people can understand what he’s going through right now. But what happened to him still doesn’t excuse what he did–"

"Maybe not," Chris whispered harshly, his eyes still closed, "but it certainly explains it. That kind of pain …" He flinched and closed his eyes more tightly still, knowing that torment only too well. "It has a way of tearin’ your mind apart–"

"That doesn’t give him the right to tear other people’s lives apart," she insisted quietly. "What he did was wrong."

"I know that," he whispered. He drew a slow, deep breath, then opened his eyes and turned back toward her, looking and feeling utterly exhausted. "But I also know how he feels. To lose everything like that … There’s just not much else that matters."

"Maybe not to him, no." She stepped to his bedside and reached down, taking his hand holding it firmly between her two. "I want you to listen to me," she said softly, her voice and dark eyes compelling. "You do have something that matters. In fact, you have the thing that matters most. Go home, Chris. I’m going to discharge you, and you’ll be out of here as soon as we can get everything signed and processed. Go home with Vin. Maybe this won’t be the Christmas you two had planned, but at least you’ve still got it! You’ve still got each other, and if it takes more than that to make a Christmas, then I’ll be damned if I know what it is." She searched his eyes and smiled slightly when she saw a glimmer of understanding. "Let him take care of you, Chris. Let him hold you. Hold on to each other! I think you’ll find that this is still the closest thing to a perfect Christmas Eve either of you has had in a long damn time."

He stared up at her, touched deeply by her words, by her understanding. "Can I consider those doctor’s orders?" he asked softly.

She arched a brow and stared at him with mock-sternness. "Will you follow them better than you usually do?"

He grinned broadly, his eyes shining. "Oh, I think I’ll probably follow ’em to the letter." He winked. "And I’m pretty sure that Vin will, too."

"Be sure and give me a call if he does," she retorted. "I’d like to have a front row seat when civilization crumbles."

7~7~7~7

Chris straightened slightly in his wheelchair and blinked rapidly as if to clear his vision as he stared in shock at the vehicle parked at the end of the wide sidewalk in the patient drop-off and pick-up zone. He’d expected, and had been dreading, Vin’s Jeep, beloved by the sharpshooter but sure to be hell on Chris’s battered body. Instead he saw a gleaming, cherry-red, fully-restored 1957 Chevy truck, and amazement gripped him.

"How in the hell did you get Buck to give you Patsy?" he asked in awe.

Walking beside the wheelchair, Vin chuckled quietly. "Weren’t my doin’. Before he left, he asked fer the keys t’ the Jeep, then gimme his." He tossed a wink down to his lover. "Said Patsy’s ride’d likely be better fer them beat up ol’ bones a yers than the Jeep’s."

Chris tore his eyes from the truck to scowl up at Tanner. "Buck said ‘beat up ol’ bones’?"

"Well," Vin smirked, "reckon that ‘old’ part mighta been mine."

"What a shock," Chris grumbled.

"That yer old?" Vin shrugged. "Hell, I figgered ya’d be used ta that by now."

The nurse pushing the wheelchair stifled a laugh at the sniping between the two men. They’d passed the elevator ride down in a nearly continual exchange of wisecracks, both relaxed and clearly delighted to be on their way out of here. Yet she also noted that the prickly nature of their banter was decidedly at odds with the glances and smiles they exchanged when they thought she wasn’t looking. Blue eyes would meet green and both sets would soften, and two smiles would take on a tenderness that revealed the depth and fullness of their feelings for each other. She couldn’t help feeling a small twinge of disappointment.

Two gorgeous men right here before her, and they only had eyes for each other. Damn.

Vin left Chris’s side and jogged forward to the truck, unlocking and opening the passenger door, only barely resisting the urge to cover his hand with a handkerchief before touching the highly polished chrome of the handle. Buck had trusted him with his beloved Patsy, probably the one love of Wilmington’s life that wasn’t a woman, and the responsibility weighed heavily on Vin. He couldn’t wait to get the truck back to Buck and reclaim his own treasured if less than pristine Jeep.

Hell, he’d be sweatin’ every piece of gravel that flew up from the road between here and the ranch …

He waited at the open door and watched intently as the nurse stopped the chair and set the brakes. When that was done, he stepped forward and extended an arm to Chris, blue eyes fixed on his lover’s bruised face.

"Grab on an’ let me do the work, all right?" he drawled in his low and husky voice. "Ain’t no sense you hurtin’ any more’n ya absolutely gotta."

Chris knew it was useless to argue when Vin had that particular set to his jaw, so he merely nodded and reached up, grabbing Tanner’s arm in their familiar forearm clasp. Bracing himself for what he knew was to come, he slid his feet from the chair’s metal rests and set them on the ground, then nodded once more in readiness. He pushed himself up from the chair just as Vin pulled and then he was on his feet, suddenly yet smoothly, hurting like hell and biting back the cries beating against his throat for release, but cradled securely in his lover’s arms with that soft gravelly voice murmuring in his ear.

"Ssh, ’s all right, I gotcha," Vin breathed, holding Chris close against him and not caring a bit who saw. "Jist take yer time, we ain’t in no rush. I gotcha, cowboy. I ain’t gonna letcha fall."

"Never thought you would," Chris whispered harshly, clinging tightly to Vin and closing his eyes as he tried to will the pain coursing through his body into submission. "Just … gimme a minute …"

"I’ll give ya all the time ya need," Vin assured him. "Only place I gotta be is with you, an’ I got all the time in the world ta be there."

Chris had to smile even through his pain at that. Vin might not say much, but what he did say had a way of making everything seem better.

"All right," he sighed a few moments later, raising his head and giving a small, strained smile, "I think it’s as good as it’s gonna get. Might as well get me into the truck before folks expect us ta start dancin’."

"Sorry, cowboy," Vin teased, turning and easing Chris toward the truck, "I didn’t bring my dancin’ shoes. Gonna need ya ta put yer weight on yer right leg and lift up yer left, then slide on inside."

Working slowly and carefully together, they managed to get Chris inside the truck, though he was pale and sweating by the time Vin strapped him in and was breathing in shallow gasps through gritted teeth. Vin took his hand and held it for long moments, his thumb brushing lightly over Chris’s knuckles.

Chris opened his eyes and turned his head, smiling slightly into worried blue eyes. "I’m all right, Vin," he breathed. "Really."

"Naw, y’ain’t," Vin rasped, hurting for his lover. "But ya will be. I’m gonna make sure of that. I’m gonna take real good care of ya."

Chris’s smile widened and his green eyes softened. "You always do, partner," he sighed, squeezing the younger man’s hand.

Vin nodded once, then released Chris’s hand and turned away, going back to the sidewalk and the nurse who waited beside the wheelchair. "Thanks, Ruby," he said with a small, shy smile. "I ’preciate ya bringin’ Chris down so’s we didn’t have ta wait fer an orderly."

She laughed lightly and waved a hand. "It was my pleasure. He looked like he was ready to leave. And so did you." She smiled up at the handsome young man before her. "You be careful driving, okay? The roads are clear, but everybody’s gonna be in a hurry to get home. And we’d just as soon not see either one of you back here any time soon. We see enough of you guys as it is."

A blush crept into his cheeks and he bowed his head to hide it. "Yes, ma’am," he murmured. "I’ll be careful." Then, on sudden impulse, he leaned forward and quickly kissed her on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Ruby. Thanks fer helpin’ Chris." Then he was gone, hurrying back to the truck and walking around it to the driver’s side.

Ruby held a hand to her cheek and smiled softly as she watched him climb in and close the door. The truck roared to life and started down the drive, and she watched its progress until it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

"Merry Christmas, boys," she sighed, wondering if it was too late to ask Santa for one of each.

7~7~7~7

An hour after leaving the hospital, Vin finally turned the truck onto the long and winding gravel drive that led to the ranch house. Full darkness had fallen and he navigated the drive far more slowly than usual, carefully avoiding the deepest of the ruts for both Chris’s sake and his own peace of mind.

Lord, he’d be glad to hand Patsy back over to Buck!

He drove around to the back of the house so that he and Chris could just go straight into the den, and was surprised to see his Jeep sitting there and lights on inside the house. As he pulled into the bright pool of illumination thrown by the security light and killed the engine, the porch door opened and Buck stepped out, a bright smile of welcome stretching across his face. Vin had never been happier to see the man in his life.

"Guess you can relax now," mumbled a sleepy voice from the other side of the cab.

Vin threw a startled look at Chris. "Thought you was sleepin’!"

Chris struggled to push himself upright from the corner into which he’d slumped, groaning and cursing under his breath at the effort. "Tried," he rasped, ceasing his movements abruptly as pain shot through his body. "Shit!"

"Don’t move," Vin ordered, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. "Jist wait fer me." And before Chris could argue, he was out of the truck and hurrying around to the passenger side.

"Evenin’, boys," Buck greeted, ambling up from the porch as Vin unlocked and opened Chris’s door. "Thought maybe you could use a little help gettin’ the old dog in and settled." He peered into the truck and winced at the sight of Chris’s pained expression and stiff posture. "Looks like I was right. How ya doin’, boss?"

"Just … peachy!" Chris gritted, reaching for the buckle of his seatbelt. "Hey!" he barked sharply as Vin reached across him and slapped his hand.

"Told ya ta wait fer me, damn it," Vin growled. "I’ll do the work, you jist sit there an’ behave. If ya know how." He unbuckled the belt. "Damn stubborn cowboy, cain’t do nothin’ yer told, even when it’s fer yer own damn good. Ya make my goddamn hair hurt!"

