Chris drove, the windshield wipers pounding a steady drumbeat that mixed badly with the quiet country song on the radio. Chris was driving because it was Buck's turn to chase. Damn it.
Chris curbed the car at a street corner. "Right over there," he pointed. Buck nodded, opened the door, and stepped into a puddle by a blocked storm drain. Shit. This night just about summed up the last month of chasing one wily little bastard, and if Buck had to shoot the skip to bring him in, well, he was on the edge of doing it. Tired and dirty, his ratty jeans and tennis shoes getting soaked even as he turned up the collar of his bomber jacket to keep some part of himself dry, he jogged across the street and slipped through the windowless door of the Top Hat Bar and Grill. Paducah, Kentucky, he thought bitterly. What kind of fuck ran to Paducah?
The guy was playing pool, for Christ's sake, breaking the rack with three junkie types who looked like friends. He ambled up, in no mood to attract attention, and dropped his hand on his White's shoulder. "You ready to cut it out now?" he asked quietly.
Apparently not; the pool cue jabbed back into his belly and the guy hopped over the pool table. Buck dropped his cell phone and wrapped a hand around his stomach, bending all in one move to scrabble for it and keeping an eye on the three strangers to be sure they didn't decide to interfere. "Chris," he spat into the open line, "he's out the back."
Cursing under his breath, Buck took off after the kid, slammed through the door marked "emergency exit only" and got two steps into the alley before he slipped on the oily asphalt and landed hard on his knees. He pushed himself up and ran hard, and was maybe thirty feet from the skip when Chris's old Thunderbird screeched into the alley mouth and White ran right into the quarter panel, did a neat somersault over the hood and landed hard on the street right in front of the bumper.
It was enough. Between Chris and Buck they nabbed the son of a bitch and cuffed him, wrists and ankles. "Get in the car," Chris ordered, his voice harsh.
"But I was just gonna--"
"Get in the goddamned car!" Chris yelled. Buck would have yelled the same, if he'd had the breath to spare. As it was, he just bent at the waist, propping on his knees, and sucked in lungfuls of humid air until the oxygen counteracted the adrenalin and his heart rate started to slow down.
"Buck?" Chris asked, more of a demand really.
"I'm fine," he panted, rubbing at the lump where White had poked him with the pool cue. "I just want to get the hell out of Kentucky."
They felt their way toward the I-24. After that it was a long night of highway lights and truck stop gas stations, through Nashville and down to Chattanooga until they hit the 75 and Buck took over driving. They didn't talk much now that they had the skip in the car, and in fact most of their words were spent threatening to lock White in the trunk if he didn't keep quiet. The radio played low, mostly country and a lot of channel surfing through the mountains until they were close enough to Atlanta to pick up WNNX. The sun rose somewhere around Acworth, and Buck sighed with relief that they'd slide into the metro area ahead of morning traffic. He changed the station again, looking for obnoxious shock jocks to keep him focused. Beside him in the passenger seat, Chris had his head back against the rest, eyes closed.
"I hate those guys," White whined from the back seat.
"Shut up," he and Chris said together.
Buck pulled into the police station's private parking half an hour later and waved at the gate security, accepting a pass and parking in a loading zone.
"You want to get him checked in?" Buck asked. There wasn't anybody in there he wanted to talk to, and even if he did, he was too tired to care.
"Yeah, I've got it."
Buck stood and stretched, and unlocked the back door to drag the skip out while Chris fished their paperwork out of the glove box. Clean-up was going to be a nightmare on this one. Eventually though, he got bored enough to make his way into the station, and spent the next half hour sitting in a plastic chair in the bullpen waiting area and examined the tear in his jeans and the raw flesh of his knee. If that kid had been clean, he'd be on the Olympic track team today.
A shadow crossed his leg, blocking out the light. A black boot tapped his tennis shoe.
"You gonna live?" Chris smiled sardonically.
