FIC: Court Date (Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse, NC-17)
TITLE: Court Date
RATING: NC-17
FANDOM: Thunderheart
PAIRING: Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse
SUMMARY: Ray comes back to the rez. A sequel to Ticket.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: For jean_c_pepper, who wanted a sequel to Ticket.
The day of his court date-the date long etched in his mind-Ray showed up at the tribal court building an hour before they opened for business. It wasn’t a plan, really; he’d just made good time. Ray stretched out on the bench of the rented Ryder truck-packed with a lifetime of belongings and a three-legged reservation dog-and, shading his eyes from the new morning sun, strove for sleep.
He didn’t get it. Ray had been resting for less than twenty minutes when a sharp rap on the window startled him, leaving his muscles weak and his heart beating wildly in his chest.
Crow Horse, in Ray’s own sunglasses, was peering in the driver’s side window. Ray sighed, fumbled himself into a sitting position, and rolled the window down.
“Court don’t open ’til eight,” Crow Horse said.
Ray blinked the sun out of his eyes until Crow Horse came into sharp focus. “I know.”
“Wanna get some breakfast?”
***
“Thought maybe you’d pull some outlaw bullshit,” Crow Horse said, dowsing his plate in syrup. “You figured, ‘Hell, I’m never going back to South Dakota; what’s a moving violation gonna hurt?’”
Ray stabbed irritably at his omelet. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Skirt the law? I know you’re a Fed, but that don’t mean-”
Ray looked up from his breakfast, the annoyance dropping off his face.
“I meant never come back,” he said softly.
Crow Horse had to put his silverware down. He let his hands rest on the tabletop.
“I tore up your ticket,” he said.
***
Crow Horse walked Ray back to his truck.
“You’ll be looking for a place to stay, I wager.”
“You have someplace in mind?”
Crow Horse studied the toe of his boot. “I could prob’ly conjure up a few options . . .”
Ray waited to be invited, and then he followed Crow Horse home.
***
Ray slept on the couch, much to the chagrin of Jimmy, who had gotten used to sleeping at the foot of the bed. The couch was barely big enough for Ray; Jimmy was forced to sleep on the floor.
Nothing was so conducive to sleep as a drive across the country, and Ray slept long and deep, despite the threadbare condition of Crow Horse’s sofa, the springs poking him in the spine. He woke to the sound of Crow Horse puttering about the kitchen, to the smell of brewing coffee and overcooked eggs. He heard Crow Horse curse-something about that damn three-legged menace-and smiled, got up to investigate.
“I can’t believe you kept this defective mutt,” Crow Horse said.
Ray patted Jimmy and helped himself to a mug of coffee. “He needs me.”
Crow Horse rolled his eyes. “Softie.”
Ray studied his coffee. “Look, Crow Horse, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Crow Horse presented him with a plate of burnt eggs, shepherded him to the kitchen table. Ray sat, but only because he felt there was no alternative.
“Oh?” Crow Horse said.
“About why I’m here.”
“You didn’t have anywhere to stay.”
“No,” Ray said. “I mean, here on the rez.”
“You can tell me after work, maybe. You are going in to work today, ain’cha?”
Realization hit Ray. “You know? How long have you known?”
“Raymond, I’m in charge of the Bear Creek Police Department. They tell me when I’ve got new FBI on my block.”
“How long?” Ray pressed.
“Maybe they told me before they told you you were being reassigned. I don’t know.”
“That’s not what happened. I wasn’t reassigned.”
Crow Horse crossed his arms over his chest. “No?”
“No.” Ray lowered his eyes. “I wasn’t reassigned. I requested a transfer.”
A smile began to creep over Crow Horse’s face. “Now, why would you do such a thing?”
Ray smiled, too. “I don’t know. It’s career suicide.”
“Maybe you figured you could do some good out here.”
“Maybe. And maybe I wanted someplace to come back to.”
***
The Bear Creek police station was small and lazy. There was one cruiser parked out front when Ray and Crow Horse arrived; it belonged to Ted, on night duty, and it left shortly after they got there to relieve him.
“Got the paperwork through for another cruiser, but it’s in the shop ’til the end of the week,” Crow Horse said. “You just keep on driving that Fed job until it gets here.”
Crow Horse showed him around, a small job. “This here’s dispatch; Terry’ll get in in an hour or so, until then it’s just you and me, hoss. Here’s the jail; this here’s Larry Little Wolf, one of our regulars-driving under the influence, walking under the influence, generally being under the influence . . .”
They arrived at a series of rooms away from the small bullpen of desks in the main room.
“Copier, break room, this here’s my office . . .”
Crow Horse poked his head in, and turned on the light. The office was small, but well-loved, neat and filled with personal touches, photographs on the desk and on the walls.