"Nice ta have you boys back," Buck said with a grin as Vin snapped and snarled at Chris and Chris grumbled and tried to bat away his lover’s hands. "All this peace an’ quiet was startin’ ta wear on my nerves."

"Shut up, Buck!" two voices snapped in unison.

The scoundrel’s grin only widened as he watched the two men together. Chris, never good at accepting help and even worse when he truly needed it, insisted on trying to get out himself though he could barely move. And Vin, never good at obeying orders and even worse when they were snarled at him, simply ignored Larabee and eased him out of the truck with a patient, unhurried care, seeming to take no notice of the threats and curses heaped upon him by the man in his arms. But what Buck truly noted was the tenderness with which Vin treated Chris and the instinctive ease with which Chris reached for and held onto Vin when his own strength failed him. As they started slowly toward the house, bodies pressed close together and moving in perfect synchronization, Buck realized just how right they were together.

Even when they were trying to kill each other.

He moved quickly past them and bounded onto the porch to open the door for them. "Sofa or bed?" he called to Vin.

"Bed," Vin answered.

"Sofa," Chris countered.

Vin stopped and glared at Chris. "Ya need ta be in bed, Larabee."

"I been in bed since yesterday–"

"Yeah, and ya still need ta be there," Vin cut in. "We put you on the couch, you won’t never be able ta get yer sorry ass up! Turn down the bed, Bucklin."

Chris stared at his lover through narrowed eyes, a scowl on his handsome face. "Awful damn bossy, ain’t ya?"

Vin grinned and winked. "Learned from the best! ’Sides," he leaned closer to Chris and breathed, "more room on the bed."

Chris’s eyes widened and he swallowed, then a slow smile spread over his face and he turned to look at Buck. "Bed’s fine."

Buck chuckled and shook his head, then ducked inside. Vin and Chris resumed their slow and careful trek to the house, Chris hissing sharply in pain as he stepped up onto the porch and Vin tightening his hold upon him and murmuring soothingly in his ear.

And, truthfully, by the time they got to the bedroom, Chris was grateful Vin had "convinced" him to agree to the bed rather than the sofa. He wanted desperately to lay his hurting body down and never ever get up again. Every muscle ached deeply and his head throbbed fiercely. Hell, even his eyebrows and fingernails hurt.

Vin gently stripped Chris of his coat and handed it to Buck, then lowered him onto the bed and eased him back against the pillow. Next he lifted the long legs up and carefully straightened them, mindful of Larabee’s injured knee. "Pain meds are still in the truck," he rasped as he began removing Chris’s shoes.

Buck nodded and hurried out again, his face unusually somber. He hated seeing any of his friends in pain, but with Chris it always cut a little deeper. The man had suffered so much already, and now to have this happen … Buck knew life was seldom fair, but he couldn’t help but wonder why just this once it couldn’t have shown a little mercy to two men who so deserved it.

Vin tossed the shoes behind him and pulled the bedcovers up over Chris, then sat down beside him and took his hand, holding it tightly and gazing down into his lover’s ashen, pain-lined face. "Need anything?" he asked softly.

Chris opened his eyes and managed a strained smile. "Already got what I need," he breathed, green eyes fixed on blue. He curled his fingers around Vin’s. "Got what matters."

Vin smiled slightly and freed one hand from Chris’s, reaching out with it to brush the blond hair off Larabee’s forehead. "Helluva Christmas Eve, ain’t it, cowboy?" he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. He gently rubbed his thumb over Chris’s forehead, massaging lightly and smoothing away the lines of pain. "Still, long’s I got you with me, I reckon I cain’t complain. Yer the best damn gift I ever got."

Chris’s throat tightened and his eyes misted as he gazed into the beautiful face above him. Vin’s eyes were so blue, deeper and clearer than any mountain pool, as infinite as the sky. He could lose himself in those eyes, had lost himself in them, and never wanted to be pulled free. The pain throbbing throughout his body receded to non-importance, almost to non-existence. All that mattered was that he was here, he was alive, and he had this most incredible man beside him, healing him and making him whole with no more than a gentle touch and those miraculous eyes.

"I don’t know, partner," he said hoarsely, "seems like a pretty damn good Christmas Eve to me."

Just outside the bedroom door, Buck bowed his head and closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears, uttering a silent prayer of thanks. Maybe they’d been shown some mercy after all.

He took a moment to compose himself, then walked into the bedroom with pain pills in one hand, a glass of water in the other and a bright smile firmly in place. "Here ya go, stud," he said, walking to the bed, "somethin’ ta take the edge off."

Vin helped Chris sit up, wincing at the soft groan that escaped him, and held him up while he took the pills and washed them down with water. When Chris set the glass on the bedside table, Vin reached over and snagged the other pillow, pulling it over and stacking on top of Chris’s.

"Might be a little more comfortable fer ya," he explained as he eased Chris back.

"Thanks," Chris said with a smile. He looked up at Buck. "You get all your errands done?" he asked hopefully.

Buck winked and grinned. "Done and done, pard. Just consider me one a’ Santa’s better lookin’ elves."

Chris’s eyes gleamed with gratitude and a warm smile stretched across his face. "Kinda big for an elf, aren’t ya?"

Buck waggled his dark brows mischievously. "Now that’d be tellin’, wouldn’t it?" He glanced at Vin and saw the weariness in the younger man’s face. "How’s about I go make some coffee, Junior? Looks like you could use a jolt."

Vin smiled up at him, suspecting that coffee wasn’t really the reason Buck was leaving. "Reckon I could," he breathed. "Thanks."

"No need ta thank me, son," the big man said with exaggerated seriousness. "I live ta serve." He tossed the sharpshooter another wink, then turned and left.

Vin watched him go. "He’s somethin’ else, ain’t he?" he murmured. "Never thought havin’ him accept us’d mean so much …" He turned back to Chris, his eyes wide and dark. "’S like a weight’s been lifted, y’know?"

Chris took Vin’s hand and cradled it to his heart, smiling gently up at his lover. "Buck’s always been good at that. He says it’s because he’s got broad shoulders. I think it’s more because he has a big heart." He squeezed Vin’s hand. "Kinda like somebody else I know."

"Oh …" Color crept into Vin’s face and he ducked his head. "I ain’t s’ much–"

"Don’t ever say that again," Chris chided firmly, green eyes intent on that downturned face. "God, Vin," he breathed fervently as his love for the man welled through him in a fierce, warm wave, "you are so much more than you know!" He lifted his other hand and tenderly cupped Tanner’s face with it, his thumb lightly stroking one whisker-stubbled cheek, even now amazed that he had this man in his life. "How can I tell you what you mean to me?" he whispered in a low, unsteady voice, eyes filled with a wealth of emotions he couldn’t begin to name. "What you give to me?" He shook his head slowly, his eyes soft with tears. "You’ve given me my life back!" he declared hoarsely. "And I just don’t have the words ta tell you what that means."

"Don’t need words," Vin breathed, leaning slowly down to Chris. "We ain’t ever needed words ’tween us. All’s we need is this." And he claimed Chris’s lips softly with his own, expressing with his slow, deep, tender kiss what no words could ever say.

Chris groaned and opened his mouth to his lover’s, allowing that insistent tongue to enter and find his and stroke it into life. His hand slid around to the back of Vin’s head, his fingers twined into Tanner’s hair, and he gave himself over to the feel, scent and taste of this man, letting it all wash over him, wash through him, and take from him every hurt he’d ever known.

Vin laved Chris’s lips with his tongue, then found the alluring dip in the lower one and sucked gently at it. Mindful of his lover’s injuries, he slid one hand to the bed and braced himself upon that arm, keeping his weight off Chris, determined that no pain should interfere with their pleasure. From Chris’s mouth, he trailed his own down to Larabee’s chin, grazing lightly at the slight cleft there, then swept tender, feather-light kisses along the bruised jaw, savoring the scrape of whiskers against his lips.

Chris closed his eyes and exhaled unsteadily as Vin made love to him with his mouth, as the Texan’s sweet, gentle kisses sent tendrils of warmth curling through his battered body. For once, there was no passion in Tanner’s actions but only love, and Chris sank ever deeper into the peace offered by that love. He knew what Vin was doing, could feel himself relaxing and the meds taking hold. He didn’t want to go, but as so often before Vin’s will was stronger than his own and Chris was as unable to refuse Vin this as he’d been so many other things.

Damn sharpshooter never did fight fair …

"Ssh, that’s it," Vin whispered, pressing soft kisses to Chris’s closed eyelids, to his temples, "jist let go." He swept his mouth down the side of Chris’s face and nuzzled lightly at his tender earlobe. "I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’ll be here when ya wake up. Jist let yerself go now an’ get some rest."

Chris tried to open his eyes but couldn’t; they, and the rest of his body, seemed made of lead. Still, he wasn’t yet ready to sleep. "Vin–"

"Ssh, hush now," Vin breathed, his breath fanning warmly against Chris’s cheek. He returned his mouth to his lover’s and gently kissed it. "G’on, Chris," he urged softly.

And Chris did. Unable to fight the meds, or Vin, or his own body’s needs, he simply ceased trying and drifted off, borne into sleep by by the soft caresses of his lover’s mouth and sweet gravelly voice.

Vin sat with him for long moments after, listening to his slow, deep breathing and watching sleep smooth the lines of pain from his face. Only when he was certain that Chris was truly and deeply asleep did he kiss him one last time, then rise carefully from the bed and walk out of the room.

