Wide Open Space | 2

[aukestrel]

Part 1

Weather might hold and Christy's turning out to be a hard worker, but Alex is still out of sorts. He could say it's from saying good bye to the kids: he misses them and they miss him and Ilya's breaking his heart, he's followed Alex around since before he could walk.

Could be something else, too, something he’s just not going to think about.

So it's not fair, and he knows it, taking out his mood on Christy, and he has to struggle for a minute, look for words and composure, find a way to apologise to a man who's been nothing but decent and then some.

"Last time I had a hired hand," he says finally, "it didn't work out so well." Which is an understatement: Alex kicked him halfway back to town and bought him a bus ticket 'cause he knew the asshole would just drink the money away, and made sure to tell Sarah not to cash it back in for him.

Christy's as quick to forgive as to smile: "Call me something else then," he says with a wink and a grin and there's no way he can know how much Alex wants to call him something else, to be something else.

Lucky for Alex, Christy doesn't wait for him to find his tongue: "Gonna hit the shower then. Guess it's your turn to finish up."

Alex takes his time, admitting to himself only when he gets to the house that he's hoping Christy's already asleep, that the temptation - getting harder by the minute to resist - has been removed for another night.

And this is only the second day.

Christ, what's he going to do in a week?

He thinks, again, more than half seriously, about calling Annie. She's divorced now, not like he'd be -

Well, not like she would, and he's got to be crazy to be thinking about any of this, whether it's Annie or Christy.

Mama left the liniment on the table, made him promise to see to Christy. She's taken a shine to him, not that he can blame her: Christy's got some manners, always goes a long way with Mama, and he knows how to eat.

After his shower he looks in reluctantly, tapping on the doorframe so quietly he can barely hear it, hoping Christy went to sleep with the light on, but Christy's eyelids flicker.

"I forgot," he says after struggling to find his voice. "Mama told me to make sure you got some of this."

The side of Christy's mouth he can see pulls up in a grin and Christy's eyes close again. "Magic potion," he says, sounding drowsy. "'r something like."

His skin is tawny gold in the lamplight, his hair bright and soft and shiny, and Alex hardly knows what he's saying: "She makes it with, uh, vodka. I guess you could drink it but it tastes awful." He doesn't tell Christy how he knows and Christy doesn't ask: maybe he knows about stupid brothers, stupid dares.

Christy looks at him again and grins and Alex has to hold onto the bottle so he doesn't make any more of a fool of himself. "Well, get it over with," Christy says, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes again, shifting over to make room for Alex.

Alex is thankful for the smell: it doesn't bother him, he grew up with it, but it does bring him to his senses. Still he nods when Christy says, "Stinks to high heaven," but he'd probably agree to just about anything to keep his hands on Christy's skin, soft and warm and alive, just a few more seconds. He almost says it out loud, biting his tongue just in time, and he starts to talk, about anything, everything he can think of, just to keep the dangerous words away, keep his hands where they ought to be and not straying down past the long muscles of Christy's back.

And Christy doesn't help matters much: Alex can feel him relaxing, feel him going boneless, feel the warmth from Christy's skin where's it's turning rosy under his ministrations.

Alex's mouth is almost watering and he has to stop talking so he can swallow. He's got to go now. "Any better?" he says, fumbling for the cap on the table.

"Lot better," Christy says with a husky chuckle that goes straight to Alex's cock. "Least up here. My ass is sore too but don't suppose there's anything we can do about that." He's shifting downwards as he says it, his ass moving under the sheet, his body moving against Alex's thigh, and Alex...

Alex is lost.

Even Christy's attempt to pull back - "Oh, Jesus, I, uh... I mean -" doesn't deter him, not now. He slides his hand down Christy's back until his fingers are just under the edge of the sheet covering Christy to the waist, and he leans in closer.

"I worked the rigs for thirteen years. First at Leduc, then up north," he says, and he can almost taste Christy's mouth, he wants to taste it, wishes he could taste it, wonders if he'll ever be able to taste him, his mouth, his cock...

Since he's lost his mind he goes all the way. "Wouldn't be the first time I've eased sore muscles..."

Christy's frozen under his touch, tense, not moving, and Alex comes back to himself with that same sickening thud he's felt more than once in his life, that thud that reminds him, this time and way too much, of Tom.

"God, I - I'm sorry, so sorry," he manages, not near to being the kind of apology Christy deserves, not near enough to repairing anything close to letting them at least be friends - God, not even friends, he can't even fall back on that.

He walks to the pond, stopping only to pull on his boots, and he sits a while and listens to the frogs and the crickets, and tries to think if there's any way he can retrieve the situation, if there's any way Christy might forgive him. A while after that, when the sliver of moon that's in the sky sets, he finds himself in the far corner of the hay mow, near the little window; when he was a kid he went the selfsame place in his dad's barn, a place he could be alone, watch the stars, think or not think.

He sleeps a while, or dozes, at least, but he's awake before dawn. For the first time in a while he's dreading the appearance of the sun. It's like the morning after Annie said she wouldn't marry him, the morning after he'd made up his mind to head to Leduc, to try to support her and his kid somehow, to try to be a man after all.

The sun's rising fast, pink and red on the horizon, when he finally summons the courage to go back to the house, to face what he's got to face: he guesses Christy'll want a ride to town or maybe he can just let Christy have the truck, pick it up later.

He's wondering if he's got enough cash to pay Christy what he owes him when a familiar smell hits him like a smack to the face: coffee, and bacon frying.

Christy looks over his shoulder and Alex feels the heat climb his face: all he's got on is boots and his undershirt and shorts. He's even more stunned when all Christy says is, "Better get a move on, breakfast's ready."

For a moment he stands, trying to figure out how to ask... but there are too many things he wants to know and too many possible answers so he decides to let discretion be the better part of valor and leaves them all unasked. Instead he sidesteps to his room, grabs a clean pair of jeans and yanks them on, throws a shirt over his t-shirt, and heads back to the kitchen just as Christy is setting two plates on the table, each loaded with a half-dozen pieces of bacon, thick slices of his mother's bread dipped in egg and fried into french toast, and still more eggs scrambled on the side.

"You got syrup?" Christy asks.

He's still not operating on all cylinders and it takes him a minute to respond. "Syrup? Uh, yeah. In the fridge, hang on." He opens the fridge and moves a few things around.

"Already looked there."

Alex pulls out a Mason jar full of amber liquid. "Here it is."