Glancing around before speaking the words, Buck groused, "I could use a little CPR."
Chris frowned. "You've been saying that for days."
"I know I have. Nobody's listening to me."
Chris waved the envelope and receipts in front of Buck's face, and tilted his head toward the door. "Have I been that bad?" he asked, once they were shoulder to shoulder.
Buck shrugged, tried to let it go. "Nah," he averred. He could have wrestled Chris's resisting body to the ground and just fucked him, any time.
Chris released a long, slow breath, almost a whistle. "Damn. What's it been, two weeks for you?" The police station was busy enough that they kept their voices down.
Buck tilted his chin down, his foul mood evaporating for no good reason at all. "Montgomery, Alabama," he pronounced. "Seventeen days."
Chris smiled. "Can't I knock off three for the danger element? We could've been jailed for what we did in Alabama. Adds to the spice."
Buck chuckled in spite of himself. "Guess so." He scratched his fingers through his dirty hair, glad for the first time in weeks to be headed back to the car. They were only twenty or so minutes from home, their own shower, their own bed. "We need groceries," he said idly.
"It'll keep 'til tomorrow."
"Yeah." Chris used the leash to unlock the doors and slid in behind the wheel. Buck slammed the passenger door and before he could draw breath, Chris leaned over and pressed his face hard into Buck's groin.
"Shit!" he hissed, tensing so fast he was afraid he'd pull a muscle in his back. "Chris, cut it out!" Surveillance cameras ran 24/7 in a cop shop.
"It's not illegal here," Chris pointed out, lifting up and using his hand instead, "unless I pull your dick out. You see me doing that?"
Buck grunted and resisted the urge to thrust up into his partner's hand. "What's--" he tried, and finally grabbed Chris's wrist to push him away.
Chris's laugh was low and promising. He pressed forward, squeezed at Buck's fast-rising cock once more. "Wake up little man," he sing-songed, "daddy's home."
"Hey, watch with the 'little'," Buck retorted, and tried hard to frown, but it was pretty much impossible when Chris felt him up in cars. The act reminded him too much of the hot, desperate gropes of high school, and he loved it. "What's got into you?"
Chris let go his dick long enough to start the engine and back out of the parking space. As soon as the car was in drive, his hand glided smoothly back to Buck's crotch. "You will be, before long," he said, a blissful note of anticipation in his voice.
Buck humped against Chris's hand, slid his own hand up Chris's lean thigh but stopped before he got any further. There was something about dying with a cock down his throat that had never appealed to him, and Chris lost all sense when he came; he'd wrap the car around a telephone pole. "Not that I'm complaining..." he tried.
"Seventeen days," Chris said more softly. "I got my head stuck down in the chase. Fucking kid pissed me off. But now he's locked up, and you're loose. I reckon we can order pizzas and stay in bed, at least through Monday morning."
Buck laughed at the picture; Thursday to Monday spent on sleeping, sex and delivery food. They could do it, too. Had done before. They'd leave the house, but they'd stay on the land, take some time together. Walk, run--now that he wasn't chasing anybody, he didn't mind it so much, and Chris glowed after a run. Might do his knee some good, as long as he took it easy. Talk some. Cuddle up on the sofa in front of the TV, or on the bench seat that ran along the wall in the dining room, or in the swing on the front porch. It all sounded like heaven.
"There you go," Chris whispered, his voice soft, absent, and Buck realized he had closed his eyes and sunk down in the seat, spreading his legs to give Chris's hand more maneuvering room. Buck tilted his head and stared at his lover's profile, and smiled. Chris looked... released, like he did after any case in that brief time between the turning over of the skip and the processing of the check. Buck still hadn't figured out how to put that look on Chris's face as regularly as he'd like to see it, but since Chris had lived years without it, Buck was just glad to see it back at all.
Drawing his hand back from the tight, strong thigh, he slid it under Chris's and braided their fingers together. "We've got time," he said, content.
"Seventeen days," Chris mimicked.