7~7~7~7

Buck looked up from the magazine he’d been reading and frowned at the sight of Vin slumped against the door frame in the entryway to the den. "Hell, son!" he barked in alarm, quickly lowering the recliner and rising to his feet. He hurried across the den to the sagging sharpshooter and closed a strong hand about Vin’s upper arm, pulling him upright. "Get your ass over here and sit down before ya fall! Ya look like ten miles of bad road!"

"Feel that way, too," Vin breathed, letting the big man lead him to the sofa. Once there, he sank wearily down upon it and leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. "I don’t understand it, Buck," he rasped tiredly. "Ain’t like he’s hurt that bad … Ain’t like he ain’t ever been hurt before …" He sighed heavily and let himself fall back, staring up at the ceiling. "How come I feel like somebody’s pulled out ever’ nerve I got and stomped the hell out of ’em?"

Buck exhaled slowly and sat down beside the younger man, then reached out to pat his leg. "’Cause I reckon that’s just about what happened," he said gently. "You got quite a scare, Vin. Doesn’t matter how bad it’s not. Fact is, your brain’s still fiddlin’ around with how bad it might have been, and ever’ time it whispers how close it was you take another punch to the gut. Or," he gazed sympathetically at Tanner’s pale, drawn face, "to the heart."

"I jist … I ain’t ready ta lose him!" he said hoarsely, turning pain-dark eyes upon Buck. "I mean, I know that’s stupid. Hell, with what we do fer a livin’ I oughtta be used ta that thought, but …" His words trailed off into silence and he wrapped his arms tightly around his chest.

"How many times you been shot?" Buck asked quietly.

Vin stared at him in confusion. "Hell, I don’t know! A few, I reckon."

Buck lifted one dark brow and returned that stare evenly. "You used ta that yet?"

Vin snorted and shook his head. "Hell, ya never get used ta that!"

"Then why the hell would you expect to get used to the idea of losin’ somebody you love?" Buck asked pointedly. "Maybe I’m the world’s dumbest ass fer not seein’ it before, but it’s clear as daylight now. You and Chris got somethin’ together that most of us would kill or die ta have. He loves you like I’ve only known him to love one other person in his life, son, loves you with everything that’s in him. And you love him exactly the same way." He regarded Vin through blue eyes deep and dark and utterly devoid of their usual merriment, but filled with knowledge and compassion. "And that kinda love ain’t ever ready ta let go, son. Not while there’s a breath left in a lover’s body."

Vin sighed unsteadily and bowed his head, shaking it slowly. "Ain’t sure I’m ready fer this, Buck!" he whispered miserably.

Buck smiled sadly and slipped a long arm about Tanner’s shoulders, pulling him close in a tight embrace. "Sure y’are, Vin," he soothed. "Ya been lookin’ fer this yer whole life, been waitin’ fer somebody ta come along an’ love ya like that damned ornery cuss in there does. Hell, I reckon yer just like the rest of us, wantin’ somebody ta come an’ sweep you off yer feet. Only thing about that is, when ya get swept off yer feet, sometimes ya fall on yer ass."

Vin laughed at that, unable to help himself. "JD’s right, y’know," he chuckled, casting a grateful look up at the older man. "Y’are fulla crap!"

"Yep." Buck winked and grinned. "But it’s wise crap, Junior."

Vin laughed again and nodded. "Thanks, Buck."

"Hell, son, it’s what I’m here for!" the big man said happily. "Ta give you rookies the benefits of my vast experience in matters of the heart." He sobered and sighed, shaking his head. "Shit, sometimes I wonder how you an’ Chris managed ta get together without my help!"

Vin pulled free and shot an arch stare at the man. "We managed ta stumble through all right."

Buck laughed softly, sincerely. "Yeah, ya did. And I gotta say I’m glad. I mean it, Vin." Blue eyes bored into blue. "You pulled Chris’s heart outta that grave he’d buried it in an’ started it beatin’ again. And he’s pulled you outta them shadows you used ta hide in, showed you it’s all right ta like the feel of the sun on yer face. And as far as I can see," he reached out and cupped a big hand around the back of Vin’s neck, squeezing gently, "there’s not a thing in the world wrong with that."

Vin gave a small, tremulous smile, his tired eyes alight. "I’m glad, Buck," he rasped. "Means a lot knowin’ yer all right with it. With us. ’S a nice feelin’, havin’ yer blessin’."

"You got it, Junior, trust me. Besides," his smile turned sly and his eyes danced, "with you an’ Chris matched up and outta the game, it just leaves that many more women open fer me!" Vin laughed again, and Buck nodded at the sound. "There, that’s what I like ta hear! It’s Christmas Eve, son, yer s’posed ta be jolly! Hell, you know the rules – better not pout, better not cry, else ol’ Santa won’t leave anything under yer tree!"

Vin’s good spirits plummeted at that and he grimaced deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Santa won’t be leavin’ much under the tree whatever I do," he sighed. "All Chris’s presents are still back at my place."

Buck grinned, then sprang up from the couch and opened his arms wide. "Fear not," he boomed, startling Vin, "for behold I bring you tidings of great joy! Or some such bullshit." He crossed the den with a jaunty stride to the huge fir tree in the corner. "Santa’s better-lookin’ elf is on the job!" He squatted down and reached under the tree, pulling out a gift and holding it up. "Look familiar?"

Vin’s eyes widened as he recognized the wrapping, and the package. Surprise shot through him and in a flash he was off the couch and across the den, dropping to his knees and staring under the tree. There, scattered amongst various others, were all his gifts for Chris and the rest of the team. He shook his head slowly in shock, then raised wide, stunned eyes to Buck.

"I … You … How?"

Buck leaned close and whispered, "Professional secret. Elf code of silence an’ all that. I c’d tell ya, but then I’d have ta kill ya." He nodded firmly and pulled away.

Vin continued to stare at him in awe. "Ya d … ya done this … fer me?"

"For you. And for Chris. Hell, I figured you two needed some kinda Christmas!" He shrugged. "I had to go get some stuff outta Chris’s truck … And, by the way," his face and voice turned stern, "I do not want you goin’ ta see that truck until you’re a little better with all this, all right? It won’t do you any good at all. You promise me?"

Vin nodded, oddly relieved to have that burden lifted from him. "I promise," he rasped. But he couldn’t help asking, "Totaled, huh?"

Buck winced. "You would not believe what a full-grown blue spruce can do to the front end of a Ram pickup, son. But," the mobile dark brows danced again, "think a’ the fun you an’ Chris’ll have test-drivin’ a new ride!"

"Jeez, Buck!" Vin yelped, blushing furiously.

Buck laughed and clapped his hands together, delighted with Tanner’s reaction. "Damn, boy, yer purty when yer red!"

Vin’s blush only deepened and he began plotting revenge.

Oblivious to his danger, Buck continued, "Anyway, since I was out, I figured I’d go by your place, make sure you hadn’t left the door wide open and the stove on when ya rushed out ta get t’ the hospital. I also couldn’t remember seein’ any presents from you ta Chris under this tree. Sure enough, there they were, still sittin’ under that scrawny little shrub you got." He scowled at Tanner. "You can’t possibly consider that thing a tree, boy! Hell, it makes Charlie Brown’s look like a mountain pine!"

Vin sighed and rolled his eyes. "In case you ain’t noticed, Bucklin, I ain’t exactly got a lotta room fer a tree," he pointed out. "’Sides, I– Hey!" he said sharply. "Jist how the hell did you get in, anyway? I know I locked that door!"

"Uh, yeah, well …" Buck cleared his throat and gave a weak smile. "I had ta call in Ezra. Y’know," he winked, "Santa’s, uh, gifted elf."

7~7~7~7

Chris lay in the darkness and closed his eyes tightly, trying to convince himself that he did not have to get up. He’d already tried once and had damn near passed out from the pain; it was not an experience he cared to repeat. Maybe if he just lay here, not moving, he’d drift off again and go back to sleep. Maybe …

But, Jesus, he needed to take a piss!

He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, then clenched his jaws hard and knotted his hands into fists as the pressure in his bladder grew ever more insistent. He didn’t wanta do this. He did not want to do this!

Of course, he wasn’t thrilled with the thought of wetting the bed, either …

Christ, it was gonna hurt.

Still, there was no way out of it – well, no way that didn’t include an awful lot of humiliation – so he braced himself for what was to come and forced himself to sit up, inch by agonizing inch. Pain wrung hard at his bruised abdominal muscles and pounded through his head, and as he finally managed to haul himself upright he was almost certain he would be sick. Shaking, sweating and trying not to scream, he drew his legs up and slumped forward against his knees, dropping his head onto folded arms and swallowing hard against churning nausea.

God, he wished Vin were here!

But Tanner wasn’t there and Chris doubted he had the strength to call out to him. He dearly wanted to stay right where he was, but his bladder wouldn’t have it. So, knowing he had no choice, and not much time either, he steeled himself once more, lifted his head and dragged himself to the edge of the bed, slid his feet to the floor and, feeling it in every muscle, every nerve, levered himself slowly, slowly upright. His left knee caught with a painful hitch, threatening to collapse beneath him, but he shifted his weight to his right side and managed to stay standing.

But, Jesus, he hurt!

Praying his body remembered how it was supposed to work, and knowing how much worse he’d hurt if he fell, he limped through the darkened room toward the bathroom, guided by the sliver of light he could see shining under the door. He reached the door without incident and fumbled with the knob to open it, then swore softly and threw his other hand over his eyes as they were assaulted by the sudden and too-bright glare of light.