Christy stares at it and blinks. "No wonder I didn't see it. I was looking for one of those bottles shaped like an old lady." He motions with his hands and Alex has to force himself not to look, watch, touch -

"Don't let Mama hear you say that." He holds up the jar. "This is from her brother in Quebec. He brings us gallons every year. We've got more in the cellar. When it snows, sometimes we boil it up and pour it on the snow to make candy."

A tumble of emotions cross Christy's face: he looks pained, and wistful, and envious all at the same time. Then he flushes and turns away, fumbling for the coffee pot. "Have a seat, I'll pour the coffee. What've you got planned for today? Finish up that field?"

Alex sits, and breathes a silent sigh of relief. Apparently Christy's willing to forgive and forget. It's more than he could've hoped for. "Same as yesterday, yup. Finish the north field, maybe start the west field or we can go mow that last field and get it turned."

"Sounds good," Christy says, and then gestures at Alex's plate with the coffee pot. "Dig in before it gets cold."

Alex complies, and the food's surprisingly good. The French toast has an unfamiliar redolence. Well, unfamiliar, but familiar too. He can almost place it but not quite. "What'd you put in the French toast?"

"Is it okay?" Christy asks, looking a little anxious. "I should've asked, but..."

"It's great," Alex interrupts. "Just wondered, so I can make it for the kids. I think they'd like it."

"Oh." Christy looks relieved. "A little coriander seed, some nutmeg. You've got a nice stock of spices, and I like 'em better than cinnamon. Everyone uses that."

Everyone but him, Alex thinks, bending to take another bite. He's pretty sure he never heard of cinnamon in French toast, let alone the other, but it's all good, and he can concentrate on eating for now while he tries to think how to apologise, how to make sure Christy knows it won't happen again.

But the time's not right during breakfast, or after breakfast either. He stops Christy from washing the dishes, only to have him start digging around for lunch fixings. "Mama left plenty of pyrohy, Christy," he says. "Give me a minute and I'll get everything together."

"Guess I'll go check the horses then," Christy says, and Alex honestly can't tell if he's mad or not. And it's his own fault it's like this, so complicated, the way it was the last time, and the time before that, the way it probably always will be, the way it's probably been since the Garden of Eden.

With Sophie he always knew where he stood: he liked that about her, her impetuousness, how straightforward she was. He never had to guess how she felt about something, but if he's having to guess now, if Christy's shutting him off now, doesn't he have every right?

Hell, that he's even still here speaks to a faith in human nature Alex can only admire.

He packs up lunch and fills the thermoses but Christy's already done, leaning against the truck, chewing on a piece of grass. The gaze he turns on Alex is friendly, friendlier than Alex deserves. He searches for words but comes up empty, and it's too late: Christy's already climbing into the truck.

At least on the hay wagon there's no time for awkwardness: he offers to let Christy drive (fair's fair) and Christy doesn't turn him down. It feels good to lose himself in the rhythm of the baling machine, watching the sun climb up higher than the stack of bales. He's almost sorry when they run out of field, and hay: it's back to thinking, trying to find the words he's never been much good at.

He takes refuge in the work, unhooking the wagon so he can hook it up to the pickup; instead of eating, Christy watches him, almost like he's curious. He waits until Alex is done to grab the basket with the pyrohy and the thermos out of the cab.

But he still doesn't say anything, and he doesn't even look at Alex much while they eat, just a sidelong glance or two and, once, a smile that almost looks shy.

Alex can feel himself flushing again and doesn't - can't - smile back. He scuffs the grass under the toe of his boot. When he looks back up, Christy's looking straight ahead. Alex is suddenly worn out, tired and hot and cold all at the same time.

It's what comes of sitting up all night, no one to blame but himself.

Christy volunteers to drive the hay back to the barn so Alex takes the tractor up to the west field. By the time he gets back down Christy's already got the loader belt going, which he figured on: he already knows Christy's not one to slack off.

He stops in the house and gets them mugs of lemonade before heading up to the mow himself. Christy stops the belt when he sees the mugs, pulling off a glove and wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, and they sit in silence, again more comfortable than Alex has any right to expect.

"Think the hay's dry enough?" he says finally, more to break the uncomfortable silence than because he's worried about it.

"Yup," Christy says, draining the last of his lemonade and getting to his feet.

Alex gives Christy the bottom of the belt: cooler than the mow, at least. He's still trying to make it up to Christy and he still feels like he can't, or like Christy shouldn't be making it this easy.

Christy comes up after about an hour with more lemonade. Alex is hitting a wall: he needs coffee or a nap, or both. The heat's going to his head and the lemonade tastes good. When Christy sits down next to him he's too tired to panic or even worry, and when Christy looks at him, he just shrugs and says, "Hell of a time for the chicken pox."

"Yeah," Christy says, but he's not really listening and Alex's stomach does an unfamiliar flip when Christy takes the mug out of his hand, his grin reflected in his eyes.

And it wasn't supposed to be like this, it was never like this, slanted, dusty sunlight and someone who tastes of lemonade, not rum, someone who kisses, someone who wants to kiss...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Christy doesn't know when he decided, only what: sometime in the dark of the night, or sometime before the break of dawn, it doesn't matter. Yeah, Alex is a guy, but that doesn't seem to matter to his dick. So he hugs it to himself, letting it flare up inside him now and then, like when Alex comes into the house in his boots and underwear, and when he catches Alex looking at him over lunch. He holds it inside and finally lets it bubble up and out in the hay loft, Alex sitting next to him, stretched out and tired and still - still! - worrying. He wonders what would make a guy like Alex so unsure of himself, so... selfless. It's kind of weird. He thinks Alex might be a hard man to convince - he was sure a hard man to even find last night, for starters - but Christy's going to try, 'cause it's not like he learned his lesson with Anna.

Alex seems frozen in place when Christy takes the mug of lemonade out of his hand, and he half-flinches when Christy leans forward, almost like he thinks Christy's going to hit him.

Christy's never kissed a guy before, doesn't know what to expect, but whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this. In some ways, yeah, it's like kissing a woman, but no girl he's ever kissed had this wide, soft mouth surrounded by rough stubble, none of them tasted like lemonade or smelled like honest sweat and sweet grass and motor oil and hempen twine. None of them ever gasped into his mouth and clutched at him like he was the only thing keeping them from falling off a cliff.

