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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is for the ITEM challenge on MBECO: Shovel - Chris, Wirecutters - Vin. It could be considered a slight cheat but, what the hell, it got me writing again. This story is also a belated birthday present for Tarlan to thank her for all the wonderful stories she writes. Keep 'em coming, pet, and I'll keep trying.
Part One

Moving out onto the porch of his shack, Chris listened with increasing anger to the sound of approaching hoof beats. He had only been expecting one visitor this morning and now that man was the last person he wanted to see.

Leaning against a porch post, his mind worked furiously as he tried to figure out how he could get rid of this unwelcome guest as fast as possible. He knew that things were probably going to get ugly, and the expression in his eyes hardened as he realised that ugly was probably the best he could hope for.

An unexpected emotion swept through him and he shivered slightly. He wasn't used to feeling fear, mostly because until recently death had been something he'd courted, but sometime over the last year he had changed. His whole life had altered as he had found reason after reason to enjoy life once more. Four Corners had done that for him, that and the good friends he had slowly but gradually allowed close.

He snorted sharply. He should have known that Fate was merely waiting to catch him off balance. Now he was going to have to pay, and pay dearly, for letting down his guard.

He sighed as Vin cantered into view, riding out from the nearby trees leading the new horse he had promised to deliver.

Chris swallowed hard, the lump in his throat feeling as large as a boulder. God, but Vin sure looked good.

Straightening his shoulders, he clenched his teeth, his jaw aching with suppressed fury, but he refused to let any of it show in his expression. He had to be careful, very careful.

"Chris." Vin nodded in welcome as he approached, a wide smile crossing his face.

Slowly climbing out of the saddle, the younger man tied Peso to the hitching rail and then led the spare mount forward. "This sure is a beautiful piece of horseflesh, I'll say that for him," he said with admiration, running a gentle hand along the horse's neck. "I can see why you wanted him so bad."

The sight of Vin's cheerful face, his calm, happy demeanour, felt like an unbearable weight and, staring down at his friend - his best friend - Chris felt that weight as never before. Vin was the meaning in his life: his main reason for living.

A mixture of fear and anger bloomed large in his mind, and Chris had to narrow his eyes and turn his head away from the beguiling vision.

"Yeah," he answered belatedly, his voice rasping. "Thanks for bringing him out."

"No trouble, cowboy," Vin replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Always happy to get outta town and come visitin'. Mrs Potter sent you a parcel too." Walking back to Peso, he retrieved a large brown paper package and passed it over.

The Texan drawl caused shivers of pure pleasure along Chris's spine. Like it always did. It was almost enough to unman him.

Turning away, he placed the parcel at his feet, taking the time to rebuild the emotional defences that had almost given way.

"Mr Pearson said to tell you that you're welcome to check out his new stock any time you're willin'," Vin went on, stretching to work out the kinks after the long ride.

Reaching into a pocket for a cheroot, Chris lazily swung his gaze back to look at Vin, his pulse racing faster as he took in the lithe body.

"Might take him up on that," he replied stonily, needing his iron will to force his body not to react. "Soon as I get back from Denver."

"Denver?" Vin was staring at him blankly.

"Yeah, I'm going to be away for a while. Tell the boys when you get back to town, would ya?"

The expressions rapidly crossing Vin's face ranged from disappointment and distress right on through to disbelief and suspicion.

"What's so all-fired important 'bout going to Denver?" the young man exclaimed, shifting his weight to stand hip-shot. "You said nothin' about leaving before."

"Don't have to explain myself to you, or anyone else for that matter, Vin." Chris bent his head to light his cheroot, willing his hands not to shake.

"Want some company?"

The very thought of Vin in a big city like Denver was ... impossible. Chris nearly laughed at the very idea, but laughter was unthinkable at the moment.

"Nope," he answered shortly, glaring at Vin to make his point. "Have a mind to be on my own for a while. Any objections?"

He could see the confusion in Vin's expression and wanted to kill something. Literally. But he knew he had no other choice.

"You sure, cowboy?"