Shit, he hated concussions!

When some semblance of vision finally returned, he hobbled into the bathroom and made his way to the toilet, half tempted to sit down for this. But he’d only have to get up again … Resigned to standing, he pushed down the black ATF sweats Buck had brought to the hospital for him and relieved himself, not at all certain he wasn’t missing the bowl entirely.

Goddamn thing wasn’t supposed to move!

When he’d finished, he pulled the sweats up and turned carefully, limping to the sink to wash his hands. He turned on the water, stuck his hands under it and absently raised his head to look into the mirror …

And damn near jumped back in shock at his own appearance. Jesus, that couldn’t be him!

But it was, and for the first time he could truly understand why Vin had been so shaken up. Hell, he looked terrible! Both eyes were blacked, the bruise darkening the right one extending from brow bone to cheekbone, and his nose was bruised and swollen. A cut at his hairline about an inch above his left temple had been stitched and was embedded in a dark and swollen bruise, and the entire left side of his jawline from his earlobe to his chin was equally discolored. Both lips had splits where they’d been crushed against his teeth when the airbag had deployed.

Christ, how had he escaped without any fractures?

The stunning visual evidence of just how lucky he’d been, and what a narrow escaped he’d had, almost dropped him to his knees. He grabbed the sink and held on desperately to keep from falling, his heart hammering against his ribs and skull. But, driven by some perverse desire to see more, to know more, he pushed himself upright, released the sink and turned around to face the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. With trembling hands, he pulled up his t-shirt and stared at his reflection, at the huge black and blue contusions and bandaged abrasions covering his chest and belly.

Shit, no wonder it hurt just to breathe!

Having seen enough, he let the t-shirt fall and turned back to the sink. Almost in shock, he cupped shaking hands under the cold water and filled them, then leaned over and doused his face with the water. He did this several times, until his mind was clear and he could think again, then turned off the water, straightened painfully and reached out to grab the towel from the ring, carefully blotting his face dry with it.

Again and again the thought ran through his head. Vin had been staring at all this since yesterday evening, had been looking at it for more than twenty-four hours, his only break from it when he wasn’t in the room with him. Hell, no wonder he’d been shaken; scared. Pissed. On this side of it, Chris had the luxury of assuring himself that it couldn’t possibly look as bad as it felt. Vin, however, could see just how bad it was, and easily imagine how much worse it could have been.

Chris tried to thread the towel back through the ring, failed, and let it fall to the floor. He had more important things to take care of right now.

7~7~7~7

Vin sat cross-legged on the floor, a lukewarm and still half-full bottle of beer cradled in one hand and set on one knee, and gazed fixedly at the huge fir tree he and Chris had cut themselves and decorated. He’d plugged in the lights and they now winked on and off, bright flashes of color among deep green branches and a truly eclectic array of ornaments.

In its way, that patchwork collection reflected the life he and Chris were trying to put together, spoke of two men with two vastly different sets of memories and experiences who’d nonetheless managed to meld into one. There were one or two ornaments from Chris’s boyhood and, of course, a number from his life with Sarah and Adam.

He’d been shocked when Chris had brought them down from the attic, had worried about what seeing them every day would do to his lover, but Chris had said it was time. Maybe once he’d found comfort, such as it was, only in avoiding his past, but with Vin’s love to steady and guide him, he’d finally found the strength to embrace it. So there they hung, each one with a story and a wealth of memories behind it, happily linking past with present, and hopefully with future.

Vin had only a few ornaments of his own to hang, which in itself spoke volumes of the life he’d led before. A man who’d sidestepped or been sidestepped by Christmas so often had little need to decorate for it. Still, what few he had were precious to him, nearly all of them gifts from Nettie and Casey. They’d been determined that no matter where he was on that day, whether in some black hole courtesy of the U.S. Army or tracking down his latest bounty, he’d have something to remind him of the home and the holiday that were his for the claiming. Those mixed and mingled with the ones from the days of Sarah and Adam, and somehow it all seemed so strangely right.

But perhaps nothing could be so strange, or so right, as the unmistakable contributions of five other men to the tree’s decor, making their marks there as surely as they had on Chris and Vin’s lives. There were angels, bright stars and a few depictions of the Madonna and Child from Josiah to remind everyone of the night that heaven and earth had joined. Nathan and Rain, themselves a hodgepodge union of cultures and experiences, had gifted Vin and Chris with a set each of hand-carved and painted Native and African-American ornaments. From Ezra had come a collection of stained- and blown-glass decorations, from which Vin had backed off immediately with his hands in the air, insisting the Chris be the one responsible for hanging – and breaking – them. Not to be outdone by anyone, though, Buck and JD had made the tree truly unique with their "gifts." Elvis, Batman and Robin, Superman, a few cowboys (all of whose clothes the impossible duo had gleefully painted black), and Hot Wheels versions of each team member’s car turned into ornaments gave the tree that unique and unmistakable Wilmington-Dunne touch.

Chris had declared the tree schizophrenic. Vin thought it the most beautiful one he’d ever seen.

Of course, they’d bought some this year specifically for their tree, including one that Chris had gotten especially for Vin. It was a stamped tin silhouette of a cowboy on a horse, holding the coiled end of a lariat in one hand and preparing to throw the loop with the other. Chris was constantly amazed by his partner’s roping skills, loved just watching Vin racing along atop Peso while making a lariat dance in and fly from his hand like a living thing. Vin laughed and said it was simple as breathing. But, hell, Chris loved just watching Vin breathe, too.

Vin now stared at that ornament, his ornament, the one that hung just next to the silver spur he’d found for Chris. Funny how that had worked out; neither of them knowing what the other had gotten for him, yet both clearly thinking – again – along the same lines. Hell, they’d even gone separately to the exact same shop! JD had declared it spooky while Buck had hummed the theme from "Twilight Zone"; Ezra had been certain there was some trick. Nathan had given a small smile and nodded in perfect understanding, and Josiah had simply shrugged and said something about twin rivers running into one sea.

Vin sighed, watched the play of lights over his cowboy and took a swig of warm beer. Maybe he’d been trying too hard, been wanting too much when he already had all he really needed. Okay, so they weren’t having the big day he’d wanted, the big celebration he’d wanted, tomorrow. Big fuckin’ deal! Did he, who suddenly had Christmas again after having lived so long without it, have any right at all to be picky about the stupid damn date? Shit, he’d gone years without even the hope of this! Would a few more days really kill him?

Besides, come tomorrow he’d still have Chris at his side when he’d come so close, so close, to losing him. Lord God, what more could he possibly want? So things hadn’t gone according to plan. Hell, when was the last time something in his life had?

He raised the beer to his lips and took another drink, never noticing its warmth. He’d seen too many commercials, watched too many of those sappy, sentimental TV movies, gotten too caught up in the idea of a "perfect" Christmas. What the hell was a "perfect" Christmas anyway? One manufactured by some damn screenwriter or advertising company, or one put together by family and friends out of whatever they had to give?

Kinda like that Christmas tree. Maybe it wasn’t anybody else’s idea of perfect, but it was still the most beautiful goddamn thing Vin Tanner had ever seen.

Just like his life right now.

He sighed again and grimaced, shaking his head slowly. Jesus, he really hated bein’ an idiot. Maybe when Chris got better he should let the man kick his ass.

A slow smile crawled across his face. Nope, on second thought, there were other things he wanted Chris to do to his ass …

Chris stood in the doorway and gazed raptly at the young man sitting before the tree, his heart filling his chest as he studied that beloved profile. The tree lights bathed him in their soft glow, while the fire blazing in the hearth limned him in flickering hues of red and gold, turning his hair and skin to burnished bronze. Chris wished he could stop the world from turning and still the passing of time so that he might hold that vision before him forever.

God, he really had missed Christmas!

Then he saw the shaggy head shake, watched the smile quirk at the corner he could see of that wide mouth, and was intrigued.

"You thinkin’ alone," he asked quietly, "or can anybody join?"

"Chris!" Startled by his lover’s voice, Vin was on his feet in a second, blue eyes wide as he spun toward the doorway. "What are you doin’ outta bed?"

"Call of nature," Chris said wryly. He leaned against the door frame, shifting his weight off his throbbing knee. "You gonna just stand there an’ stare, or help a beat up ol’ man find a more comfortable position?"

"Aw, hell!" Vin breathed, hurrying forward.

"No, don’t," Chris called as Vin stopped to turn on the floor lamp behind his recliner. "Leave it like it is, with just the tree and the fire." He smiled gently. "I like the way it looks on you."

"Damn uppity cowboy," Vin rasped softly, his crooked smile returning.

"C’mere, you," Chris summoned, holding out a hand.

Helpless as ever to resist, Vin flew forward, a hawk heeding the nesting call of its mate. He took Chris’s hand and carried it to his face, nestling his cheek into the warm palm as he stepped into the warmth of his lover’s body. "Y’ sure yer up ta this?" he whispered.

Chris reached out and wound his other arm around Vin’s waist, pulling him closer still. "Always up ta bein’ with you, partner," he breathed, bowing his head and claiming the younger man’s mouth with his own. "Merry Christmas."

Vin sighed and slipped his arms loosely around Chris, not wanting to hurt him but needing to hold him. Needing to feel the warmth and hardness of that body against his own and know for certain that he hadn’t lost this. He knew his fears were foolish, but he couldn’t help them. The mere thought of losing Chris had set a coldness inside him that only Chris himself could banish.