And the other thing he hadn't expected was the solid bulk of Alex's body, the sheer weight of him... or, after he pushes Christy down and back against the hay, the unfamiliar thrill of the erection against his thigh strangely intensified by the sharp prickles of dry grass poking at the back of his neck.

"Jesus," Christy whispers, pulling his mouth away to gasp in air. "Jesus."

The sound Alex makes is almost a whimper, and he cups Christy's face in his hands and kisses him again before he's finished catching his breath, so he strains to breathe through his nose instead and the sound he makes is desperate, just like he feels, and he has to push at Alex to get him to stop rubbing against him before he comes in his jeans.

At that Alex breaks away, pushing himself off almost violently, leaning on one arm, silhouetted against the brilliant blue afternoon sky outside the haymow door, panting, face twisted in what looks almost like pain. "Sorry," he whispers to the sky. "Sorry. I - it's been - I'm sorry."

"Stop," Christy barks, suddenly angry. "Just stop. I started it, not you. I wanted it. I want it. You want it, I want it, it's okay, it's okay! Got it?"

Alex looks up, his eyes wide. "Uh, yeah." He ventures a wry, crooked smile and there's a hint of apology in his eyes still, but this time it's for the freaking out, not for the kissing.

They stare at each other for a second or two, and then Christy snorts, and Alex chokes, and a moment later they're both laughing like lunatics. When Christy kicks over the empty mugs Alex snorts again and then starts laughing again and it's so endearing, and so... well, so cute that Christy starts laughing too.

It's good, it feels free and good, not even like with Gwen because there's no Peg this time, no Peg for miles (and miles and miles, if she ever even got to Vancouver), and there's no sick husband lurking neither, just him and Alex and the hard floor and elbows and knees and hay on the back of his neck where Alex is pushing him down again, kissing Christy like he's a whole entire jug of ice-cold lemonade on a hot summer day. It's just him and Alex, no ties, no guilt, just all kinds of good.

And it is good, kissing for a while, Alex moving against him and him moving against Alex, both of them hard, but the urgency from before gone. He finds out Alex is ticklish over his ribs and he finds out, too, that he likes Alex licking his nipples, and Alex sure's hell likes Christy's hands on his ass.

Likes it a lot, shoving his cock up alongside Christy's and moaning into Christy's neck when Christy squeezes his ass, shoving his cock right back up against Alex's. "I can't-" Alex says, then gulps for air, and Christy just pushes up harder and faster. He's past that point, no turning back now, even though this isn't what he expected or thought of when he took the mug out of Alex's hand. So he just holds Alex tighter and when he starts to come he grabs the back of Alex's neck with one hand and moans into Alex's shoulder.

Alex moans too, the heavy weight of him like nothing Christy ever felt before, the jerk of his cock hard and strong even through two layers of jeans. And the look on his face, like a fallen angel, leaves a twinge in Christy's heart: he did that to Alex, somehow, and he's not sure if that's right, that someone (someone who's not him, anyway) looks like that, heartbreaking, heartbroken.

He's not sure it's right, either, that Alex is holding him close, a hand in his hair, his breath hot on Christy's neck, like Christy's a precious thing and Alex wants to hold him like that.

Fun, free, he tells himself, and when Alex whispers something he can't make out, Christy has to bite his tongue, say something, anything but what he wants to say. "Jesus, these jeans were only two days dirty."

Alex laughs, a deep-throated laugh, one that vibrates from his chest to Christy's. "I got a washing machine." He leans up on an elbow and looks at Christy, the laughter still in his eyes, and Christy's heart catches in his throat. When Alex's smile fades, his eyes serious, Christy feels that damn heart start to pound, but Alex just traces Christy's bottom lip with his finger, like he doesn't quite believe it, and then leans in to kiss him again, quick and soft, before he rolls off Christy and levers himself up.

Christy takes the hand Alex offers: he was expecting that. Wasn't expecting Alex to pull him into another kiss, though, another kiss, long and sweet, and Alex studying him after it like Christy's got two noses or something. But all Alex says, finally, is that they ought to maybe get a shower too while the clothes are in the wash.

Alex lets Christy go first, saying he'll do the laundry, but Christy's hardly out of the shower when Alex is up there, not blinking an eye at Christy naked, stripping down himself. Since Christy doesn't know quite what to do or where to go, he settles for brushing his teeth, then handing Alex a towel when he shuts off the water.

They end up in Christy's bed, naked, still a little damp, Alex partly on top of Christy again and kissing him (again) like he can't get enough of it.

Well, Christy can't either, so it's fine by him, and when Alex falls asleep, in between one kiss and the next, or so it seems, Christy grins to himself and lets himself fall asleep in turn.

* * *

Alex wakes up with a start to the sound of a horse whinnying somewhere outside the open window. For a second he can't figure out where he is, or when he is, because while the room's familiar, the warm, sweaty press of another human being against his back is familiar but unexpected. He turns his head slowly, thinking he must still be asleep and dreaming, but instead of a wealth of thick, dark hair, and shallow, pink-tipped breasts he sees a long, flat, muscular torso and hair that's a tousled mess of ambers, every shade from dark hone through golden wheat to bright flax. As he stares, the light catches on the stubble on his bedmate's jaw and almost makes it sparkle, and he remembers.

Christy.

Oh, God, Christy.

It's never been so easy, and it's never been so wrong, and at the same time right, and he hasn't got a clue what to do now. He wants to trace a finger down the hollow where his ribs meet, and follow that with his tongue, down to the thicket of sand-colored curls that frame a flaccid cock. Christy's cut, so unlike Alex he looks strangely bare and aroused even though he's not. Yet.

His mouth waters as he imagines the taste of salt and spunk on his tongue.

But this is wrong. Not wrong in the way that some people think, in that way that makes them purse up their lips primly and click their tongues and shake their heads. Alex has never thought it was wrong that way.

But Christy works for him, and damn it, he took advantage of him, never mind that he said he wanted to. He could've just said that 'cause he thought he had to if he wanted to keep his job. Alex needs to make sure... or just stop, now, or maybe not even start in the first place.

Disgusted with himself, Alex is about to get up when Gracie nickers. Christy's eyes open, focus on him, and a broad grin tips his mouth upwards.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," Alex says back, awkwardly.

Christy rolls and stretches like a barn-cat in the sun. "You snore."

"No, I don't!" Alex is indignant.

Christy shrugs. "So do I. Especially during harvest. It's kind of cute."