"Nah," Buck corrected. "Seventeen days." Chris's laughter, relished and welcome, rang out like a bell.
"No kidding," Chris said a minute later, "You hungry? There's nothing at home that'd be any better than the fast food we've been swilling down."
Buck scooted around and finagled the shoulder strap until he was sideways on the bench seat and propped his knee up between them. "Yeah, I'm hungry."
Chris raised their joined hands and dropped them heavily back onto Buck's thigh. "I'm serious here, I'm trying to feed you."
"Taco Veloz, we'll pick something up."
Chris nodded, and they didn't say another word until they pulled into the parking lot of the little Mexican dive that had, Buck believed, the best Mexican food outside of Texas. "I'll get it, don't worry." He left Chris in the car and picked up their regulars, a varying assortment of fajitas, tortillas, burritos and tamales. Damn, it was good to be home.
Chris was leaning against the hood of the car when Buck came out, legs crossed at the ankle, making himself a fine sight for anyone who liked the thin, good-looking, packed, well-built, strong and silent type. Down boy, he told his dick. Just because it knew home wasn't far away didn't mean it needed to be jumping the gun, here.
"We could have eaten inside," Chris offered, and Buck knew he was making an effort. Chris was sick of public places and sick of the road; they both were, but Buck liked to settle back into home a little differently than Chris did, touching bases, dropping in on stomping grounds, saying hello to acquaintances he called friends.
"After you promised me a weekend in the sack?" he asked, mock-aghast, then smiled. "Nah, I want to neck with you while we eat. C'mon, take me home."
It was funny, Chris thought, the things that could be sexy when you knew somebody well. Chris sat cross-legged beside Buck, as naked as his lover was, using a piece of tortilla to swipe up the remains of spilled guacamole on Buck's thigh. He added a chunk of steak and popped the last bite into his mouth.
"That's disgustin'," Buck said, obviously not meaning it; his tone was easy, his cock heavy.
Chris chewed slowly, swallowed, and curled over to lick the flat belly clean. "You finished?" he asked, pointing vaguely in the direction of the open, mostly empty cardboard containers.
"Nope." Narrow hips thrust up once. The big cock twitched.
Chris smiled. "Finished eating?" he amended.
Buck's grin was infectious, and a hand moved to Chris's thigh, rubbing lightly. "Not necessarily."
He covered Buck's erection with his hand and stroked it lightly, stoking a fire he knew could burn for as long as he and Buck needed it to. "C'mon," he invited, climbing to his feet. "You stink."
"Sex in the shower?" Buck asked hopefully, jackknifing up and climbing to his feet.
Chris stepped in close to share a warm, salsa-smelling, slightly greasy kiss; their lips slid against each other like silk. "We c'n make love anywhere you want," he invited, sobering, using better words than "sex" and "fuck" and whatever else usually spilled out of their mouths when they were horny.
A hand came up behind his neck, settling strong and warm, gently holding him in place. Buck closed in, tickling Chris's lip with his mustache, the smile blurry at such close range. "Everywhere, Chris," he breathed. "All the time."
Buck was such a fucking romantic. Chris had always known it, but to see it in action, spread over years, well, he was a lucky man. "Shower," he whispered, growing urgent now. "Then bed. Slow. I want to do you."
Buck's eyebrows climbed and he smiled slightly. It wasn't something they did often, not something Buck tended to ask for. He liked it, Chris knew, but it just went against his instinctive tendency to be the one humping. Sometimes the need took Chris though, to leave his imprint on Buck in the most profound way he could think of, and that generally meant sliding deep inside the man, spreading him wide, watching how differently Buck responded to this kind of lovemaking, how sensitive Buck's body was to penetration and all it meant.