But some small voice of reason still whispered to him. Knowing that Chris had to be hurting, he finally, reluctantly, broke the kiss and pulled his head back, gazing into Larabee’s shadowed features. "Ain’t Christmas yet," he murmured. "Still got half an hour or so." He smiled and reached up, brushing the back of one hand lightly against Chris’s cheek. "Why’n’t we go wait it out on the couch?"

Chris arched a brow. "You help me up when I get stuck?"

Vin’s smile turned into an insolent grin. "’At’s what I’m here fer, cowboy, ta help the old an’ feeble."

"No," Chris growled, "you’re here to aggravate the hell outta me!"

"That, too," Vin agreed with a wink. "I’m a man of many talents."

"Yeah, and one of ’em’s gonna get you shot someday."

"Could be," Vin allowed sagely, nodding. "But not today." He regarded his scowling lover through dancing eyes and allowed his drawl to deepen. "Who’d help ya git off the couch when ya git stuck?"

Chris laughed aloud, unable to help himself. He knew it would hurt, and it did, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything so long as he had this incredible and infuriating man in his life.

Still more of the chill faded from Vin when he heard that laugh. Hell, if sunshine had a sound, he reckoned that had to be it. He turned and set Chris’s arm over his shoulders and looped his own arm around the man’s trim waist, easing Larabee’s weight upon himself.

"C’mon, cowboy," he drawled, starting them forward, "yer stage is leavin’. And stop that," he scolded as Chris leaned closer still to smell his hair. "B’lieve me, you do not wanta make us fall!"

"You’d catch me, wouldn’t ya?" Chris asked, burying his face further into Tanner’s long, clean-scented hair.

"Ya know I would, so stop fishin’ fer them lovey-dovey promises," Vin groused. "But the last thing we need is somebody else in this house with a concussion!"

"Hell, you’re no fun," Chris muttered, pulling his face away.

"I’m lotsa fun an’ you know it," Vin countered patiently, resuming their walk to the couch. "You jist ain’t in no shape fer all the fun I can be. And I ain’t about ta haul yer sorry ass back ta the hospital an’ explain ta Doc Stone how ya done broke somethin’ loose!"

Chris shot him a glare. "I hate it when you make sense."

"Yeah, well," they reached the couch and Vin eased Chris carefully down upon it, "somebody here needs to. Bad things happen when we both get stupid at the same time. Y’ all right?" he asked worriedly as Chris settled back with a deep groan.

"Will be," Chris rasped tightly, setting his head against the back of the couch and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. "Just … gimme a minute."

"Lemme help." Vin knelt and gripped Chris’s ankles, then lifted and carefully turned his lover on the couch until he was sitting sideways. Setting Chris’s legs down, he moved to the end of the couch at Chris’s back and sat down, then reached out and put one hand against Larabee’s back and the other carefully against his chest, urging him down. "Here, jist lay back … nice an’ slow …" He winced as Chris sucked in a sharp, hissing breath at the painful pull on his abdominal muscles. "Yeah, I know, hurts like hell, don’t it? I been punched in the gut a few times, know what bruisin’ there feels like. Jist take it easy. I gotcha."

Concentrating on Vin’s voice, on the strength and sureness of his hands, Chris let himself be guided down, trying to block out the pain. Finally he was stretched out over the length of the couch on his back, his head pillowed in Vin’s lap. He closed his eyes and released a slow, shuddering moan as the countless aches in his body settled to a tolerable level.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"’S what I’m here fer," Vin said softly, sinking a hand into Chris’s hair and stroking it gently. "Make ya feel better. Take away yer hurts. Or at least give ya a way ta bear ’em."

"You do," Chris sighed, relaxing under that loving hand. "More than you’ll ever know."

"Glad ta hear that," Vin said with a smile, relieved to see the lines of pain fading from his lover’s face. "But it works both ways, y’know. Ya make ever’thing better fer me, too."

"Haven’t done much for your Christmas, though." Chris laid a hand over the one resting on his chest and gazed up at Vin, watching the play of firelight over his face. "I’m sorry, partner. I know how much it meant to ya."

"Yeah," Vin breathed. His fingers stilled in Chris’s hair and he cocked his head to one side, frowning slightly. "But I been thinkin’ about that."

"Oh?" Chris recalled Vin’s pensive air as he’d sat staring at their tree. "Come up with anything interesting?"

"I reckon," Vin said with a nod. His long fingers lightly stroked Chris’s forehead, careful to avoid any of the bruising there. "Finally dawned on me that I didn’t lose Christmas after all. I still got you, don’t I? An’ we’re here together." He shrugged slightly. "Mebbe it ain’t exactly the way I planned it, but it’s still a helluva lot better’n any Christmas I ever had before." Blue eyes dark and deep with feeling traveled slowly over Chris’s face and a tremulous smile touched his lips. "All’s I really need is you, cowboy," he rasped. "Long’s I got you, then nothin’ else really matters."

Chris lifted a hand to Vin’s cheek in a loving caress, his green eyes intent on his lover’s face. "You do have me, Vin," he vowed softly, "now and forever. I know I scared ya, partner, and I’m sorry about that. Believe me–"

"Ssh." Vin laid two fingers over Chris’s mouth to silence him. "Weren’t yer fault. Ain’t like ya done this ta yerself on purpose. It was all Connor’s doin’. Ya got nothin’ ta be sorry fer."

Chris pushed the fingers away from his mouth. "You still pissed at him?"

Vin snorted sharply. "Hell, yeah! Bastard nearly killed ya! Nearly killed lotsa folks! He had no business drivin’ drunk as he was, Chris, an’ you know it. Hell, there’s still folks in the hospital because a’ him!"

"I know," Chris sighed.

Vin frowned, hearing sorrow in his lover’s voice but no anger. "So how come you ain’t pissed? He put ya in the hospital, totaled yer truck … I mean, I know this is the season fer ‘good will ta men’ an’ all, but–"

"Maybe I understand him too much to be pissed," Chris said softly. Vin threw him a confused look and he sighed again, then struggled to sit up. Even with Vin’s help it was a difficult and painful process, but he finally managed to do it. When at last he was upright, he dropped his head against the back of the couch and reached for Vin’s hand, holding tightly to it as he waited for the pain to quiet. "Damn," he breathed.

"Lemme getcha somethin’–"

"No," he said in a rough, breathless rasp, holding Vin in place when the younger man would have risen. "Not yet. Not until I’m ready ta go back ta sleep."

"But yer hurtin’," Vin argued softly, sadly.

Chris turned his head and gave a slight, strained smile. "Yeah, but I got you, and you’re the best medicine I know of."

"Then c’mere," Vin urged, pulling Chris gently to him and cradling the man’s battered body tenderly to his own.

Chris relaxed into the shelter of Vin’s arms, closing his eyes and resting his aching head on Tanner’s shoulder. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he whispered.

Vin smiled slightly and laid a cheek against Chris’s hair. "Reckon it’s gotta be about as much as I love you," he answered. "So tell me whatcha meant about understandin’ Connor."

Chris opened his eyes and stared toward the tree, but saw something else instead; shadows from his own past. "Doc Stone told me why Connor’d been drinkin’," he began softly, slowly, intensely grateful that Vin was holding him, not at all sure he’d get through this without that. "He … he wasn’t celebratin’. He was … hurtin’."

Vin bit back an angry retort, hearing something in Chris’s tone that warned him to tread carefully. "Over what?"

"Christmas," he sighed. "He–" He tensed instinctively, then felt Vin’s arms tighten and relaxed, huddling deeper into their embrace and trying to take some of Vin’s strength into himself. "He lost his f … his family … earlier this year," he rasped, the words tearing like shards of glass from his throat. From his soul. "This is his first Christmas without them. He just … couldn’t take that pain."

Vin winced and swore softly. Shit …

"I can’t be pissed at him because I understand him," Chris went on, his voice thick and rough. "Hell, I was him! I’ve done that exact same thing, Vin, looked for that exact same escape from the pain. Only there is no escape. There’s not enough whiskey in the world to fill that kind of emptiness, to ease that kind of torment. And nothin’ matters, nothin’, more than just tryin’ to make it go away!"

"Not even other people’s lives?" Vin whispered.

Chris grimaced and shook his head. "No," he breathed in shame. "Sometimes not even that. Not when the pain is raging and all you want is for it to stop."

Vin thought a moment, then frowned and asked, "But where does it stop? I mean, what if Connor had killed ya? Then I’d be feelin’ that same pain. Does hurtin’ give him the right t’ inflict that kinda sufferin’ on others? And would that make it all right fer me t’ go out, get loaded an’ then plow inta somebody else? Would it’ve been all right fer you ta go out an’ kill somebody after Sarah an’ Adam died? I know I ain’t ever lost anybody like that, Chris, an’ mebbe that’s why I cain’t really understand it." He sighed sharply and looked down at his lover. "I’m sorry as hell that man lost his family, but that don’t give him the right ta take away mine!"

"I know," Chris breathed. "I know there’s no excuse. I know that. But I just can’t help–"

"Feelin’ sorry fer the bastard," Vin finished for him, no give at all in his voice.

Chris frowned at that tone. "I take it I’m the only one here who does?"

Vin pushed Chris away gently and turned on the couch, his back to its arm, to face his lover. "I am sorry he lost his family," he said slowly. "I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. But whatever sympathy he might’ve gotten from me was lost when he nearly killed you. Nobody, nobody, has the right ta take away the ones I love, I don’t care what they’re sufferin’." A hard edge crept into his voice and blue eyes turned to cold steel. "An’ I got no problem with makin’ somebody who tries suffer a little bit more."