There are a million things to say to that, and Alex shouldn't be getting his hopes up - Christy did start it, he remembers now - but all he can think to say is, "I am not... cute."

"Maybe not right now, jeez. You always wake up this grumpy? You need food?"

Alex realizes abruptly that he's starving. "Uh, yeah."

"Me too. There should be soup left, right? And bread. And more lemonade. And pierogies..."

"Pyrohy," Alex corrects automatically. "What time is it?"

Christy grabs his watch off the bedpost and squints at it. "Quarter of four or thereabouts.”

Alex nods and sits up, running his hands through his hair and then shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. "We should go eat, then unload the rest of the hay."

Christy snickers at him, gesturing toward his hair. "You look like one of those punk kids."

Alex snorts. "Right."

"I bet if you had some hair spray I could make it stay that way."

Alex feels his mouth curving into a reluctant grin. "We don't want to scare the horses."

Christy laughs and gets up, pulling a pair of jeans on, not bothering with drawers, and Alex is a more than a little disappointed when bare skin disappears behind worn denim. He pulls on another t-shirt then, and Alex looks around for his own clothes, only to realize all his clean ones are downstairs.

It feels strange to walk through the house naked without worrying that the kids might see, but kind of fun, too. Like he's a teenager again, and his folks are gone for the weekend. In a way, they are... and Christy really doesn't seem to have any problem with continuing where they left off.

That thought makes him grin as he grabs a clean shirt and jeans and dresses quickly, then joins Christy in the kitchen where he's already heating soup in Mama’s pan on the stove and slicing bread. Alex gets the pyrohy out and heats a couple in the microwave, and soon the only sound in the kitchen is the clink of spoon on bowl and the slurp of hot soup against lips.

They feed the horses after that, and then finish unloading the hay. It becomes a game, interrupted so often by what can only be called make-out sessions that it takes twice as long as it should and the sun has slipped below the horizon by the time they finish, lighting the sky with roiling fire fading upward to blue-green twilight. Christy points at the way the sunlight makes rays that shoot through gaps in the clouds and mountain valleys like dusty laser beams.

"The sun's drawing water. It'll rain tomorrow."

Alex shakes his head. "Weather report says not."

Christy smiles mysteriously. "Ten bucks?"

Alex considers that for a moment, and nods, reaching out to shake hands. "You're on."

They stand for a moment, hands clasped, then Christy looks at him out from under his eyelashes like a girl, then tugs hard. Alex, expecting something of the sort, doesn't resist, and Christy yelps at the unexpected weight. They both fall back against the hay, raising a cloud of small particles. Alex sneezes four times, and Christy grins.

"One less and you'd be going on a trip, that's what my mom always said."

Alex opens his mouth to answer, then catches his breath. Then he starts to laugh. Christy just watches him for a minute until Alex calms down enough to share the joke.

And it’s not really a joke: "Mama says, 'Sneeze on Monday, you sneeze for danger, Sneeze on Tuesday, kiss a stranger...'"

"Sounds good to me," Christy says huskily, leaning up and in, and Alex leans down too, suddenly forgetting nursery rhymes and everything else.

Christy's lips are soft and they part eagerly, and Christy's hands are rough as they slide up under Alex's shirt, stroking his back, callused fingertips soothing the itches hay-dust left behind, making Alex's body suddenly shake with need. He remembers waking up, looking at Christy's lean body, wanting to taste it, and he grabs the front of Christy's shirt, yanking hard. The snaps separate with a sound like a zipper, and he's glad it wasn't a button-front because the buttons would all be gone now if it had been.

Christy's still, watching as Alex yanks at his belt until it gives, then reaches for the button on his jeans, and only then does Alex hesitate, looking down into Christy's wide eyes.

"Is this all right?"

Christy gives a soft, husky chuckle. "You don't have to ask," he says, shrugging out of his shirt.

"I do," Alex breathes, but he heard the acceptance, and he comes up on his knees, the hard wooden floor padded by scattered hay and thin cotton. "I'm kind of out of practice..." he says apologetically.

"I was never in practice, but I'm a quick..." Christy's sentence ends in a gasp as Alex curls his fingers around the base of his cock, lifting it so he can lean in and let it slide between his lips.

Thick, heavy flesh, silky smooth, warm, pulsebeat close beneath the skin, tasting of salt, sweat and grass, and, faintly, soap. Smelling like Christy, rich and complicated and simple, too. So good. He licks, and sucks, measuring with his tongue, cataloging the stretch, listening to the breathless gasps, feeling Christy's hands on his shoulders, in his hair. For a time that's all he needs, and he loses himself in the rhythm, slow and soft, with a twist here or a flick there, until he needs more, needs it all.

He swallows, swallows again, leaning forward, taking more, feels tears spill from the outer corners of his eyes as the stretch burns and his jaw aches. Another swallow and he has it all, and he's breathing desperately through his nose, and Christy's hands on his shoulders clench tight as his hips surge helplessly, the muscled thighs under his hands trembling like a horse after too long a race. He feels rather than tastes the spill of seed, and doesn't let go until he feels Christy's knees tremble.

He pulls off, coughing, but Christy pulls him down, gasping and panting and trying to talk when he hasn't got enough air yet. Alex puts two fingers against his lips and Christy shuts up for a while.

"Jesus," Christy finally breathes. "Jesus, Alex. I'm really glad you're out of practice, 'cause that would like to've killed me." He pulls back, worry cutting furrows across his forehead. "I'm, uh, not gonna be that good, I'll say that up front."

"That's okay," Alex whispers, finding Christy's hand and bringing it down past his waist, cupping it against the soaked front of his own jeans.

"Wow." Christy's fingers rub softly against his softening cock through the damp denim, and then he grins. "Good thing you got that washing machine."

"I always thought so," Alex murmurs, closing his eyes for just a few seconds, Christy’s shoulder sharp under his cheek.

"Hey, Sasha, no, no sleeping,” Christy says, shaking him. “Not out here, anyway."

"Not sleeping, just resting my eyes."

"Fine, you rest your eyes," and the smile in Christy’s voice makes Alex smile too. "You're nice enough to give me a bed, Alex, I plan on using it."

"Me too," Alex says agreeably, pulling Christy tight against him. "Nice bed."