They soaped each other slowly in the steamy room, and more than once Chris went to his knees, not to suck but to touch, to gently soap and cleanse the soft sac, the hard cock, the fine, intimate crease between Buck's cheeks. Buck shuddered under the touches, responsive, like he had dialed up his attention to his nerves. Later, in bed, Chris absorbed every groan, every grunt Buck couldn't contain. Deep inside him, fingers clutching at the insides of Buck's tight-stretched thighs, Chris thrust slow and strong, caught up in Buck's unnatural surrender, in the whimpers and groans of pleasure. Buck held Chris's head, fingers just rubbing at his temples, and they were so connected that they needed no words, no sex play, just the smooth easy rhythm, the wide-eyed absorption of the other's pleasure and, toward the end, Chris's hand at Buck's groin, offering that extra stimulation, rubbing gently over the leaking head of his cock until orgasm caught him by storm.
I did that, he thought, amazed as he sometimes was, that he was good enough in the sack to satisfy a sex fiend like Buck Wilmington.
Buck panted all through it, and breathed his name, and Chris felt that soft sound reverberate all the way to his gut. He drove steadily, giving it all to Buck as Buck so often did for him. As the flush began to fade, Buck's eyes cleared and he smiled up, a little blank, a little swamped by emotion Chris didn't have to question.
Buck pulled Chris's head down, melding their mouths together, and Chris dove deep, probing with his tongue, the tension so tight-strung in him he was afraid it would snap. "Now you," Buck said intently.
Yeah. Thank God. "I love you," Chris breathed.
"Move," Buck said softly, and Chris did, moving his hands out around the flat hipbones and cupping that beautiful ass, thrusting harder now, faster, deeper. Instinct took over even as Buck humped up against him to match his pace, and he shouted when orgasm struck, pounding hard then freezing, caught by the constriction of Buck's muscles around his cock, legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders, barely able to breathe.
As orgasm waned, he collapsed onto the bigger body, burrowing his face against the sharp line of collarbone. "Buck..." he whispered.
"Love you back."
Chris couldn't help but smile. That wasn't a word Buck used, generally. Not like this. A chuckle shook his shoulders.
"What?"
"Just thinking, if anybody heard us they'd lock us up."
"Nah," Buck said softly. "They'd wish they were me."
"Okay," he grinned, "they'd lock you up." Chris pushed a little deeper though, enjoying the cloying heat of Buck's body and the grip of arms and legs holding him tightly in place. "You gonna let me go?" he whispered eventually as sweat began to cool between them.
"Never," Buck intoned. And the sincerity kept it from sounding corny. God, he had never even hoped to feel this way again.
"So you wanna sleep like this, is that what you're saying?" he teased muzzily. The truth was, they were past their last leg after the last few weeks, Buck was sore, Chris's back was tricking out on him, and they were lucky to have been any good for each other at all.
Buck's mustache tickled his neck. "Sure, why not?"
The aches and pains they'd both have come morning was why not, but he didn't say it. Instead he just settled heavily and waited for Buck to tire of it, then pulled out slowly and let his partner manhandle him into a position familiar and comfortable to them both.
"It's good to be home," Buck whispered.
"Good to get me off the job?"
"That too."
It would be nice, to unwind with each other, to fall into a synch that was so different from the way they worked together. "Well, we're not going anywhere for awhile."
"I'm going to the head at least," Buck announced. "I'll be right back. Stay awake for me, okay?"
"Yeah."
So Chris curled up on his side, head pillowed on the crook of his arm, and watched the tall, lanky form as it disappeared into the bathroom. He was just barely awake when Buck returned, awake enough for a last, sloppy kiss and to find a fit with the bigger body before sleep took him. He slept straight through, eighteen hours maybe, and didn't wake until early Friday morning.
Buck was gone, his side of the bed cold, and still it took a good twenty minutes of yawning, stretching, and groaning before Chris considered crawling out from under the sheets. Naked, he padded to the kitchen in search of coffee, then through the house looking for Buck. When he didn't turn up in the den, living room, kitchen or back yard, Chris finally detoured back to their bedroom and its master bath with the monstrous Jacuzzi tub; sure enough, Buck almost floated, looking blissed out on Epsom salts and warm, vibrating water.
