Black and Blue by Rita

Chris Larabee was as nervous as a whore in church. At least, that was what Buck Wilmington had just whispered to J.D. Dunne as they observed the senior ATF agent through the open door of his office.

"You're full of shit, Buck. Chris don't look nervous. He looks busy. And why would he be nervous, anyway?"

"Cause today is his birthday, J.D."

J. D. gave Buck one of his Duh looks and shook his head in disgust. Of course it was Chris's birthday... they'd all taken him to lunch and a couple of the secretaries had even brought a birthday cake, paper plates, napkins, forks and (wisely) a single candle into their break room for them afterwards so they could continue the celebration.

Chris had looked a little embarrassed by all the attention, but he had been good-natured about blowing out the lone candle and cutting the cake so that everyone could have a slice. After things had wound down, he'd taken a cup of coffee back into his office with him, mentioning that he still had some work to do on the end of the month report that was due tomorrow morning.

J. D. turned back to the paperwork that he'd neglected due to the slightly extended lunch hour the agents had enjoyed. He didn't see Buck's continued speculative looks evenly divided between Chris's determined typing and Vin Tanner's nonchalant telephone conversation with an agent from another team about a recently closed case. Buck just knew that there was something going on between the two men, probably a prank or a payback for one, and certainly connected to today being Chris's birthday but he couldn't quite figure it out.

Oh, well. He dismissed the puzzle for the moment. Right now he was going to check the slip of paper the new secretary had handed him along with his slice of cake. Hopefully, it contained a telephone number he could call later.

Chris Larabee, Agent in Charge of the rather unruly group of ATF agents who had just treated him to a birthday lunch at his favorite steakhouse, felt anything but in charge. He tried to concentrate on the statistics he was entering for the month of July. Chris almost yelled in frustration when he made the same mistake three times in a row. Dammit! He just knew that Vin was planning to get even. Waiting for the quiet sharpshooter to make his move was driving him crazy!

Chris glanced at the clock on the opposite wall of his office, then down at his watch to confirm the fact that it was only 2:30. He sighed audibly. Almost three hours until he could get out of the office and drive to the ranch. He felt somehow that if (make that when) Vin tried something, he would be in control there.

Chris Larabee was badly mistaken.

Vin Tanner laughed quietly at a remark from John "Lawman" Lawrence about how quickly he had gotten information from his CI. That rapidly obtained tidbit had put the last nail in the legal coffin of the currently incarcerated Mr. Philip Walters and stopped a trail of Saturday Night Specials from hitting the streets in the poorer sections of Denver.

As the other agent more or less bragged about his accomplishments, Vin scrawled on the notepad in front of him, moving the pen in crude imitations of the loops and whorls of fingerprint exemplars. Every so often he noted the time. Less than three hours before he could leave work and the fun would begin.

Vin turned his head away from his coworkers to hide the lop-sided grin that he just couldn't quite contain at the thought of what he had planned for Chris Larabee's forty-fourth birthday.

Chris tensed unconsciously when he heard Vin's jeep pull up the winding driveway to the ranch and then stop behind his Dodge Ram. Both men had left the downtown Denver office more than three hours ago. Chris had driven straight home and attempted to relax, turned on his computer, fixed a light dinner which he couldn't eat, turned off the computer, paced nervously from the kitchen to the den to his office and back to the kitchen. He was almost relieved that Vin was finally here. By God, he'd kick his butt if he even...

"Chris?"

"Kitchen!"

Vin had obviously stopped by his old apartment that he still maintained for appearances. The neat khaki slacks and almost new polo shirt he'd sported at work today had been replaced by what he considered to be his real work clothing. Dirty scuffed boots, an old stained tee shirt and jeans that were, to be polite, worn. He usually stayed at the ranch most weeknights and every weekend. Everyone knew he had practically moved in with Chris-but not the real reasons why.

Vin nodded vaguely in Chris's direction as he threw his keys on the counter and pulled open the refrigerator door to rummage around for several minutes, finally emerging with a couple of slices of sharp cheese in one hand and a Coke in the other. He nudged the door of the fridge shut with his knee and looked at Chris in vague surprise.

"Ain't you been to the barn yet? Hell, Chris, you ain't even changed clothes."

Chris started guiltily at the statement. Dammit! All he'd had on his mind had been...