Chris stared at Vin in silence, knowing he meant every word. The life that Vin had led, a life filled to the brim with deprivation and loss, had created in him a fierce protectiveness of what he did have and a ruthless determination that not one more thing would be taken from him. Chris had seen this with his own eyes as Vin had coldly taken out anyone who threatened his teammates on a bust; he could well imagine what Vin would do to protect or avenge him.

Sometimes he forgot that his quiet, gentle, softly-drawling lover was a bred-in-the-bone predator.

"It’s a good thing Doc Stone stopped you before you got to Connor," he said at last.

"I reckon it is at that," Vin agreed evenly, never a man to harbor illusions about himself.

Chris studied his lover intently and saw the unflinching honesty in his eyes, then reached out and tenderly stroked Vin’s cheek. "I mean that much ta you?"

Vin caught that hand in his own and carried it to his heart, his eyes never leaving Chris’s. "Hell, ya mean ev’rything ta me!" he breathed fervently. "I had nothin’ before ya came along, an’ I’ll have nothin’ again if ya leave. I ain’t sayin’ I’d die without ya, but I know I sure as hell wouldn’t be livin’. And that’s what scared me so this time," he rasped, gripping Chris’s hand almost desperately. "I been there before, Chris, where life didn’t mean nothin’ ’cept one more day of survivin’. Sometimes I still have nightmares about it. I jist–" His voice broke and he bowed his head, returning Chris’s hand to his face and nestling his cheek into its warmth. "I jist don’t think I could take goin’ back there again!"

"One day one of us is gonna face that," Chris whispered, already knowing too well how it felt. "But not yet. Look at me, Vin," he ordered softly, urgently, slipping his hand to Tanner’s chin and lifting the younger man’s head until their eyes met. "I’m here, I’m alive. We’re both alive. And maybe, just maybe, we should stop worryin’ about the future and concentrate on what we got right now. Believe me, Vin," he said quietly, leaning forward and cradling Tanner’s face between both hands, "tomorrow and its troubles will come whether we want them to or not. And if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to face it without any regrets. But that’s tomorrow. Why waste time worryin’ about it when we could be enjoyin’ today?"

"Today?" Vin whispered.

Chris smiled; from the living room he heard the chime of a clock. "Yeah, today." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Vin’s in a tender kiss. "Merry Christmas, Tanner," he breathed.

Vin shivered, then laughed softly against Chris’s mouth. He slipped his arms about his lover and pulled him close, reveling in the feel of this man against him. "Merry Christmas, cowboy," he sighed, sinking into that kiss and deepening it. "It’s lookin’ right nice after all!"

EPILOGUE:

Vin and Chris lay sprawled on the couch together, Vin’s back supported by pillows stacked against one rolled arm and Chris’s back against his chest, the older man’s head resting against his shoulder. The delayed celebration of Christmas was over, the rest of the team had left almost an hour ago and silence now reigned in the den, broken only by the occasional popping of the fire and the soft breathing of the two men entwined on the couch. The debris from the afternoon’s present frenzy had been picked up and bagged, and the gifts had been put away.

All but two.

Vin’s main present to Chris lay lovingly displayed under the tree, as much a gift from Tanner’s hands as from his heart. It was a beautifully tooled bridle of black leather, with silver conchas at each corner and in the center of the brow band and tightly woven and intricately wrapped California braids. Vin had worked on it for months, had gotten the idea when Chris had finally broken down and bought a new black saddle that he’d been arguing with himself over for almost a year. There’d been a bridle to go with it, but Chris had ruthlessly talked himself out of it, considering it beyond extravagant. Still, Vin had seen the longing in the deep green eyes and had decided to get Chris what the man wouldn’t get for himself. When he’d gone back for it, though, it was gone, sold, and the saddler hadn’t expected to get another like it, had said there wasn’t another like it, that it and the saddle were one of a kind.

Then again, so was Vin Tanner. Armed with nothing except a memory of the bridle, the leather-working skills he’d picked up in one of his many foster homes and the determination to fulfill Chris’s longing, he’d devoted more hours than he could count to creating yet another one-of-a-kind piece. And when he’d finally given it to Chris to unwrap, he’d had to fight with himself to keep from chewing his nails in anxiety. He’d thought it had turned out all right, but it wasn’t really his opinion that mattered.

In the end, though, the look of sheer wonderment that had filled Chris’s eyes and lit his face had made all the hours of work, worry and, yes, damn his luck, blood more than worth it. Larabee had been speechless for what seemed like an hour, holding the bridle as if it were a sacred relic, caressing the supple, well-oiled leather, brushing long fingers lovingly over the conchas and designs tooled into the leather. Finally he raised soft and eternities-deep green eyes to Vin, bereft of words but not needing them. Vin had read everything the man couldn’t say in his eyes, his face, and in return had given Chris a smile that had laid bare his feelings as well.

Words would only have gotten in the way.

The other gift, Chris’s to Vin and the one that had miraculously survived the crash, also had its place of honor, though this one was permanent. Hanging above the mantel was a painting of Vin by a local artist whom Chris admired greatly from a photograph that Buck had taken while trying out a new camera. Buck had given Chris the photograph, the big man’s way of finally giving his blessing to his old friend’s love for another man, and Chris had known at once that he wanted Gayle to turn it into one of her luminous paintings. He would keep the photo and treasure it always; the portrait would go to Vin, a symbol of Chris’s love and Buck’s friendship. Still, when Vin had shyly asked if he could hang it here, Chris had been delighted; it seemed the perfect way of always having Vin with him.

And it was a perfect capture of Vin’s spirit. Caught by Buck’s camera and Gayle’s brush, he was completely at ease, unposed and utterly unaware of his beauty. Clad in his worn buckskin jacket and battered cavalry-style hat, he was leaning against the corral fence, face lifted to the sun, impossibly blue eyes wide and dark, a small smile gracing his wide mouth, his face tranquil. The ends of his long hair were lifted on a light breeze and danced about his face. Peso, that magnificently beautiful and maddeningly contrary animal, stood on the other side of the fence, caught in a rare display of good behavior. His shapely head hung over the fence and he was nuzzling at Vin’s hair, the affection between man and beast clear for all to see. Vin’s head was tilted into that caress, and the effect was of two wild creatures joined and suspended in time at rest, at peace. The blue of Vin’s shirt was as dark and vibrant as that of his eyes, and Peso’s blazed nose invited stroking. So alive was the painting that both Vin and Peso actually seemed to breathe.

When Vin had unwrapped it, Chris had forgotten about the accident, about every bit of pain he’d suffered in getting it. For as long as he lived, Larabee would never forget the surprise, the awe, the sheer reverence that had chased across his lover’s face as he’d beheld his gift, as he’d seen himself through another’s eyes.

But, God, could Vin ever truly understand what Chris saw when he looked at him? What he felt? No artist, however good, could really capture that. It was something that lived only in Chris’s heart, in his soul, and was beyond the ability of mere paint and brush to capture.

How could anything capture the man who was the very air he breathed?

"I still cain’t believe ya done that," Vin murmured, gazing up at his painting. The beauty of it still stunned him, while the love behind it warmed and lifted his soul. "I ain’t ever had anybody do anything like it before." He studied the portrait for long moments, his eyes noting every detail. "That really how ya see me?"

"Yeah," Chris said, smiling as he, too, stared raptly up at the portrait. "Oh, I know Buck took the picture and Gayle did the painting, but that’s exactly how I see you. God, Vin," he sat up and turned to face his lover, green eyes soft and deep, "you are the most beautiful thing in my life!"

Color flared in Vin’s cheeks and he ducked his head, still not quite used to such ardent declarations. He’d heard such words before, many times, but in the past they’d only masked some deeper, darker intent that was sure to bring him harm. From Chris, though, they came only with naked honesty and were spoken with a love whose force and depth could still steal the air from his lungs.

Chris reached out and slipped a hand under Vin’s chin, lifting until their eyes met. "Don’t hide from me, partner," he pleaded, brushing back the veil of Tanner’s long hair with his other hand. "Please, don’t ever hide from me! I wanta see you, Vin, I wanta look at you and know everything you think, everything you feel." He slid his hand down Vin’s neck and found the pulse throbbing there, then lightly stroked it with his thumb. "I could spend the rest of my life lookin’ at you, and it still wouldn’t be long enough."

Vin smiled weakly, fighting the urge to avert his face again from that intensely loving gaze. "Might git tired a’ the view after a while–"

"Never," Chris breathed, "not in this lifetime or the next. I never get tired of you, Vin. Hell, you’re the only thing that brings me rest!"

Vin’s smile grew stronger and his eyes filled with light. "I like that idea," he rasped, sitting up and reaching out to lay a hand against Larabee’s strongly beating heart. "Ain’t ever had nobody say that before."

"Then you’ve hung around with some incredibly stupid people," Chris said in a voice low and heavy with feeling.

Vin gave a wry chuckle at that. "Guess they ain’t always been the cream a’ the crop. Reckon I ain’t ever been smart about choosin’ folks." He slipped his hand up and around the back of Chris’s neck, pulling the man slowly to him. "’Til I found you."