Chris shoved a hand into the pocket of his duster and made a fist, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of his palm. The pain steadied him somewhat. For God's sake, Vin, get out of here, he thought desperately. What the hell will it take to get rid of you?

Blowing a stream of smoke between his lips, he forced his mouth into a wide smile. "I'm sure," he said mockingly. "Need a change, Vin. Something I can't get around these parts," he added with a wink, knowing that Vin would read far more into his words, and regretting every necessary syllable.

The look of blind hurt on Vin's face told him that he had at last broken the young man's nerve, and probably his spirit, and he moved in to finish the job. There was no use in half measures and he didn't want Vin coming back with fresh courage, though, the Lord knew, the sharpshooter had more guts than most men of his acquaintance.

"I'll maybe look you up if and when I get back," he added as an extra nail.

Vin took an involuntary step back, almost as though he'd been slapped, and Chris watched as a blush of high colour flooded his features.

At last it was over. Vin turned on his heel and leaped smoothly onto Peso's back. As he collected the reins in his hands, he kept his head down, the brim of his hat hiding his face. Then he looked up and met Chris's eyes with a hard stare that turned the gunslinger's blood to ice.

"Don't bother, Larabee," he drawled coolly. "I suddenly feel like a change myself." And with that, he wheeled Peso around and galloped away down the track.

Chris watched them until they disappeared into the trees and knew sadness as well as relief. No one would ever know of the love he felt for Vin Tanner. He would never be able to put such strong feelings and emotions into words. He wished things could have been different but Fate had an ornery way about her, and she had definitely hated him for many years now.

The snick of a hammer being drawn back on a gun sounded very loud in the silence, and Chris turned slightly towards the door standing ajar behind him.

"Back inside."

The voice was harsh and unforgiving, and he had no choice but to obey.

With a last look down the track, and the memory of his reason for living riding away from him, Chris gave a wry smile. He had cheated Fate of some of her winnings; at least Vin was safe. This time he had prevented any hurt coming to a loved one, though it was a shame that it would be the memory of Vin's anger that would accompany him to his grave.

Still, he's always known that happiness came with a heavy price.

"Now, Larabee."

Pushing the door open with his foot, Chris entered the relative darkness and faced the five men waiting inside.




Part Two

"Let's get this over with, Nash," Chris snapped harshly, as his gun belt was stripped away. The bullets had been removed from his guns as soon as the four men had overpowered him.

A lone rider had approached him as he had been working on the corral, asking for water to refill his canteen. He had appeared to be just what he seemed, a tired traveller, but as soon as Chris had holstered the gun he had drawn upon seeing the stranger, the others had suddenly appeared from hiding, their rifles preventing him from any defensive move.

He couldn't help but feel that he was getting too slow, or too old; no one should have been able to get the drop on him so easily.

"Not so fast, Larabee." Nash, a large bearded man with a thick shock of white hair, was sprawled in the chair by the stove. "I've been waiting over six years to find you. Now I have you, I'm in no hurry. Revenge can be sweet and I have a mind to make you suffer for what you did."

The tall man beside him knocked Chris's hat away and, giving no warning, Chris spun around and sank his fist into his stomach. He knew he had very little chance but he wasn't going to let everything go their way. If he had to go down, then he'd go down fighting.

He felt hands grabbing him but shook them off, savagely punching another of his assailants in the face. Reaching out he snatched up the shovel resting against the wall and in one smooth movement smashed it against a handy head. His victim went down at once.

Kicking and flailing his fists with great precision, it took the remaining three men several painful minutes before they had Chris pinned to the floor, his cheek crushed to the wooden boards. He felt relatively pleased that all of them were bruised and bleeding from the fight, but recognised that it was undoubtedly the last time he would get the chance to inflict any damage.

The room was silent but for the gasps and groans of wounded men, and then there was laughter.

"Always fighting the odds, aren't you, Larabee." Nash chuckled, leaning forward in the chair where he had stayed, so certain had he been that his men would prevail. "Just like before."