"Gotta go to the office," he said, scratching his belly.
"Damn," Buck muttered lazily without opening his eyes, "you sure know how to kill a mood."
Chris knew a lot about moods, and turned off the jets before kneeling beside the edge of the tub and reaching under the water. Sure enough, within a minute or two Buck was awake and alert, wide-eyed, sucking in short breaths as Chris jacked him off under the water.
"Soap," Buck gasped after a second, and Chris pulled his hand away and soaped it up, dived back in and jacked him again, matching the instinctive rhythm of Buck's hips as they jerked. Waves splashed and sloshed, and Chris speeded up until Buck groaned and tensed, jerking up, holding it--long strings of semen floated up in the water, and Chris smiled softly at the beatific, stupid look on Buck's face. Every guy should be so lucky.
"If you'd stayed in bed you'd have gotten a wake-up blow job," he jeered.
"I could go back to bed," Buck offered, heavy-lidded eyes blinking languorously.
"You should be so lucky," he voiced his earlier thought, and Buck leaned up then, bony knees bending and sticking out of the water, wet hand reaching to grasp his neck and pull him close for a moist, sloppy kiss.
"I am that lucky," Buck breathed.
"You're getting stupid now," Chris warned, and Buck just chuckled lewdly.
And damned if they didn't end up back in bed, where Buck fucked him through the mattress and Chris mewled like a kitten, wriggling his ass for more of the pleasure and loving that Buck was so expert in providing.
After, while he was still panting and clutching at the pillow and Buck's thick cock was still buried deep inside him, Chris said, "We're still going to the office."
Buck groaned. "Do we have to?" he asked, not quite a whine.
"Better now than later."
Buck seemed disinclined to agree.
As it was, they didn't get into town before noon, but they did find a parking place right in front of their rather run-down one-story office front.
The place was empty when they arrived, and Buck had to use his key. He didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed as he walked between Ezra's desk and the metal file cabinets that lined one wall, absently opening the little refrigerator in the corner to see if there was anything worth eating or drinking. Nothing. Someone had actually cleaned it recently. Must've been Nathan.
Figuring it was better to get things over with and the hell out, he eased himself into the tiny cubbyhole in the corner and dropped into an empty chair at the desk he shared with Chris, spreading their paperwork across the desk.
"You want expense reports or filing?" he asked.
"Expenses," Chris replied, and Buck separated receipts from everything else and handed them over before turning back to the considerable pile that remained. New business contacts were the most important in this mess, next to everything that had to be filed with the proper authorities. They'd liaised with cops in a dozen counties, State Troopers in Montgomery that they'd had to work with before, and sheriffs' deputies in Kentucky.
Buck scrubbed at his eyes. Well, this job had a hell of a lot less paperwork than police work. Right now though, it was small consolation. He fired up the computer, logging onto the fileserver that JD had rigged in the bathroom, and opening their Rolodex database. An hour and a half later, the names, notes and numbers they had scribbled on various scraps of paper all had lines crossed through them or checkmarks beside them, and Buck sat back to stretch.
Swiveling the chair around, he gazed around the small room--small for all of them, anyway. Chris sat at Ezra's desk, having defeated the pile and taped each receipt to copy paper, per Ezra's explicit and rigid instructions. Chris was glaring at the expense report forms now, circling receipts and copying information, as Ezra had ordered Chris in no uncertain terms that he was never permitted to attempt data entry again, where money was concerned.
Chris hadn't complained. The bank account always balanced now, and withdrawals required both his and Buck's signatures, a pain in the ass but something Chris had insisted of Buck before agreeing to bring Ezra on. Ezra had proved both his worth and his trustworthiness, but Chris liked to needle him sometimes, mostly because Ezra wasn't overly fond of men fucking each other.