"I'll go out to the barn and check the horses. Too hot to do anything 'cept give 'em water anyways. Be right back."

Without waiting for an acknowledgment Vin started munching on the cheese as he went out the back door, his boots soon thumping loudly down the wooden steps off the deck. Chris stood in the middle of the room for a moment. Puzzled. This was not what he'd expected Vin to do. Finally shrugging his shoulders in a mix of exasperation and exhaustion, he decided to get comfortable. After changing into his own Levi's, boots and pulling on an Academy tee shirt, he was back in the kitchen and opening a Fosters in less than five minutes.

Chris was still in the house forty-five minutes later wondering where the hell Vin was and if something had happened to him. Which was exactly what Vin Tanner wanted...

Vin had known that Chris was expecting him to take revenge for the abuse he'd been dealt on his birthday. He'd also known that in order to take Chris down he'd have to make sure his concentration was elsewhere for a short while. Vin smiled in satisfaction as he heard Chris walk hurriedly into the wide center aisle of the barn, checking first the tack room then each stall as he called for him. Vin tightened his grip on the leather strips in his right hand and waited. Just a little further...

When Chris Larabee had exhausted every shocking thing he could say or threaten to do, and every filthy name he could call Vin Tanner... he'd gotten absolutely nowhere. Vin had merely chuckled at Chris's anger and apprehension as he continued to hold his wrists firmly in the small of his back.

Chris had been struggling intently against his bonds the second he'd gotten over his shock at being tripped and dragged into the next to last stall in the barn. Now he was face down over a couple of bales of hay with his hands behind his back... fucking hog-tied like a calf in a roping contest! He remembered with a lurch to his stomach that Vin had always placed first in the local charity rodeo in... calf-roping.

"Chris, I never knew there was so many ways to cuss somebody."

"Let me up, you son of a bitch, or I'll..."

Chris's continued stream of outrage was cut short by the fact that Vin had now managed to reach under him, unbutton his 501s and, lacing his agile fingers into the back of the waistband of both the jeans and the briefs, jerked them down hard leaving Chris's rear end bare.

"You started this, old man, but I'm gonna finish it."

Chris managed to maintain a stoic silence under Vin's hard, flat-handed smacks across his ass until somewhere about the twentieth assault on his dignity. It was then that he realized Vin was counting under his breath. The little gasps of pain and frustration from Chris became audible to Vin as he breathed out his count of twenty-seven. It was also then that Chris became even more grateful that Vin had thrown a blanket across the hay before he had trussed him up and deposited his squirming body there.

The barrier of the blanket was not only keeping sharp stands of hay from poking into him, now it was keeping him from poking into the hay bales. Chris had a raging hard-on. And from the way that Vin continued to lay into him, pushing him against the rough wool with continually escalating force, Vin must be all too aware of how the tables had been turned.

Chris was assuming that since he was keeping track of his hits to Chris's behind, Vin fully intended to go to the traditional limit-in this case, forty-four. Chris knew when Vin brought down his hand in an especially hard blow emphasizing that he had reached thirty, there was no way he could make it through the punishment. Well, no way a certain part of him was gonna make it through without exploding...

Deciding that discretion was indeed the better part of valor, Chris Larabee did something totally uncharacteristic-he surrendered!

Vin paused in the count between thirty-two and thirty-three. He could have sworn he heard Chris say... please? Naw. Not Chris Larabee. He must have been...

"Please, Vin... "

Aw, shit! He definitely heard the low plea that time. Dammit, Tanner, you hit him too hard. Hell, you musta really hurt Chris for him to beg you to stop. You'd better...

Vin immediately pulled the release cord binding Chris's hands together and lowered him carefully from his position over the hay bales to the floor of the stall. Making a cautious step back, he waited for Chris to continue to curse him. Instead, Chris slowly moved his hands in front of him and struggled to rise.

When Vin moved to his side to help him up and stammer an apology, he finally realized the true source of Chris's acute distress. With his tousled blond hair, flushed face, sheepish grin and heated buttocks, the usually formidable Chris Larabee looked like a repentant schoolboy.

Vin Tanner fell in love all over again.

Chris wouldn't look directly at Vin as he fumbled with his jeans and underwear. Hell, how was he going to get his pants pulled up over...

"Chris, I guess I'd better get you back to the house so I can take care of that... swelling.

THE END