His expression changed from a smug smile to a more dangerous sneer. "Never could leave well alone, could you?"

He stood up and paced forward slowly until his boots were the only thing Chris could see.

"We had a nice little scam going at Fort Kane, but you had to stick your nose into our business, didn't you? Had to prove what a good little soldier you were. Had to send off to Headquarters and turn in your own commanding officer."

The voice was rising with anger, and Chris just had time to close his eyes as the boot swung back. He was rewarded with a heavy kick to his abdomen and the air gushed from his mouth as his insides erupted in agony.

"Five years in a stinking jail. That's what you got me. Five years in a sewer for a man of my birth. You cannot know the deprivation. The shame you brought on my family. But now you're going to pay. You're going to make all that worthwhile."

Sobbing for breath, Chris heard Nash move away and opened his eyes, wondering what was coming next. The man had always been an arrogant bastard, but it appeared that jail had robbed him of any sanity.

"Johnson, go get the bailing wire."

The big man had seated himself back in the chair and was lighting a cigar. He looked up and caught sight of Chris watching him, and grinned.

"I have been dreaming about this moment for a long time," he said, his expression one of great satisfaction. "And I aim to enjoy it to the full."

He gave a deep sigh of contentment and then looked away. "Welling, you and Smithson strip off his coat and shirt, and then string him to that roof beam," he ordered. "And I would suggest you secure his feet unless you want more bruises."

The muzzle of a gun was shoved in his face as Chris was pulled upright. He glared at the men as they unceremoniously pulled off his clothing, leaving him naked from the waist up.

Johnson, a lean man with piercing blue eyes and a bruised cheekbone, came back into the shack carrying bailing wire in one hand and a gun in the other.

He grinned toothily. "Tie his wrists, Welling," he said, handing the wire to the tall man beside Chris. "Then pull them up to that beam."

The wire bit deep and Chris couldn't stop the gasp of pain. Then it all became much worse as his arms were pulled up over his head, his muscles already aching from the previous fight and the kick to his stomach. A moment later his boots were pulled off roughly and his ankles bound, yet another painful experience.

"My, my, that looks good, Larabee," Nash chortled. "How does it feel?"

Ignoring the pain, and the man, Chris refused to reply. His anger was cold and his fury incandescent.

"Johnson, it seems like he don't want to talk to me. Now that it downright rude, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir," the other man answered.

"Well, don't you think he oughta be taught a lesson?"

"I sure do, Colonel."

Nash rose to his feet and approached, taking a long drag on his cigar. Then he blew away the ash and watched the tip glow brightly, his eyes widening with barely suppressed excitement. Chris groaned internally. He should have known that Nash was a sadistic bastard, the worst bullies usually were.

"I think you boys should go out and get cleaned up. You seem to be dripping blood all over Mr Larabee's nice clean floor," Nash said with mocked severity. "Oh, and you'd better take Taylor with you," he added, motioning towards the body of Chris's one success from the fight. The man had only just started to come round and was groaning feebly.

Smithson and Welling left the shack with murmurs of disappointment, carrying their wounded comrade with them, but Johnson remained, the leer on his face telling Chris that this was hardly a new experience for these men.

"You sure you won't be needing any help, sir?" the man asked slyly. "Could be he'll make trouble."

"Mmmm." Nash frowned for a moment, then his expression cleared. "No, I'd like a few minutes alone with Mr Larabee. Renew old acquaintances. But you can leave me your knife. Just in case he gets any ideas."

Johnson's face showed his chagrin but he pulled his knife from its sheath on his belt and handed it over.

"Just call if you need anything, sir," he said, running his eyes over Chris's body one last time before he too turned and left.

Standing before Nash, anger at what the man intended to do to him building to boiling point, Chris glared at him furiously, but it only made the other man laugh in his face. And that was probably his downfall.

With a great heave of his arms, Chris pulled his legs up as high as he could and kicked the man hard in the chest. Regaining his feet, he could hardly believe his luck when he saw Nash fall full length backwards, his head meeting the edge of the stove with a dull, audible thud.