Chris groaned and shivered as Vin’s lips met and claimed his with a slow, deep hunger. He wound an arm around Vin’s waist and thrust the other hand into the wealth of his hair, imprisoning that lean body close against his own as his hunger rose up hard and hot within him. He opened his mouth and laved his tongue over Vin’s warm, wet lips, then thrust it against them, demanding entry. Vin gave it and Chris plunged his tongue into that inviting cavern, clutching his lover to him and burying his mouth in Tanner’s with a thick groan of deepest pleasure.

Vin gave him rest, yes, but, God, the man was also a fever in his blood!

Vin clung to Chris and lay back, pulling Larabee down onto him without ever breaking that kiss and shuddering convulsively as that hard body covered his. They’d not made love in a week, since before the accident, Vin wanting to make sure that Chris was healed enough to do it without pain. Only now he was the one in pain, his filling cock surging against his jeans as Chris’s crotch thrust into his. He arched his hips and dug his fingers into Larabee’s broad back, whimpering deep in his throat as heat seared seared through his flesh.

Chris tore his mouth from Vin’s and pulled his head back, staring down at his lover. Vin’s eyes were closed, his face darkly flushed, his lips wet and swollen. Then his tongue slipped out to slide over his lips and Chris swooped down at once to capture it with his mouth, sucking slowly on it. One hand crept between their bodies and found Vin’s nipple through his shirts, and his thumb stroked the small male nub into hardness.

Vin arched his back and gasped as that touch went through him like an electric charge, jolting along his every nerve. He grasped Chris’s head between shaking hands and pressed Larabee’s mouth harder against his own, urging the man to deepen his kiss, needing it as a man dying of thirst did water.

Chris drove his mouth once more into Vin’s, and their tongues met and twined in an intimate dance, then stroked and parried in an intricate duel. Vin raked his hands down Chris’s back, fingers digging deep into hard muscle, and Chris ground his crotch into Vin’s, fueling the fires raging through both their bodies.

Then again he pulled his mouth from Vin’s, tearing a soft cry of abandonment from his lover. "Ssh," he whispered, pressing his lips softly to Vin’s to quiet him. "It’s all right, partner," he whispered against one corner of Vin’s mouth. "I’m not stoppin’ this, believe me. I just think we need ta find a better place ta do it."

"Right here’s … fine … with me," Vin panted harshly, clutching at Chris and rubbing his crotch hungrily against his lover’s. "I don’t care–"

"But I do," Chris chuckled, knowing Vin truly didn’t care; the man was spectacularly indifferent to time and place. "You might be limber as a cat, but I’m still healin’ up, and I’d really hate ta stiffen up at the wrong time."

Vin’s eyes opened, their blue gone almost to black, and a wicked smile played about his mouth. "Want ya stiff," he drawled hoarsely. He thrust his hips up into Larabee once more. "Got plans fer it when ya git there."

"I got plans, too, but not … on … the couch," Chris growled, punctuating each word with a kiss.

"Uppity bastard," Vin sighed without conviction.

"You’re such a poor thing," Chris retorted without an ounce of sympathy. He lifted himself off Vin and slid off the couch to his feet, then straightened carefully. Though he could at least move and breathe without wanting to scream or die from the pain, he was a long way from being healed. His bruises were fading but were still there, and reminded him of that fact at the most inopportune times.

And he was determined that this would not be one of those times.

Vin watched Chris closely for any sign that he wasn’t up to this and had to admit relief when he didn’t see any. He would’ve stopped it if he’d had the slightest doubt, but would’ve been frustrated as hell. Thankfully, it didn’t look as if a cold shower was in his immediate future.

He sat and swung his legs to the floor, the rose to his feet. "Why'n't you go get us a couple a’ beers whilst I fix us place in here?’ he suggested, idly reaching up to brush a stray lock of blond hair out of Chris’s eyes. "Don’t wantcha strainin’ nothin’ jist yet."

Chris arched a brow and stepped closer, gazing into his lover’s smoky eyes. "Yet?"

Vin smiled crookedly and winked. "Don’t worry, cowboy," he rasped in his low, sandpaper voice, "we’ll both be strainin’ soon enough."

Chris swallowed hard as those words, that wink and that voice sent his blood straight to his groin. He tried to speak, but his voice seemed caught in his tight throat. Instead, he merely nodded dazedly and set off toward the kitchen, fairly certain that his team had emptied the refrigerator behind the bar.

Vin turned and watched him for a few moments, admiring the view of the shapely ass packed into tight jeans and absently licking his lips. Then, gathering himself with a shake, he turned back to the couch and stripped from its back the two comforters he’d folded together this morning in the hopes of needing them this evening.

A man could never get too many Christmas presents …

He spread the comforters on the floor behind the hearth, then went back to the couch, snagged the pillows from it and tossed them onto the bedding. That done, he leaned forward to stick a hand into the crack between sofa back and cushion and retrieved the bottle of lotion he’d stashed there. As he returned to the "nest" he’d made, he was fully aware of but unable to contain the silly grin spreading across his face. He couldn’t help it. He’d been idiotically happy all day, feeling the way he supposed a kid would on Christmas morning; didn’t matter a lick that his Christmas morning had come three days late. They’d all eaten themselves stupid, watched every football game they could find and laid ridiculous bets even when they couldn’t have cared less who was playing and then torn into their gifts with an abandon that would have done a horde of sugar-hyped kindergartners proud.

There had, of course, been the usual assortment of toys and gag gifts. JD had gotten Vin a Spider-Man Web Blaster, a red vinyl glove and two cans of "webbing" which the two "young’uns" had quickly emptied on each other, in tribute to the sharpshooter’s habit of scaling sometimes unnerving heights to take up his tactical position and then zipping down his lifeline like a spider dropping from a thread. Nathan had given Josiah a statue of St. Anthony, patron saint of lost items, to keep in his golf bag for help in finding the balls the profiler never failed to lose in the course of a game. And Chris gave Ezra a Wal-Mart gift card along with a memo from Orin Travis requesting all agents to exercise restraint in expenses for which they expected reimbursement. The look of absolute, sick horror on Standish’s normally inscrutable face and the fact that he had been struck speechless for a good ten minutes had prompted Buck to bow down at Larabee’s feet and declare the man "the God of Gotcha."

But there had been those gifts that had come from the heart as well. The entire team had gone in together to get Nathan the 2002 edition of the Physician’s Desk Reference and the PDR for Herbal Remedies, their way of recognizing and thanking him for all he did to keep them healthy despite their talents for finding new and ever more creative ways to injure and damn near kill themselves. Chris had framed and given to Buck a photograph he’d found of the big man holding Adam and flashing a brilliant smile on the day of his godson’s christening. And Ezra had given Vin an exquisite leather-bound journal with heavy, gilt-edged pages and a Mont Blanc fountain pen, explaining quietly and with utter sincerity that "a true poet should have materials worthy of his talent." It had then been Vin’s turn at speechlessness, though he was fairly certain that Ezra had read the depth of his gratitude in the way he’d held and caressed that beautiful book.

Lord God, how had he ever fallen in with a pack like this?

He shook his head slowly in wonderment, then gasped sharply and dropped the lotion as he was enfolded from behind in a tight embrace and pulled against a hard body. He tensed, startled, but his instinctive impulse to fight was immediately quelled by the familiar scent of his lover and the equally familiar feel of the warm mouth delving through his hair to the flesh just beneath his right ear. His gasp gave way to a soft, slow groan as he felt the hardened ridge in the front of Larabee’s jeans thrusting against his ass.

Oh, Lord …

Chris cradled Vin close against him and feasted hungrily on that long, inviting neck. He laved his tongue against the warm flesh just beneath Tanner’s ear, then drew the tender lobe into his mouth and sucked slowly at it, all the while rubbing his crotch against the younger man’s tight ass. He breathed in the scent of that damn $1.99-a-bottle shampoo that smelled better on Vin than any salon brand would have and wondered when the hell aloe vera had become an aphrodisiac.

Or, hell, maybe it was just Vin …

Vin turned his head and dropped it back against Chris’s shoulder to give the man greater access to his neck, closing his eyes and breathing in short, sharp gusts as Larabee’s lips, teeth and tongue ignited a thousand fires beneath his skin. Chris’s arms tightened about him, that powerful body pressed harder against him, and Vin gasped and shivered as heat shot straight to his groin. He bent his arms back around Larabee, clutching at and driving his fingers into the man’s tight ass and thrusting his own back into Chris as want rolled through him in heavy waves.

"Please!" he whispered brokenly.

Chris trailed his mouth to the pulse in Vin’s throat and sucked at it, delighting in the small moans he drew from his lover. He slipped his hands into the waistband of the younger man’s jeans and pulled his shirttails free, then slid his hands beneath the two layers of fabric to Tanner’s taut, flat belly, callused fingertips stroking lightly over smooth, warm skin.

"What do you want, Vin?" he breathed against that throbbing pulse, his hands sliding up Tanner’s chest to his nipples. "Tell me what you want."

Vin shuddered hard and cried out wordlessly as thumbs and forefingers closed about his nipples and pinched and rolled them to pebble-hardness. His head thrashed against Chris’s shoulder, his ass rocked back frantically into Larabee’s crotch, and he damn near sobbed from the force of his need.

"You!" he managed to gasp through the fire and chaos of his desire. "Want … you!"

Chris lifted his mouth to Vin’s jaw and worked his way along it with a series of small, sharp bites. "Want me ta what?" he whispered.

Vin groaned harshly as Chris’s hands and mouth slowly but steadily shattered him. "F … fuck me … please!"