"They took a hell of a long lunch, didn't they?" Buck asked just to make conversation.
"Maybe they figured we'd never get our asses in, and took the day off." Chris muttered, eyes still focused on the forms.
Buck got up, rubbed at a crick in his back, and wandered around the office. JD's desk, bigger than any other two combined and piled with software boxes, unlabeled CDs, and three computers, had obviously been worked at, so Buck bent down to check and sure enough, the computers were on even though the monitors were off. He glanced to the coffee pot where it sat on top of the file cabinet beside the fridge It was half full. Looking to Josiah's desk he spotted the coffee cup and went to feel it. Also half full, and cold. Nathan's desk, wedged between Josiah's and the front corner, had a baseball cap resting on the seat.
A couple of possibilities had risen as he paced the room, and the answer lay in Ezra's trash can. "They're at Ezra's bookie's."
"So?"
"So where'd they get the cash? We haven't done payroll this month yet, and Ezra only ever bets like that when he thinks he can score big."
Chris shrugged, his attention clearly caught up in numbers. "Maybe he conned them into betting with him."
"There's only so many times the guys would fall for that, don't you think?"
"So?" Chris repeated, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice. "I'm trying to get this done, Buck. Who cares what they're doing?"
Buck sighed. He didn't, not really. He was just trying to avoid filing. Inspiration struck. "Well if they're gone," he said as suggestively as he could, "and we're here, and the door locks..."
The pen stopped moving, hovering over the page.
"It's practically a public restroom," he added, because it was probably as close to one as they'd ever get.
The pen dropped to the desktop, and Buck silently cheered. Chris pushed the chair back and turned slowly, until they were facing each other, and his eyes narrowed, intense with speculation. They just stared at each other for a moment, Buck hiding his anticipatory grin as he let his eyes wander down to Chris's crotch and back. Definite interest there.
Chris licked his lips. "Are you telling me that you're willing to--"
The door opened with a bang, and Chris jumped a mile.
Damn it! All four of them were together, laughing so somebody must have won something, and they piled into each other like cartoon animals when JD stopped short. "Hey!" Then, "Hey, you're back, all right! Ezra said we wouldn't see you today."
"Ezra wanted you to play hooky with him," Chris said flatly, and got up from Ezra's desk to stroll over toward his own. Back safely to the wall, Chris parked his hip on the end of their desk that stuck two inches out into the main room, the shutters slammed as efficiently and effectively as if they were working.
He was just startled, Buck knew, and Chris didn't take to being startled, especially when his distraction was personal in nature.
"Chris, Buck," Josiah said, ushering Nathan all the way inside and closing the door behind him. "Good to have you both back."
"Damn good to be back, Josiah," Buck greeted robustly, and reached to shake his hand. It had been awhile.
"Any coffee made?" Josiah asked. Buck couldn't figure out why the man's skin wasn't darker, the way he sucked it down.
"Not by us," Chris said. "Leftovers though."
"I'll make it," Nathan inserted mildly before Josiah could get up. Nathan had taken to slipping a little decaf into the mix when he could, and thought Josiah didn't know. "Welcome back, boys."
"Thanks, Nathan," Chris jumped in. "So, how'd you fellas do at the bets today?"
No one pretended to misunderstand, and Buck just hoped Chris wouldn't make a big deal of it. It was Friday, and they hadn't exactly rushed to get in before traffic themselves.
"I made two hundred bucks," JD announced proudly.
"Fifty," Josiah said.
"He refused to take my advice and increase his wager," Ezra reported, his first words since entering.
"I didn't play," Nathan added from the bathroom where he was emptying and refilling the coffee pot.
"He wouldn't take my advice either," Ezra repeated.
"Ez?" Chris asked, hawkish eyes cool and hard. "How'd you do?"
"Two thousand," Ezra announced, as if it were nothing, pocket change. And if he'd said two, then it was either one or four...