Staring down at the motionless body, his chest heaving with the exertion, Chris gulped for air, grateful for his deliverance. Then he remembered his predicament and glanced wildly up at his bound hands. The wire was too strong to break. Fate was still being a bitch, he thought bitterly. The other men were still outside. They weren't going to go away. Even if they didn't care about Nash, they obviously enjoyed the same games.

His whirling thoughts vanished and his mind blanked as he heard heavy footsteps crossing the porch. Then the door began to open. Hard as he tried he couldn't prevent fear from drying his mouth as Johnson entered.




Part Three

Chris stared at the man, panting as he considered what options, if any, he might have. Would he come close enough for Chris to get in an attack before it was too late?

Then Johnson gave a groan and fell at his feet.

"That's a mighty good look on you, cowboy."

Uncomprehending, Chris gazed into Vin's smiling eyes.

"Ah hell. It's done taken away what little of your voice there was," Vin added as he stuck the mare's leg back into its holster on his thigh. Slowly moving into the shack, his eyes roaming around the room, the young man took in the sight of Nash lying on the floor.

Sighing softly to himself, he pushed his hat back off his head and reached out to run his hand gently over Chris's chest. "These guys friends of yours?" he asked mildly.

"Vin?" Chris could barely raise a whisper, his relief was so great.

"Right here in the flesh," the sharpshooter replied, his hand moving up to Chris's chin and tipped his head back. Leaning forward he kissed the imprisoned man, his lips caressing and soothing as they slid over the half open mouth. "And I'm thinking that you could be more than flesh can stand. I's only human, you know," he added huskily.

Chris could feel hands unbuckling his belt and loosening his pants.

"What about the others?" he croaked, his throat now dry from something other than fear.

Vin leaned back and cocked his head to one side. "Shoot, Chris, they're busy outside," he answered with a slight grin. "Got 'em all trussed up like turkeys," he added, before covering Chris's lips once more.

Knowing that feeling only too well, nevertheless Chris felt no need to ask for his own release. Vin was here. Vin had brought safety with him. Vin would always be his saviour.

Oh God, he loved Vin.

Pushing forward into the delving hands and taking an abrupt breath as a warm palm enveloped his cock, Chris returned the kisses fervently, sucking, licking and biting as the blood stampeded straight to his groin. His nostrils filling with Vin's clean earthly scent, he moaned brokenly as rough fingertips roamed freely over his skin, stroking his back and then slowly trailing across the muscles of his stomach. Lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, his mind was ruled only by lust and passion. Christ Almighty, he knew he could never get enough of Vin Tanner

Feeling cool air on his cock as it was suddenly released, Chris groaned and then lost the ability to breathe at all as the younger man dropped to his knees, nimble fingers pushing his pants down his shaking thighs. He squeezed his eyes closed and opened his mouth to moan aloud as a wet warmth surrounded his aching flesh, painting the sensitive skin with lightning flashes of pure unadulterated bliss.

Then he realised what he was missing, and he looked down on a sight that would forever live in his heart. Vin had his arms around Chris's hips, and his mouth was smoothly, and very slowly, working up and down the full length of his cock. Bound in place, Chris couldn't stop shaking, his whole body felt aflame. The sensation was exquisite, and the sight too much.

Raggedly gasping for every breath he could drag into his barely functioning lungs, he came explosively, bellowing out his joy.

As his senses returned, Chris felt strong arms close around his body.

"Vin."

Lips swept over his forehead. "What now?"

"Git your damn clothes off, cowboy, and fuck me," he demanded roughly.

Vin chuckled. "Sorry, cain't do it."

"Why the hell not?" Chris retorted brusquely, leaning back to glare at his lover. There was no way Vin was going without release, and besides, he wanted him.

The high colour in Vin cheeks surprised him, as did the embarrassed grin.

"Reckon I came in my pants," the young man admitted, leaning close and whispering in Chris's ear. "Can we do this again sometime?"

Chris gave a quiet laugh. "Don't see why not."