Christy laughs out loud, hugging Alex tight, and because right now everything's right with the world, Alex laughs too and lets Christy up, lets Christy pull him up, lets Christy pull them both out of the barn and back to the house and up to the "nice bed." He lets Christy pull his clothes off too, and push him backwards onto the bed, and he wishes he wasn't so tired when he feels a tentative lick at his cock. He manages to get his eyes half open: Christy's staring down at him with a look on his face that Alex hasn't seen before, wistful, maybe, one of those ten-dollar words Sophie always used, and he stretches out a hand.

Christy grins again, quick, and that look's gone like it was never there, and he shrugs: "Just, uh, testing. Tasting."

"Tastes good," Alex says quietly, his tongue coming out to lick his lower lip before he's even aware of it.

"Yeah?" Christy says, almost as quietly, pushing his jeans down and off.

"You don't have to do this," Alex says, his eyes closing again even though he wants to keep them open. "If you don't want to. Job's... it's not part of the..."

Christy's sliding into bed next to him, wrapping those long arms around Alex like he's always been there. "Yeah, Sasha, I know."

Or maybe Alex just thought he said that: no one but Mama has called him Sasha in forever, and Christy's right, it is a nice bed and he can't keep his eyes open.

* * *

Christy didn't see that coming, like a freight train heading down into the valley, scattering the cows far and wide.

He feels like maybe he's the cow that got caught on the front of that particular train.

Jesus, Sasha's hands, and his... his mouth , and the way he went after Christy's cock like he'd been wandering in the desert for forty years, and all from a - a kiss, just one kiss.

All told, the front of the freight train's a good place to be, and he traces his tongue around his lips again, then leans in to kiss the side of Alex's neck. He's not that tired, he's strumming high and fast like he could come again in five minutes. But he's only ever once got to just lay there and hold someone, look at someone, watch someone sleep, and Alex sleeps like the innocents, no, the sleep of the innocents, that's how it goes, on his back, one arm over his head, like someone threw a switch.

After a while Christy realises he's dozing off too and he manages to reach over and switch off the lamp without disturbing Alex too much. When he settles back into bed, Alex rolls over and pulls Christy close and tight.

Christy never had that before either, and it's more comfortable than he'd have thought, especially the way Anna reacted.

It's more than comfortable when he gets up for the bathroom in the middle of the night. It cooled off a lot and he's just about cold when he climbs back in. And the bed's still warm, and Alex doesn't seem to mind when Christy backs against him and curls up.

Doesn't mind, in fact rolls over again and pulls Christy in close, skin to skin, snuffling into the back of Christy's neck.

Kind of stupid, getting hard over that, but, hell, not like Sasha's any smarter, still snuffling into Christy's neck, his hips pushing against Christy's ass and his cock starting to poke between them.

Christy panics for a second, then decides that's stupid, 'cause Alex is a nice guy and wouldn't do that without asking, not if he won't even suck Christy without asking, so he goes with it, pushes back against Alex's cock until it slides between his legs. Alex moans into his ear and one hand finds its way down Christy's chest to his cock.

And that doesn't feel stupid at all, in fact it feels great, and pretty soon Christy's grabbing at Alex's head and pumping his cock into Alex's fist, faster, harder, harder until Alex is holding him down and stroking him off and then holding him down with the full weight of him and coming, himself, in that dark warm space behind Christy's balls and Christy falls back asleep with Alex still on top of him.

A crash of thunder, close by, wakes him, heart pounding. Alex is sitting up too, his hair sticking out all over and looking confused. It's probably later than Christy thinks, after dawn, but the room's still dark.

"Shit," Alex says after a minute, combing his fingers through his hair and leaning back on his other elbow. "Guess I owe you ten bucks."

"Guess you do." Christy's not really sure what to do, not like he's actually slept with that many people (well, okay, two, but that's like comparing apples and oranges). But Alex flops all the way down, against his pillow, and pats the mattress with his hand.

"Rain's gonna put you behind some," Christy says finally, after staring at the ceiling for a good minute and a half. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Alex's eyes open, then close again, and Alex smiles, rolling over and putting an arm across Christy's chest.

"Already ahead," he says into Christy's shoulder. "Thanks to you." Then he shifts again and he's up above Christy, one leg sliding between Christy's and a whole new grin on his face. "Guess the horses can wait some."

Christy doesn't get a chance to agree or even to shrug: Alex's mouth's on his again, soft lips, warm tongue, slow and gentle, touching Christy's tongue with his, pulling back to lick at the corner of Christy's mouth, kiss his way down Christy's neck.

Sure knows what he's doing, making Christy moan under him, writhe like a garter snake in the garden. And Alex is laughing at him, but Christy can't not move, can't keep quiet. When he feels lips, tongue on his nipple he about comes up off the bed.

"That okay?" Alex says, up against his mouth, a hoarse whisper. "Some don't like it much."

"I like it fine," Christy says breathlessly, not caring when Alex laughs again. "It's-"

He doesn't get any more out 'cause Alex has moved to his other nipple, licking and sucking it like... like nothing Christy's ever heard of or felt before, and then Alex licks a broad warm stripe down the center of Christy's chest that makes him wriggle, makes him groan out loud.

Not that he should be all that surprised, he guesses, but Alex likes sex, sex with Christy, sex with guys, or at least that must have been what he meant about the rigs up north.

Alex isn't giving him much time to think about it, though, or him: mouth back on Christy's nipple, with teeth this time, and a warm, strong hand on Christy's cock. Christy's waiting, holding his breath, for Alex to pump him, take him up and over but Alex just holds him, holds him and licks some more, sucks like Christy's nipple is Christy's cock, from last night in the hay mow.

When he does finally let up, when Christy can't even breathe from moaning so loud, begging him not to stop, he doesn't let go of Christy's cock, but the next thing Christy feels is Alex's hair, brushing the inside of his legs, and then Alex's tongue, oh God, under his cock, licking and - and sucking his balls . "Jesus Christ!"

Alex hums back at him, the sound vibrating all the way from Christy's balls to his cock and even up to his nipples, and Christy nearly comes up off the bed. Alex lets go and laughs, putting his mouth right back down at the base of Christy's cock and sucking there, wet and loud, until Christy's got both his hands in Sasha's hair and he's begging Sasha not to stop, ever, please, please...

* * *

A thunder crack wakes him, sudden and startling, but this time he remembers where he is, who he's with, and he relaxes again almost immediately, telling Christy he owes him ten bucks after all before settling back down.

Christy, brought upright by the noise too, is still sitting, staring at him, so Alex pats the bed. Ought to feed the horses, later than he realized with the clouds and all, but it's not that late.

