|Fic: Gunsmoke (Mag7, Old West, Chris/Vin, NC-17)
Email: sara_merry99 at yahoo dot com
Fandom: Magnificent Seven (Old West)
Rating: NC-17, FRAO
Word Count: about 3,000
Author's Note: Betaed by farad and sassyinkpen, dear friends and excellent betas. Encouraged by Arouette and Catyah, without whom I would delete about half the stories I write. Maybe more.
Summary: Shooting lessons. And more.
"I don't need no lessons, Larabee," Vin said, irritably, "I been shooting since I was big enough to pick up a gun." He leaned away from the pistol Chris was offering him, hand dropping to the mare's leg on his thigh. The pistol'd been taken from the dead body of a stage robber they'd stopped the day before, along with a nice tooled leather gunbelt and a bunch of bullets.
"Humor me," Chris said. "Shooting a pistol ain't like shooting a rifle." He offered the gun again and Vin took it, reluctantly.
"I know that. Ain't like you haven't seen me..." Vin stopped suddenly, realizing his mistake when Chris grinned at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Yeah, I've seen you with a pistol, Vin. 'S how I know you could use some practice with it," Chris said with that confidence of his that was as exciting as hell one minute, infuriating as hell the next.
Vin tried to hold onto being infuriated, but Chris walked across the yard to line up a row of empty cans on the top of the fence railing, his perfect ass shaped by pants so tight Vin thought they ought to be illegal. Vin swallowed hard, eyes glued to the fine sight. He resisted the urge to follow, pull Chris back close to him, but his eyes never left those tight black pants.
When Chris turned around and started walking back, the sway of his hips exaggerated by the flashing silver at his gunbelt, Vin caught his eye then licked his lower lip, slowly, just the way Chris liked. Vin smiled as he watched the arrogant swagger falter for a step. He let his eyes travel over the lean man walking toward him, saw the shadowed bulge at his groin and smiled again.
When Chris got in range, Vin stepped toward him, tucking the pistol into the back waistband of his pants. He darted in and stole a kiss, quick and hot, before Larabee knew what to expect. When there was no objection to that, he put his hands on Chris's narrow waist and pulled him forward, sliding them around to hook his thumbs in the back of Chris's gunbelt. His dick rose as he felt Chris's cock, half-hard, pressing into him. He leaned in for another kiss, licking his way into Chris's mouth. "Could just do this instead," he said, pulling away and smiling at the glazed look in Chris's eyes.
Chris groaned and pushed him back, not gently, but not unkindly either. "Stop that, Tanner. You can't shoot a pistol worth a damn and you know it."
Vin bristled at that and stepped back, releasing Chris and dropping his hands to his sides. "You find someone who's a better shot than me and we'll talk again."
Chris stepped forward and put his hand on Vin's shoulder. "Ain't no one I'd trust more with a rifle or a shotgun. No one at all I'd trust with that crazy sawed-off of yours, other than you. You've got the best eyes of anyone I've ever known." He kissed Vin quickly, then took the pistol out of his waistband and checked the cylinder. "But with a pistol you can barely hit a bull at ten paces, particularly with your second shot."
Vin scratched his eyebrow, thinking about Chris's words, then nodded. "Ain't never used one much, 's true. Don't see why I need to though. Got my rifle and my mare's leg." Even as he said it though he knew he was being mulish and stupid.
With a sigh, Chris said, "If you can't think of half a dozen situations where it might be important, then you ain't as smart as I know you are, Vin. But just for one, what happens if we're pinned down somewhere and your gun jams and you have to use a pistol." He pulled Vin close with his free hand, rubbing the backs of his fingers down Vin's stubbled cheek. "I ain't losing you because you were too damned stubborn to learn something that could save your life."
For the span of a couple of heartbeats, Vin rested his cheek against Chris's fingers, never able to resist the call of that touch, then he said, "I can see a bunch of times it could save your life too, cowboy." He looked into Chris's eyes and nodded. "Okay. Let's do it."
He took the gun from Chris's hand and looked down at it. It felt small in his hand, insubstantial despite the weight of it. "Feel like I'm holding a goddamned toy," he said.
"That's probably what messes your aim up," Chris said, moving around behind him and standing so close that Vin could feel Chris's breath on his ear, feel the buckle of Chris's belt in the small of his back, the firm rise of his cock against his ass. Vin's breath hitched, but Chris didn't seem to notice as he wrapped his hand around Vin's and the pistol. "Gonna get your best shot if you hold your arm up," he raised Vin's arm. "You know how to read the sight, right?"
Vin blew out a hard breath, any annoyance he might have felt at the words destroyed by the pleasure of having Chris so near. He aimed on one of the cans. As he started to squeeze the trigger, he reached up with his free hand to steady the pistol as he did his mare's leg.