As Vin straightened up, Chris moved to catch his balance, and the discomfort in his arms and wrists suddenly returned with a vengeance. He couldn't stop the wince of pain from flashing across his face and Vin, ever watchful, caught it.

They both looked up at his bound hands and saw a trickle of blood seeping from one wrist.

"Shit." The word burst from between Vin's lips. "I didn't think," he muttered roughly.

Chris gave a wry grin. "Neither did I," he countered laconically. "You'd better get that parcel from the porch. The one Mrs Potter sent out with you."

A puzzled look was all he got from Vin before the sharpshooter went to fetch the requested package and, when the brown paper was removed and the wire cutters revealed, the frown lines were even more in evidence.

"You got second sight or somethin'?" Vin asked in amazement.

"Nope, just happen to have broken the last pair. Now cut me down."

As the blood rushed back into the abused flesh, Chris rode out the pain until it was barely an ache, taking his mind off the discomfort by telling Vin the story of Colonel Nash and his gang.

Silently, Vin wrapped bandages around the wounds, gently smoothing the fabric against Chris's skin, and then he sighed slightly as he watched the gunslinger put on his boots, shirt and coat.

"We'd best get into town and let Nathan take a look at you," he said at last, moving towards the door and putting on his hat.

Chris caught hold of his arm. "Nope, have to take care of these guys yet," he said, waving a hand at the bodies on the floor. "Bind their hands with that wire. Give them some of their own medicine."

He bent down and picked up the wire cutters, and the shovel which had ended up lying behind the door. "Though I'd love to bury the bastard, I guess we have to take them all in and report," he added harshly, setting his black hat firmly on his head. "The Army might want to know Nash's whereabouts, otherwise Orrin will know how to deal with them."

As he walked out onto the porch and stowed the tools in a box, he glanced out across the yard. Suddenly the memory of watching his friend riding away down the track came back to him, and he stopped short. Turning, he locked glances with Vin as the young man came out into the sunlight. "How'd you know to sneak back?"

"I know you'll never leave me, Larabee," the sharpshooter replied with such stone cold certainty that Chris was once more caught breathless. "Took me two minutes ride into the woods before I remembered, that's all. Then I knew somethin' was wrong."

"It's a good thing you forgot that long. Nash would have shot you if you hadn't left willing." Chris narrowed his eyes. "Then he'd have had to shoot me before I killed him with my bare hands."

Leaning against the porch post, Vin smirked. "You think I don't know that?"

"Had to say what I did. I apologise, but no one's gonna take someone I care about away from me ever again. I'll do and say anything to prevent that."

The smile slid off the younger man's face. "I know. Same goes for me."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching each other, sharing a silent conversation about things that would never be said aloud. Then Vin turned his eyes away and caught sight of the men he had earlier tied to the corral fence, once he'd silently knocked them out and relieved them of their weapons.

"Guess we need to find some horses if we want to get these guys back to town," he said with a scowl. "I don't know, Larabee, I come out here for a rest and some good company, and find more trouble than a bag full o' rattlesnakes."

"Total waste of time, was it, Tanner?" Chris murmured as they set out to look for the gang's concealed horses.

Vin paused for a moment and gazed sightlessly at the sky. "Don't rightly know as I'd say that," he pondered aloud. "There was one partic'lar moment that I's hopeful will happen again."

Chris forced his lips into a straight line. No way was he going to let Vin make him laugh at his earlier misfortune. "And what particular moment was that?" he enquired silkily.

Vin looked at him from the corner of his eye, mirth barely hidden. "Oh, you'll know it when it happens, cowboy. Though I don't reckon we'll be needing any wire cutters."

Chris watched with amusement as Vin scooted away, obviously expecting retribution, and was filled with thankfulness. Fate had been kind at last - and he meant to see that the gift was not wasted.

"Tanner," he roared with mock anger, "get back here. We'll see who does, and who doesn't, need wire cutters."

As Vin returned to his side, a smile as big as Texas plastered over his face, Chris cuffed smartly him on the shoulder. "And did you just call me cowboy? Again?"

THE END