Christ lays back down, like he was waiting for the invite, and maybe he was: doesn't seem like Christy's had much in the way of experience, although Alex has known more than one field hand could tell stories that would put a long-distance truck driver to shame.

He's sure of it when Christy tries to make conversation: "Rain's gonna put you behind some." Alex grins, partly at Christy and partly at himself, and rolls over to give Christy some idea what they ought to be doing now instead of talking. He kisses Christy's shoulder and tells him that they're already ahead, thanks to him, and they are: he was working by himself, he wouldn't even have the second field cut by now, probably, let alone the first field safely, thank God, in the barn. And just so Christy doesn't bring 'em up, he climbs up onto Christy and tells him the horses can wait too before he leans in to kiss him again.

Christy's mouth is eager, his lips soft, his jaw strong, everything Alex could want. His hands are eager too, eager and restless, touching Alex everywhere, pulling Alex against him, like he maybe never got to touch much either.

Not that Sophie didn't like it - hell, Sophie loved it - but it took Tom a while, and sometimes more'n half a bottle, before he'd lay back and let Alex do more than suck.

But this is now and he's got Christy under him, lithe and sleek as a corn snake in the stubble. Whole lot louder though: Christy about brings the roof down when Alex tries out a nipple. "That okay?" he asks up against Christy's mouth, more to kiss him again - God, the kissing alone! - than because he's that worried. "Some don't like it much."

"I like it fine," Christy gasps, and Alex laughs into Christy's mouth because it feels so damn good, and takes hold of Christy's other nipple then, just to be fair.

And was that just yesterday he couldn't - wouldn't - lick Christy's chest, that hollow where his ribs come together, before his belly caves in, and all of Christy smelling like a man should. He finds Christy's cock with his hand and holds onto it, holds it up, while he tries out teeth. Christy loves the teeth, loves the hand too, pumping up into Alex's grip so Alex doesn't even have to move, his balls hitting the side of Alex's hand.

Too much temptation and Alex goes for it, holding Christy's cock up out of the way, finding Christy's balls by smell and taste alone, salty and bitter here too, where Alex came all over him in the middle of the night and Christy didn't say a word, just moaned and shuddered and came too, all over Alex's hand.

Now Christy's talking, though, "Jesus Christ!" and then, when Alex starts to suck at the base of his cock, begging, "Please," and "oh God, Sasha." And the sound of his name on Christy's lips, in Christy's husky voice, makes Alex suddenly aware of the ache between his own legs, not enough friction against the sheets to satisfy him.

He sucks Christy's cock down, hard and fast and pumping where he can reach with one hand; the other he reaches down, stroking Christy's balls. Christy jerks up and Alex goes with him, pressing behind and down. Tom never let Alex touch him there, not after the first time, but Christy's not Tom and Alex knows it.

And sure enough, Christy about pulls Alex's hair out, fucking Alex's mouth and saying his name over and over again while Alex sucks harder and presses a knuckle up against Christy's hole, up and even in a little ways.

Christy's spunk hits the back of Alex's throat like a bull out of the gate. And Christy doesn't freeze up when he comes, Alex already knows that, but this time Christy's still pumping up and down, against Alex's finger and into Alex's mouth, like he can't get enough. When his hands finally gentle in Alex's hair, he's trembling under Alex's touch, like he did last night in the barn, and Alex gentles him, kissing where he can reach, trying to ignore his own racing pulse for a few seconds.

Then he gets one of the surprises of his life when Christy hauls him up so they're face to face, grabs Alex's ass and pushes his own soft cock up against Alex's hardness, kissing him too, his tongue eager and curious and his hands strong and even knowing. A few thrusts, Christy holding tight, and Alex closes his eyes and shakes against Christy, letting Christy's strong arms hold him safe.

Sometime later, neither of them are watching the clock so it's hard to say how long, Christy sighs and turns his head a little, propping his chin on his fist so he can gaze out the window at the rain coming down, and the purple-white lightning flashes. "I always loved thunderstorms when I was a kid."

That piques Alex's interest. "Why's that? Lightning seems to scare most folks."

Christy chuckles. "Nah, I figured if anyone was gonna get struck by lightning it'd be my dad; before she passed, my mom always said God would strike him dead for all the lying, cheating, and cussing he did, so I felt safe enough. I liked them 'cause it was the only time my old man didn't care if I was sitting and reading. Any other time he'd come by and tell me I'd better get off my sorry ass and do a lick of work before he got out the belt."

Alex nods, almost involuntarily, and for a few minutes there's just the sound of rain and thunder to break the silence. After a while, lulled by the rhythm of the rain, Alex finds his voice. "My father never used a belt. He only ever used his hand, said otherwise he couldn't tell how hard he was hitting. But he didn't have much use for reading or schooling. Thought we should be in the field, or taking care of the cows or doing chores around the house. Or he'd hire me out to another farm for some extra cash. Viktor learned to do the books since he was oldest, and Mama wouldn't let him send Luke out because of the asthma."

Christy snorts. "Your old man and mine definitely would've got along."

"Let's not introduce them," Alex says, making a face.

"Couldn't even if I wanted to. Dad finally kicked it a couple of months back. And don't feel like you need to say sorry," he adds, cutting off Alex's instinctive response. "Guess your dad changed his mind about schooling?"

Puzzled, Alex shakes his head. "No, not really. Why?"

"Your mom said Luke's in Toronto, so I figured he was in college, that your dad must've agreed to it."

"No, he was pretty mad, but Luke got scholarships, and he works, and I help whenever I can."

Christy turns his head sharply to study Alex intently. "So you're sending your brother and your son off to college?" Alex nods, and Christy regards him solemnly. "You're a good man, Sasha."

"Where'd you hear that name?" Alex asks, embarrassed, trying to change the subject.

"Your mom, I guess," Christy says after a minute. "I liked it. It suits you." He hesitates again and looks at Alex a little worriedly. "Is that okay, for me to call you that? It's not, like, something only girls do or something?"

Alex laughs out loud, shaking his head. "No, I don't mind. It's kind of nice. I grew up being Sasha, and sometimes Alex feels like… somebody else."

"I know exactly what you mean," Christy says, sitting up and nodding vehemently. "When I was in 7th grade I tried to be a Chris, because everyone said Christy was a girl's name, and a couple of years ago I tried to be Mike, that's my middle name, Michael, but half the time I'd forget what name I was using and none of those guys are really me, so I always end up back to Christy. That's just who I am."