As soon as his hand started to move, Chris grabbed his left wrist and pulled his arm close to his chest, holding it there. Vin struggled against the hold, his body reacting automatically, until Chris whispered into his ear, "It's me, Vin. Just me." Vin relaxed into the safety of Chris's voice and Chris went on, "If you're holding the barrel when the gun goes off, you might get burned." He released his hold, not letting Vin go entirely, but releasing enough that Vin wouldn't need to struggle to break free.
Vin nodded. While his heart settled, he grumbled, "Could've just said so, didn't have to grab me." There was no heat behind his words and he knew Chris knew that. He just needed to buy himself a minute to calm down.
"You were moving pretty fast there, pard. Didn't want you to get hurt," Chris said. "The pistol's light enough that you don't need both hands to steady it. Just aim and fire."
Vin raised the gun again and took aim. Chris held Vin's left hand loosely, keeping it at his side. His right hand was lightly touching Vin's. When Vin squeezed the trigger, knocking the can off the fence in a spiraling arc, the kick of the gun forced his hand up, forced his shoulder back into Chris's chest, strong and solid. There was a puff of dirt halfway up the hill behind the corral marking where his wild second shot hit.
Chris leaned into him, finding some way to be closer even though it'd seemed that they were hardly far enough apart for air to get through, and said, "Now you know what to expect. So be prepared for it. You want your second shot to be as true as the first." His voice was rough and tender, his breath hot on Vin's ear.
Vin swallowed hard and fired again, two shots in rapid sequence. His first shot hit the mark square but the second went high by a few inches. Closer but still off. The wind blew the smell of gunsmoke in their direction, acrid and dark.
Chris released his gun hand and ran his hand up Vin's arm, resting on the muscle of his upper arm, then his shoulder. "Hold here against the kick. Don't lock up," he said, when Vin tried to tense up, "just be ready. Like when you're riding and know Peso's going to buck." He released Vin's left wrist, apparently trusting now that Vin wouldn't reach to hold the barrel of the pistol, and wrapped his arm around Vin's waist, molding his chest to Vin's back, his chin over Vin's left shoulder. "Again."
Vin leaned back into Chris's hold for just a second, just long enough to smell whiskey and cigar and the deep smell that meant Chris to him, all mixed in with the smell of the gunsmoke. Then he nodded and aimed again, squeezing off two more shots, giving himself a beat between them to adjust his aim. The first hit the next can in the line square on, knocking it into the air, and the second plugged it as it dropped.
Through it all, Vin was acutely aware of Chris behind him, hard and getting harder as the shots echoed off the hills. As soon as the last shot was fired, as soon as the pistol was empty, Chris dropped his hand to Vin's cock, which was half-hard itself, and rubbed it through the soft buckskin of his pants. Vin groaned and dropped his head back onto Chris's shoulder. He hand with the gun fell to his side, the gun hanging loosely down by the trigger guard. Vin reached around behind himself with his free hand to pull Chris close, spreading his legs so he could feel the hard ridge of Chris's cock pressing into the valley of his ass.
Vin moaned as Chris pressed into him, then moaned again when Chris unbuttoned his trousers and slid his hand into his drawers, taking Vin in hand and rubbing strong, calloused fingers over the head of his cock with just the right pressure, just the right touch. Vin shuddered and rocked his hips forward, driving his cock into that hand. He firmed his grip on Chris's ass-cheek, pulling him forward, keeping the contact. "Jesus, Chris," he whispered, his voice broken. The pistol fell from his boneless fingers as he shuddered at the contact.
Without stopping the slide of his fingers over Vin's cock, now slicked at the head with precome, Chris moved a bit away from Vin's back, just a bit. Vin reached up with his free hand and wrapped it around Chris's shoulder and neck, holding him close.
Chris buried his nose in Vin's hair for a second, nuzzling, then whispered, "I love the way you smell. Love the way you feel." He firmed his grip on Vin's cock and stroked again, harder, passing his thumb over the head. Vin would have been more embarrassed about the moan he made if he hadn't heard Chris's own groan so clearly.
Vin pulled him forward again, wanting to feel the pressure of Chris's hardness at his ass, wanting to feel everything. He twisted slightly in Chris's arms, not enough to dislodge the hand on his cock but enough that he could kiss Chris's cheek and lick the corner of his mouth.
Chris nipped his ear and sped up his hand on Vin's cock, pulling it out of his pants into the relative coolness of the evening air. Chris's breath came faster and Vin took a glance down to see the head of his dick, slick and red-brown, appearing and disappearing from the circle of Chris's hand. With a strangled moan, Vin closed his eyes, suddenly on the edge of coming. He breathed for a second, trying to pull away from the edge, but the image was burned into his eyes and Chris was panting in his ear, and his grip was perfect and tight and slick.
