FIC: Indian Summer (Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse, R)
TITLE: Indian Summer
RATING: R
FANDOM: Thunderheart
PAIRING: Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse
SUMMARY: Ray’s world was changing so much and so fast that he needed a whole new calendar altogether.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: For rarepair100 prompt #1: blessing. Another installment in the Lakota calendar series.
The Sioux had their own calendar, long before the Gregorian calendar came to America. Ray did not know this; no one had taught him to be Sioux, and he only knew a few words of the language, the word for friend and a word he had carried in his heart a long time with a wrong definition.
It was Wasutun Wi-When Things Ripen by the Lakota calendar, and July by the Wasi’chu calendar, but Ray’s world was changing so much and so fast that he needed a whole new calendar altogether. It was the summer of the stronghold; it was the summer of Walter Crow Horse.
Ray had never been with a man before, had never even thought about it, but he knew when Walter appeared in his office in DC that this would change. He saw Walter, standing beneath the fluorescents in his cowboy hat and boots with Badlands dust still clinging to them, and something bloomed within Ray. He was not having a vision, but in this moment he knew that his life was going to change in ways far beyond letting a man take him to bed.
Walter smiled-he looked happy and open and a little smug to have gotten the drop on Ray-and waited for Ray to come to him.
And he did.
***
Ray sits in the passenger’s seat of the truck, working his legs and mouth nervously, tapping his hands on the doorframe. He tried to drive, initially, but Crow Horse was plain worried to let him, and shoved him into the passenger seat, settling behind the wheel himself.
“It’s gonna be fine,” Crow Horse says. “Just you wait and see.”
Ray looks pained; his leg shakes so hard Crow Horse swears it’s vibrating the floorboards, though that’s probably just the torn up rez roads.
“I just want to find him. We need to find him.”
He’s just a damn dog, Crow Horse wants to say, but Ray’s too worked up to do anything but reassure.
“It’s gonna be fine,” he says again, instead.
Ray wets his lips. “What if he got hit by a car, or caught in a trap, or-?”
“He’s lived a long time on his own; just calm down. We’ll find him, and tomorrow you’ll think being so upset was silly.”
“He’s a part of the family,” Ray says. “I don’t know how my life would be without him. I want him back. Please, just get him back.”
***
Ray’s mind was far from actual thought; this was not a plan. It was some natural, unassailable force, like gravity. Ray followed Walter into his office, and then he closed and locked the door, and then he fell into Walter’s waiting hands. It was not a plan. Walter pushed Ray’s jacket from his shoulders, and tore open his shirt. Not a word passed between them. Ray could feel his heart jackhammering in his chest, his blood flowing so fast he was dizzy, but he couldn’t hear all the logical reasons to stop, wait, think things through. It just happened, like falling, and Walter was kissing him and Walter was bending Ray over his own desk, and Walter was fucking him like a soldier come home from war, and Ray’s mind was silent. It was not a plan; for a glorious moment, Ray was absolutely present in the present.
***
One of Gramma Ghost Bear’s grandkids spotted Jimmy walking along the road. They recognized him from his accompanying Ray to pick up the mail from the post office Gramma ran out of her kitchen, and they brought him home with them to wait for Ray to make his way back there. Ray is so happy he actually hugs the damn ungrateful mutt, and insists they go immediately to the general store to get Jimmy a collar and tag.
“He’s a dog,” Crow Horse says, “not a suitcase, or your underpants. Don’t need your name on him.”
Ray glares until Crow Horse sighs and starts up the truck. He’s still too nervous to leave the dog alone, which is okay since the Jumping Bulls who run the general store are used to Ray bringing Jimmy in, and on the whole the dog’s well-behaved, except that one time he helped himself to a pound of bacon.
Ray finds a collar, a wide strip of brown leather like a little belt, at the general store, but they don’t have tags or a way to make one, and Ray stands, silent, his arms crossed over his chest, until Crow Horse relents and agrees to drive half an hour outside the rez to the hardware store.
“I still don’t see the point in all this,” he says.
Ray settles into the passenger’s seat, petting Jimmy between them. The damn goofy dog is smiling, happy to be with his people on errands, unaware of the heartache he’s caused. Crow Horse could wring the thing’s neck, but that’d only upset Ray again.
“In case he gets lost,” Ray says, “people will know he’s not a stray. That he belongs to someone.”
***
Afterwards, Ray’s thoughts started catching up to him, and he shook. Walter helped him get dressed-Ray’s hands were suddenly clumsy on belt buckles and the ruined front of his dress shirt-and then pulled him close, whispered into his ear, “Easy now, kola. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Thoughts forged in years of Protestant upbringing shouted in Ray’s ears, how could you how could you how could you, but by the time they got home all Ray could think was, you came for me and you feel like home, and Ray let Walter take him again, this time in his bed. It was easier this time, less hurried, and Walter kissed and caressed him and whispered things in Lakota. Ray didn’t know the words, but he didn’t have to to understand what was being said; he could read all that from the sweet tone of Walter’s voice, from the way he put his hands on him.
***
Crow Horse takes his lunch break the next day to run a little errand, and he’s waiting for Ray when he gets back to his desk for his own lunch.
“Hey,” Ray says, and smiles. “You wanna eat together?”
“Sure. Got something for you, though, first.”
Crow Horse doesn’t present anything, so after a beat Ray holds out his hand. Crow Horse sets something small, cold, and metal in his palm; at first Ray thinks it’s a bullet, but then he looks down. His brow knits.
“A ring? What’s it for?”
“You,” Crow Horse says. Ray still doesn’t get it, so he adds, “In case you get lost. To show you’re not a stray.”
Ray colors, but he slides the ring on the ring finger of his left hand.
“Say the other part,” he says softly.
Walter closes the distance between them. He puts his hands on Ray’s hips and pulls him close.
“To show you belong to somebody,” he says, voice soft and low and only for Ray to hear.
Ray shivers, and kisses him. He rests his hands over Walter’s, and Walter can feel the cool silver of the ring, not yet warm from Ray’s flesh. It’ll take some getting used to, he figures. Ray breaks off, panting, and before he can catch his breath, Walter kisses him again.
***
Afterwards, Ray lay in Walter’s arms, getting used to the rhythm of Walter’s breathing as he fell to sleep. Walter’s hands were still settled around Ray’s hips, limp with sleep, so loose and careless it was like habit. Ray snuggled down for the first good sleep since leaving the rez; he wondered briefly, before dreaming, what the next day would bring.