A sudden brilliant flash of lightning followed almost instantly by a thunderclap loud enough to rattle the lampshades punctuates his words. They're both startled for a second, and then Christy laughs, and Alex has to join him. Christy pushes the covers away and swings his feet over the side of the bed. "I'm starving. Let's get the chores done, have some breakfast."

Alex rubs his eyes and untangles himself from the sheets. "Great idea."

By the time Alex is dressed, Christy's standing by the back door waiting for him, swathed in a cheap clear-plastic raincoat like you can get for a couple of bucks at Canadian Tire for emergencies but that nobody really ever wears. Except Christy, apparently. He hides a smile and reaches for his duster where it hangs on a peg in the mudroom. After shrugging into it, he settles his hat on his head: its coated, close-woven straw keeps out the rain and the brim dumps any accumulation fore and aft. He hesitates, seeing Christy struggling with the hood on his raincoat.

"Here," he says, snagging Sophie's old hat off its peg. It's dusty, but he never could quite bring himself to get rid of it. Perfectly good hat, after all. Practically new when…

He pushes away that thought and hands the hat to Christy. "See if this fits."

Christy puts it on, adjusts the angle, bobs his head up and down and then grins. "It's good, thanks. Way better than the hood."

Christy helps Alex turn the horses out, then starts on their stalls while Alex sees to the hens in the coop built onto the side of the barn. They're peevish partly because of the rain that's got them huddling in their covered nesting boxes instead of out in the chicken-wire enclosed run, but also because he'd been so involved with Christy the night before that he forgot to feed them. He can tell they're mad by the way they peck at his ankles and cock their heads to eye him with evil intent in their beady black eyes. It's a good thing they're not bigger.

He remembers hearing that some scientist thinks birds are descended from dinosaurs, and imagines a flock of chickenosaurs bearing down on some hapless prey and grins as he scatters extra feed, hoping they'll forget about his lapse.

While they're distracted, he collects eggs from the nests, and then slips back through the door into the main barn, latching the screen door behind him to make sure none of them decides to follow him on a rescue mission.

"What're you grinning about?" Christy asks, putting the feed scoop back in the bin and banging the lid shut.

"Just imagining what a chickenosaurus would look like."

For a few seconds Christy looks at him like he's a few bricks short of a load, but then he must get it, because he starts to chuckle. "You know, there's lots of fossils around these parts. Maybe we'd get lucky, find the world's first chickenosaurus fossil and make a million bucks selling it to a museum."

" You got any ideas where we should look?" Alex breaks open another bale of hay, then looks up to see Christy grinning. No, smiling, eager, his eyes alive and happy.

"Yeah, I do. I got lots of books, I know what kind of matrix to look for. Fossils ought to be easy to find, pretty thick on the ground in these parts, and there's a lot of petrified wood that could shine up nice. Be fun to do some rock-hounding before I go. If nothing else, I want to find something pretty for your mother."

"For Mama?" Alex asks, startled.

"Yeah." Christy distributes the last two flakes to the last stall and dusts off his hands. "She was looking at my book and wanted to know if there were any pretty rocks around here. I figured I'd try and find her one."

"Don't know where to tell you to look," Alex says. "Guess it depends on the rain, for one thing. Always a chance it'll clear up by this afternoon."

"Well, I know where to look," Christy says, still with that…bright look about him, easy and confident. "Start with a riverbank, go on from there. You said something 'bout a swimming hole."

"Yeah," Alex says, feeling his own mouth stretch to a grin that might match Christy's. "I sure did."

"Then we can kill two birds with one stone whenever we get around to going."

"If the weather clears up this afternoon, we'll go then."

"That'd be great! We done here? You want eggs?" Christy looks at the eggs in the wire basket in Alex's hand. "I can cook. I'm good at breakfast."

"I remember," Alex says. "Best French toast I ever had. But it's my turn today. I'm not too bad a hand with a skillet myself."

"So that's not why your mom always brings dinner over?" Christy asks with feigned innocence.

"No," Alex says indignantly, then realizes that Christy… is teasing him.

It feels good.

Christy laughs at him and grabs the Stetson off the bale where he'd put it and they dash back to the house. Christy heads off to shower while Alex pulls two thin-cut rib-eyes out of the chest freezer along with a zip-lock bag of grated potatoes. Putting the big skillet on the stove, he thunks the steaks into it, turns the burner on, and covers the pan with a mismatched lid. Then he puts a colander in the sink and dumps the frozen potatoes into it, setting lukewarm water to run over them. While they're thawing he grabs a second skillet and throws a dollop of lard in the bottom. Once it's melted he tosses the potatoes in on top and adds salt, a dash of cayenne, and a handful of dehydrated onions.

While the steak and potatoes sizzle he puts coffee on, then cracks a half-dozen still-warm eggs into a bowl and beats them with a little milk. He's just turning the steaks when Christy reappears, buttoning his shirt up and sniffing the air like a bloodhound scenting its prey.

"That steak I smell?"

"Sure is. I figured it was about time you got to try the house special. How do you like it cooked?"

"Pretty much mooing," Christy says fervently.

Alex laughs. "Good, then we can eat sooner." He lets the steaks brown a little on the second side and then flips them onto a plate. He adds a dollop of butter to the drippings, pours the eggs in, and stirs them around to pick up the pan juices.

"Man, I'm drooling here. I can't wait." The coffee maker sputters and hisses, and Christy gestures toward it. "You want coffee?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods? "

Christy fixes two mugs, adding cream and sugar to his own, leaving Alex's black. He puts both mugs on the table and then sets out plates and silverware, one place at the head, one next to it on the right.

It's where Sophie used to sit, but Christy can't know that.

It's strange that it isn't stranger to have him there instead of her.

While he's thinking that, the eggs almost burn and he turns the burner off, grabbing a towel so he can take the pan over to the table and turn the eggs out onto the plates before they get any more over-done. That done, he puts the pan on the back of the stove and hands Christy the plate with the steaks on it. "Here, put these on the plates."

"You mean I don't get both?" Christy asks.

Alex waves the spatula at him threateningly and Christy laughs, dumping out the steaks while Alex turns the hash-browns one last time and then dishes them out too. The plates are crowded, steak juices running into the hash-browns and eggs, and his stomach is growling like a stray dog when he finally sits down to eat.