Chris smiled for the first time, but it was cool too. "So you thought you wouldn't see us today, eh, Ezra?"
"I didn't put money on it," he muttered. Buck choked back a laugh. Sardonic, sarcastic, sullen, and sophisticated--Ezra was whatever he was in the mood to be.
"Well, you finish my expense report and get someone to volunteer to file with the feds for Buck and you'll get most of your wish. The door won't hit our asses on the way out."
Ezra looked like he couldn't decide whether to be relieved or pissy, and while he was thinking about it JD chimed in, helpful as a little Mouseketeer, "I'll file, I don't mind."
Buck walked over to JD and ruffled his hair. "Thanks, kid. Let me get the info." He edged past Chris and thumbed through the folders, pulling out city and county forms, the delivery receipt for dropping White off at the P.D., papers that needed to be signed by Travis, and vague details about travel expenses. "The bond commission's on the surety form," he reminded as he piled up the relevant data.
"Okay! No problem." Buck thought again, and not for the first time, that JD was a lifesaver. It was too bad, really, that he was still too inexperienced for the road, because that was where the kid thought the action was.
"Well, Ezra?" Chris asked, pushing up off the desk. "Your call."
"Short day?" Ezra asked in a cool negotiator's tone.
"I'd say it's that already."
Buck scooted out with the info for JD in time to see Ezra leaf through Chris's report, holding each page by its corner like it was covered in shit. Playing it for all he was worth, Ezra was, and Buck couldn't hold back a grin.
Buck dropped the files on JD's desk, and grinned when the kid immediately went to work. JD loved details. And electronic filing. And helping. He was a treasure. "Okay, I'm ready," he announced.
"Ezra?" Chris asked again.
"Oh all right," Ezra finally subsided, sounding put upon.
Chris turned his attention to Nathan and Josiah while Ezra picked up the pen. "Guys, anything we need to catch up on?"
"Wouldn't mind reviewing the current status sheets, if you've got fifteen minutes," Nathan offered, and Chris nodded. Buck went to fetch coffee for Josiah, and the two of them hunkered down in the corner by the fridge, Josiah filling him in on details of the afternoon at the bookie's hole while JD's keyboard click-clacked, Ezra's low curses floated up on occasion, and Nathan's voice traveled like a breeze from across the room, a baritone background hum.
Ezra, shrewd bastard, had put Chris's whole pile of work into his "out" basket before they even made it to the door, but Buck didn't mind. As long as they beat the afternoon traffic and could get back home soon and crawl pretty much directly back into bed for a few more hours' sleep, he had no complaints at all.
Such was the rhythm of a bounty hunter's life. And Buck couldn't complain, not when Chris cast a covert grin at him, not when he knew that they'd walk the circuit of their land and talk once again about finishing that last bit of the perimeter fence, that they'd likely hold hands and maybe even make love again before sundown.
No, after three years of something Buck had never expected in his life, never even quite known how to imagine, Buck couldn't complain at all.
"Come on, Chris," he urged. "Let's go home."
JD, new age kid and all, grinned broadly at the implications, while Ezra's face curled into a moue of distaste. Didn't matter. They all liked each other, if you took the sex away, and they worked together so well, it was like magic.
Buck fished out his keys and jangled them, and Chris looked up, met his eyes.
Buck wouldn't have asked for all of the things it had taken to get them to this point, would never have wished for the pains, the losses, the struggles. But the now... the now was so good. And the look in Chris's eyes, unguarded, said much the same.
"Come on," he urged again, then went out first to slide behind the wheel and start the engine. Chris, when he settled in the passenger seat a minute later, looked relaxed, content, a look that was still precious to Buck even after all this time.
Chris's hand extended on the bench seat and Buck caught it up, held tight.
"Come on," Buck began.
And Chris finished, "Let's go home."
Next in series: The Big Score (WIP, with Maygra)
"There's more to life than drinkin' and fightin'."
DrinkingNFighting-subscribe@yahoogroups.com