As if aware how fragile Vin's control was, Chris groaned again and pulled him closer, his free arm wrapping around Vin's chest, his fingers tracing along his lips for a second before he thrust his two fingers into Vin's mouth, possessive and claiming. Vin licked the taste of gunpowder and metal off of Chris's fingers, sucked on them. The feel of them thrusting into his mouth with the same rhythm as Chris's hand on his cock, the same mastery, drove him over the edge. He shot over Chris's hand, driving his cock into that hard, rough grip, and would have shouted if not for the fingers in his mouth.
He was still pulsing in Chris's hand, still sucking on those fingers, when he leaned forward, just enough to loosen Chris's hold on him. Chris slipped his fingers out of Vin's mouth, and the slickness of them trailing down his neck and into the collar of his shirt made Vin shiver. "Want you inside me, Chris. Fucking now," Vin said, unbuckling his gunbelt at hip and thigh and dropping it to the ground.
Chris grunted and released Vin, who stripped off his pants and drawers, leaving them in a heap on the ground. He turned to find Chris watching him, eyes hot and dark, fingers fumbling with his gunbelt. Vin went straight for his trouser buttons, strained tight over the hardness there. He was about ready to draw his knife and cut the damned buttons off when they finally gave, one right after the other. Chris's gunbelt hung from his hand, forgotten, as Vin drew his cock out with a long, slow caress. Chris's groan sounded like it came from the center of the earth.
Vin was still staring at Chris's cock, stark red and beautifully obscene against the black pants, when he felt a shove on his shoulder. "Get inside," Chris said, voice gravelly. "Ain't gonna take you in the dirt like an animal. Move."
Vin was too touched to argue, though the house was about twenty feet away and, God, even that seemed like too long to wait. But it was faster to move than to argue. He bent to pick up his pants, but Chris moaned and cupped his ass for a second before smacking it lightly, and said, "Leave 'em." Vin nodded sharply and just grabbed his gunbelt before heading in.
Getting inside was a blur of movement and touch, hard kisses and moans. Chris took every opportunity to touch, to rub his cock on Vin's ass, hips, back. Keeping Vin wanting, so that when they were inside Vin was on his hands and knees on the bed, ass in the air, before Chris had even kicked the door shut. There was noise, thunk and rustle, and Vin was on the verge of reaching back to start stretching himself, his own fingers better than the emptiness and ache he felt.
Then Chris was there with a quick slide of oiled fingers over his hole, then the smooth head of his cock pressing in. There was a bite of pain, an uncomfortable stretch of fullness, and Vin gasped with the surprise of it. Chris started to pull out, but Vin reached around and held him inside, pulled him deeper.
Chris resisted, his hands on Vin’s hips, saying, “I don’t want to hurt you.” But even as he said that, Vin pulled him forward and he slid in deeper, groaning as the thick head of his cock passed through the tight ring of muscle.
“Don’t care,” Vin said, panting through the flare of burning pain. He held still for a moment, giving his body barely enough time to adjust, before he started pulling Chris forward, ignoring the throb of the overstretched muscle. “Want to feel you. Hard.”
Chris took him at his word, thank God, working his cock in as quickly as Vin’s body allowed, then driving hard and fast, grunting with each thrust. Vin dropped his head and rocked back, impaling himself deeper and deeper, until it seemed like he could feel Chris clear up to his chest. His own cock was high and hard against his belly.
Chris groaned and wrapped around him, one hand tangling up in his hair and lifting it off his neck. That was all the warning Vin got before Chris bit down on the junction of neck and shoulder, holding the muscle there in his teeth. The change in position changed the angle of his thrusts so he hit that special place in Vin. Each thrust, deep and hard, struck like lightning on that magic spot that Chris alone, of all the men Vin had been with, had found, the place in his ass that made him feel like he was at the heart of a storm of pleasure.
He threw his head back and groaned loud, almost sobbing with the pleasure. Releasing his hair, Chris wrapped his hand around Vin’s cheek, sliding two fingers into Vin’s mouth again. The taste of gunsmoke and salt overloaded Vin’s senses and he came again, the pleasure rolling from mouth to ass to cock like a summer storm.
With his release, Chris was able to drive in deeper, harder, and his final strokes, sliding against that spot inside, now sensitized, made Vin whimper with pleasure. When Chris came it was with a loud moan and a final stuttered thrust of his hips that seemed as though intended to meld them together permanently.
Vin recovered first, and managed to wriggle them around so that they were lying on their sides facing each other, despite Chris, half collapsed on his back. He took advantage of Chris's relaxed state to trace over the fine, proud features he knew so well and loved so much. At the first fluttering of Chris's eyelids he ducked in for a kiss, soft but intense, then backed away. Chris blinked and smiled at him, lazy and satisfied and smug looking as a happy cat.
Feeling satisfied and more than a little smug himself, Vin said, "Any time you want to give me another shooting lesson like that, cowboy, you just say the word."