Chris pulled away slightly and gazed into his lover’s darkly flushed face, arching a golden brow. "You been a good boy this year?"

Vin turned his head and scowled deeply at the man. "What the hell do you care?" he growled. "Y’ain’t Santa Claus!"

Chris laughed at that, slid his hands to Vin’s waist and quickly turned the Texan to face him. "Think of me as ‘Santa Chris,’" he purred, pulling Vin once more to him and again seeking that tantalizing mouth with his own. "I give the bad boys what they want."

"Oh," Vin whispered weakly, wrapping his arms about Larabee’s neck and giving himself eagerly to that kiss, "then I been real bad!"

Chris buried his mouth in Vin’s and plundered it hungrily, his hands again sliding beneath the younger man’s shirts and stroking his slender back. He would never get enough of the taste and feel of this man if he lived a thousand years, but figured that trying would not be a bad way to spend his life.

Quickly growing drunk upon each other, they abandoned reason and restraint and surrendered eagerly to the dictates of desire. Wet mouths locked together in deep, demanding kisses while impatient fingers worked frantically at buttons, belts and zippers. Clothing became the enemy, an intolerable barrier between them, and they stripped each other with a ruthless disregard of fabric, pulling their mouths apart when they had to, but plunging back into ardent, greedy kisses as soon as they were able.

At last both were naked, Vin stripped even of his socks. With nothing now to hinder them, they sank as one onto the comforters, Chris crushing Vin to him and bearing him onto his back, then taking his place atop him. Mouths dove deeper still; hands stroked, caressed, clawed; legs twined and hips thrust desperately, rigid cocks clashing in an erotic duel. Locked together in body, mind and soul, awash in the white heat of raging hunger, they forgot entirely Chris’s still-healing injuries, forgot everything except their all-consuming and utterly insatiable need for each other.

Chris tore his mouth from Vin’s and dragged it to his chin, scraping his teeth over the stubbled flesh there and along the strong line of his jaw. Then he licked, kissed and bit his way down Tanner’s neck, clavicle and chest to one small, dark nipple, closing his mouth upon the dusky nub and sucking ravenously at it, wringing a shuddering groan from his lover. Vin writhed beneath him, thrust against him, in a mounting frenzy, driving his aching cock into Chris and burying his hands in the man’s hair, trying to force that hot, tormenting mouth to move lower still.

Chris obliged, sliding down his lover’s body and dragging his tongue over heaving chest and taut belly to the thick nest of earth-brown curls and rigid staff of needy, weeping flesh. He licked around the thick base of that shaft, breathing in the pungent scent of Tanner’s sex and feeling his own cock twitching urgently in response. He swept his mouth up Vin’s length, tongue sliding over the prominent vein to the purpled head, and lapped thirstily at the pearls of salty-sweet fluid seeping from its slit. But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to feed his bone-deep craving for this man. He planted a tender kiss against Vin’s tip and then raised his head, searching the comforters for the lube he prayed Tanner had thought to bring.

They’d made do often enough with spit and cum, God knew, but today wasn’t about "making do."

"’S there," Vin croaked, sensing what his lover sought. "Somewheres." He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and drove his head back into the comforters, knotting his fingers into their softness and trying not to scream from his need. "God, Chris, hurry!" he begged.

Chris found the small, green bottle and grabbed it up, twisting off the top and shaking a generous amount into one palm. The fragrance of cedarwood and sage drifted to his nostrils, but he barely noticed. Nothing existed for him now save his need for the young man beneath him. He tossed the bottle aside without capping it, rose to his knees and slicked himself, shuddering hard and gasping sharply at his own touch upon his throbbing cock. He watched Vin spread his thighs and bend his knees, opening himself up further, and the mere sight almost sent Larabee over the edge.

God, he was beautiful!

Vin’s long hair spilled about his head in a wild, disordered wealth, gleaming brown, red and honey-gold in the firelight. A dark flush suffused his his flesh and a sheen of sweat glistened over his body. The eyes that now stared up at Chris were heavy-lidded and black with desire, and the tip of a pink tongue glided slowly over kiss-swollen lips. He flexed slender but strong thighs, lifted his narrow hips and dragged a pillow under them, then, still gazing fixedly at Chris, slid a hand to his own cock and slowly stroked his length in blatant provocation.

"Ride me, cowboy," he urged in his low, smoky rasp. "Need ya in me somethin’ fierce!"

Chris’s breath escaped in a hard, shuddering gust and he nearly came on the spot. He’d always prided himself on his self-control, his self-command, but against Vin Tanner he had absolutely no resistance. As he watched, Vin slid his hand up his cock and dragged a forefinger over his head, sweeping away the cum gathered there. With a low, wordless growl, Chris shot out a hand and grabbed Tanner’s wrist, then leaned forward and brought that finger into his mouth, drinking that precious nectar into himself.

Jesus, what the man did to him!

Still sucking at Tanner’s finger, his gaze locked with Vin’s, he lifted his own hand to his lover’s balls, rolling the heavy sacs and gently squeezing them. Vin hissed sharply and tensed, a tremor running through his body. Chris licked down his forefinger and up his middle one, then sucked that digit into his mouth. At the same time, he released Vin’s balls, slid his finger to the hole behind them and plunged it within.

"Shit!" Vin yelped, bucking violently. Chris’s finger probed him, played inside him, and all the while the man sucked hard at his finger, sending hard currents of electricity jolting along every nerve he possessed. Chris released his middle finger, took his ring finger and sucked it deep, then plunged a second finger into his body. Vin cried out harshly and thrust down hard against that hand, hot tears sliding from the corners of his eyes. "God … Chris … fuck me!" he cried somewhere between a scream and a sob.

Chris felt the tight ring of muscle give just enough and withdrew his hand. He pulled Vin’s finger from his mouth, slid his tongue down it to his lover’s palm and pressed a tender kiss there. Then, unable to wait, knowing they were both too near the edge, he pressed his cock to that beckoning entrance and pushed himself into Vin.

Tanner loosed a harsh, ragged cry and arched wildly as Chris’s thick flesh pierced and threatened to split him. But the pain was short-lived, giving way to the near-unbearable pleasure of Chris’s heat and hardness filling him, and his whole soul rose up in an aching wave of need.

"God, cowboy, please!" he hissed.

Chris nodded and slid further in, all but undone by the feel of his lover’s tight, hot channel wrapping around him and drawing him deeper still. He’d never get used to this, he knew; it would never grow old. Vin’s body was a constant revelation to him, a new wonder every time he entered it. And only now that he was imbedded in it once more did he realize just how much he’d missed it.

Tanner gave another gasping, wordless plea beneath him and Chris began to thrust into him, slowly at first but with a gathering force and speed, seeking to quench the fire raging through him in his lover’s body. Vin arched to meet him, needing to drive him deeper still, and soon the two were moving in perfect unison, as much one in body as they were in soul.

Firelight flickered and danced over them as they writhed together, casting a brilliant sheen over their sweating flesh. Thick, harsh cries tore from them and mingled with the sounds of slapping flesh and crackling flames. Chris clenched his jaws and released Vin’s hips, dropping one hand to the floor at his lover’s side and bracing his weight upon it, and closing the other about Tanner’s hard cock, pumping it in time to his furious thrusts into the Texan’s body. Vin cried out sharply and wrapped his legs around Chris, pulling himself up to drive Chris deeper still, his overwrought senses shattered by the man’s assault on him inside and out.

As Vin lifted himself, Chris was able to shift his angle slightly. Lengthening and quickening his strokes, he raked against Tanner’s prostate, ripping a shriek from the sharpshooter. Pumping harder at Vin’s cock, Chris drove faster into his body, hitting his gland again and again. Vin arched violently and gave another howl as he exploded into orgasm, shooting his seed into Chris’s hand and over his own belly.

The pungent smell of Vin’s release and the tight clenching of the man’s muscles about his cock flung Chris over the precipice just a few moments later. His climax slammed through him in a hard-edged, boiling wave and, with a strangled snarl, he drove himself furiously into Vin and erupted, bathing his lover’s bowels with his semen.

Time seemed to stop as they remained locked together, each straining toward the other, the two more truly whole together than they would ever be apart. But it could not last, not even for them. Strength ebbed, muscles gave out, and all too soon Chris was withdrawing from Vin and toppling onto the floor at his side. They lay spent and silent save for the sound of their ragged, rapid breathing. But, unable to completely separate themselves, Chris’s right leg was draped over Vin’s left and Vin’s left arm was trapped beneath Chris’s body.

Their breathing gradually evened out, their blood cooled and the sweat and semen dried on their bodies. When Chris felt Vin shiver, he roused himself from his lassitude enough to pull his lover against him and flipped one end of the comforters over their bodies. A slow smile crept across his face as Vin curled more tightly into him, winding an arm about his waist and slipping a leg between his two. The perfect fit of their bodies was yet another source of undying wonderment to him. Beneath the comforters, he slid a hand down to the small of Vin’s back and let it rest there, drifting into contented sleep.

Vin felt the powerful body against his relaxing, heard the slowing of Chris’s breath and smiled through his own exhaustion. He’d been so scared that he’d lost this, and so nearly had, but for once fate had relented and had allowed him to keep what it would have shattered him to lose. He’d gotten some wonderful gifts this year, but the continued life and love of the man beneath him was the most precious one of all. He turned his head slightly and pressed a tender kiss to Chris’s chest, then let himself sink into sleep as well. And just as those warm, dark waters closed about him, he figured it out.

He’d finally had his perfect Christmas.

THE END