For a while the only sound is that of cutting, and chewing and swallowing. Finally Christy stops and pushes his plate away with a sigh, only a few crumbs of scrambled egg and a few shreds of potato left on it. " You're right, you're not a bad hand with a skillet. And if that steak's a sample, you ought to be getting premium prices."

"I told you. Mama cooks a lot, especially when things get so busy she knows I can't manage it myself. The rest of the time I'm on my own."

"Must be a lot of work, all this, and the kids too."

"They're good kids. And Bennie was around a lot to help, plus Luke would usually babysit if I needed him."

"But they're both away now. You coping?"

Alex just manages not to sigh. "Mama's helping, and they start preschool soon. That'll help."

"It's a lot for one person."

"Yeah. You done?" Alex reaches for Christy's plate, only to have it moved out of his reach.

"You cooked, I'll clean up."

Alex knows better than to fight him on that, so he surrenders without a battle. "Fair enough. Give me a chance to work on the books some, anyway."
As Christy collects dishes and starts to wash up, Alex gets the ledger book and the envelope of receipts out of the drawer under the phone, and sits down at the table to start entering them, keeping a running tally.

"You keep the books by hand?" Christy asks, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, I noticed the computer in the other room and just figured you'd use that."

Alex feels his face heat, unaccountably embarrassed by his own ignorance. "Haven't had time to learn it, so I just do it the old way. When Bennie comes home he'll be over to transfer the stuff for me."

"I could look at it if you want," Christy says tentatively. "I'm pretty good at figuring things out."

Alex hesitates for a moment, not sure he wants Christy to see how close to the edge the ranch runs, but then again Christy's pretty bright and has likely figured that out on his own by now. You can't work in agriculture and not know most family farms and ranches run right on the edge and often over it. He pushes the stack of receipts across the table toward him. "Knock yourself out. Bennie's already entered everything up to these, so it should be pretty current."

Christy beams like Alex just gave him a prize and scoops up the receipts. "Shouldn't take too long. There's only a couple or three programs that do this kind of thing, and they're all pretty similar. Come on, you can help." He heads for the parlor Alex has been using for an office back since before Sophie died; with Mrs. Ware gone, all they'd ended up using it for was to listen to the piano. After a moment, Alex drains the last of his coffee and then pushes back his chair and follows.

Christy's already sitting down in front of the computer and waiting for it to warm up by the time Alex drags a chair over and settles in next to him. "I hope you weren't serious about me helping," Alex says, eyeing the machine warily.

"Yeah, I was."

The main screen finally appears, and Christy leans closer to look at the assortment of little pictures on it that show the different things you can do on the computer. Alex has pretty much only ever used the one that lets you play Solitaire.

"Ha!" Christy says, moving the mouse so the pointer-thing is pointing at one of them. "There we go." He clicks the mouse and starts the program. "Now, it should be one of the most recently used files, so let's see…" He clicks a few times, and suddenly the screen shows a familiar-looking document.

"That's it," Alex says. "Leastways it looks like what Bennie's always working on."

Christy nods. "Thought so, since the file's called 'ranch-expenses.' Okay, now that we've got the thing up, why don't you take the receipts and you can tell me what each one is called, what kind of expense it is, and how much it is, and I'll start typing stuff in."

Since that was help he can actually supply, he sweeps the stack of receipts off the desk and they get to work. For some reason, as he watches Christy and listens to his running commentary, the program makes more sense than it had the half-dozen times Bennie had tried to explain it to him. He isn't sure if Christy has a natural flair for teaching, or if he'd just been too damned stubborn to learn it from Bennie. If that's the case, it doesn't reflect very well on him, and he makes a note to be more open to learning new things. He doesn't want to end up like his father.

After twenty minutes or so, they've gotten to the last receipt and Christy runs the totals, which match his expectations pretty closely. They're doing okay. The sale of six head to the Burton place the week Bennie left for Calgary made all the difference. He suppresses a sigh of relief, feeling more comfortable about giving Christy that bonus he'd rashly promised, while Christy saves the file, closes the program and then shuts down the computer. He stretches like a cat, cracks his fingers, and glances at the window.

"Hey! Sun's out!"

Alex looks too. "So it is."

"Guess we could go turn the hay in that second field," Christy says, sounding a little forlorn.

"Nah, we can let the top dry a while," Alex says, feeling more relaxed than he's felt in a long while, and he's suddenly really grateful to Christy for being so open to… everything. He knows from experience that sex can give a lot of perspective, some of it dangerous. But there's no edge here, no worry about what tomorrow might bring. "We can take some time off."

Christy brightens visibly. "Nice. You, ah, want to go check out that swimming hole?"

Not so much, Alex wants to say, but that might be rude, or might be imposing. What he wants is to lick a stripe up Christy's back, suck the knob on top of Christy's left shoulder, taste the scrape of stubble at the sharp angle of Christy's jaw.

Christy catches him staring and Alex flushes, dropping his eyes. Christy's voice, intimate and husky, brings them back up: "Or we could maybe wait for the day to dry off a little."

His eyes are half closed and Alex feels a thrill of anticipation ride his spine, pricking the hairs at the back of his neck: Christy might know it, or might not, but he's seductive as hell and Alex couldn't hold back if he tried, slipping one hand around the back of Christy's neck and bringing them together for a kiss, a slow one this time, Alex relaxing into it, letting Christy guide them both, letting Christy tell Alex what he wants.

Which is pretty much everything, Alex discovers a few moments later, Christy's hands, eager and callused, sparking every nerve in Alex's body when Christy slides them up under his shirt, rubbing his thumbs in tandem across Alex's nipples, already taut.

"Is it always like this?" Christy asks breathlessly, leaning back to look at him. Alex stares at him, puzzled, until Christy adds, "Being with a guy, I mean. It's so easy… so fun."

Alex stills, and shakes his head. "No," he says a little gruffly. "No, it's not."

Christy looks at him, head tilted like a curious bird. "I put my foot in it, didn't I?"

Alex shakes his head again, trying to get his heart to stop pounding. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Just the same, I spoiled the mood." He slides his hands out from under Alex's shirt. "Come on. Let's go swimming, poke around the rocks a little, and you can stop thinking about whoever it is you're thinking about."

"Christy, I..."

Christy holds up both hands. "You don't gotta say anything. Just come on." He grins, and there's not much shadow in it. "It'll be fun."

Part 3