“Try not to spend too much time in there; I’m a busy man.”
Ray smiled. “Sure thing, boss.”
They came to the last room. Crow Horse walked in, turned on the lights; Ray followed him, frowning at the bare room. There was a desk, an office chair, and a small filing cabinet, and that was it.
“What is this room for? It looks like it’s never been used.”
“Used to be our storage room; now we got all that stuff cluttering up the break room ’til we can go through it; it’s a goddamn mess. Now it’s for my Fed liaison.”
Ray smiled, and took in the one-eighty of his new office. As a brick agent, he’d spent most of his time in the field; he’d never merited an office before.
“Fantastic,” he said. “Thanks, Crow Horse.”
“We’ll get you a telephone so you can bother the Fed office in Rapid City when you need to; any other sprucing up’ll be on you.”
Ray ran his fingers over his desk. It was a cheap make, but it was his.
“Maybe I’ll get a cactus,” he said.
Crow Horse rolled his eyes. “Why not pansies, while you’re at it? This is law enforcement, Ray; this is serious business.”
Ray frowned. “Didn’t I see a foam finger in your office?”
“Hey, now, that’s serious sports memorabilia.”
“Sure.”
“Oh, one last thing, Mr. Big Deal FBI,” Crow Horse said, patting his pockets. He finally located a slim wallet, which he handed to Ray. “Here.”
Ray opened the wallet to find his new badge, a gold shield. It was heavier, more ornate than his FBI credentials; it’d take a while to adjust to the weight of it in his pocket, but eventually he would.
***
Ray got used to the springs poking him in the back, to the way the couch sagged in the middle. He slept, Jimmy on the floor, at his feet.
Ray dreamed. He was walking up to the stronghold, the sun beating down, Coutelle with a bead on his back. He could hear Crow Horse’s footsteps behind him, and he knew without looking that he wasn’t alone.
This time, they reached the stronghold. Ray waited for the bullet to find his back, but it never did. He turned to look. Coutelle and the GOONs were gone; there was nothing but blue skies and open prairie for miles.
And Crow Horse. Crow Horse was still there with him.
***
Crow Horse had kept Ray’s truck, and when Ray wasn’t on duty, he drove it; he preferred it over the Impala, even though the Impala was newer and had better shocks. Probably there was a reason for his preference, but Ray couldn’t put a finger on it. He drove it, Jimmy riding shotgun, until one day it just stopped running, coming to a coughing stop not five hundred yards from Crow Horse’s place.
Ray sat in the truck for a long moment, urging the engine to turn, before he admitted defeat and hopped out to look under the hood.
Truth be told, Ray didn’t know much about cars. He could change a flat, but problems beyond that he usually left to a mechanic. Everything inside the truck seemed to be in working order, but for all Ray knew, there could be a giant piece missing. He cursed and thought about going back to the house, but then he caught sight of Crow Horse ambling up the drive, and he just waited at the grill, the steaming engine beading sweat up all over him.
“What seems to be the trouble?” Crow Horse asked, peering first at Ray, and then down at the engine in a cursory way.
“I don’t know,” Ray admitted. “It just stopped.”
Crow Horse came around for a better look, sticking his head beneath the hood.
“Everything looks okay,” he said finally. “Go try and start her up, would you?”
Ray hopped back behind the driver’s seat, and gave the key a turn. Crow Horse made a little ‘more’ motion with his hand, and Ray revved it. The engine clicked, choked, and sputtered, never roaring to life.
Crow Horse came over to the driver’s side, leaned against the doorframe. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“You broke her good,” he said mildly. “Help me get her back to the house, and we’ll work on putting her back together.”
***
That night, Ray dreamed. They were nearing the top of the stronghold. Crow Horse was above him; he reached the top first, and then bent down and extended Ray a hand. He pulled Ray up onto the ledge. Looking down, Ray couldn’t imagine how they had climbed the whole steep wall of it, but somehow, together, they had.
They sat on the edge and looked out into the prairie. At this height, there was no horizon; the sky was an eternity.
“Good day,” Crow Horse said.
“Good day to die?” Ray asked, remembering his words at the campfire.
“Nope. Just a good day.”
He turned to Ray, and smiled.
***
They took out the motor, and found a quarter-sized hole in the engine block. Crow Horse cursed and gave an irritable kick to the dry desert earth.
“Hope you been saving your pennies,” he said. “You’re gonna need a new engine. Prob’ly you should just find a new truck; better use of your money.”
But Ray was fond of the truck. They drove the Impala to the junkyard.
“You’re dumb for doing this,” Crow Horse said. “Or sentimental; I don’t know which.”
“Maybe both,” Ray said, and paid three hundred dollars cash for a new engine. Together, he and Crow Horse lifted it into the Impala’s trunk.
***
That night, Ray dreamed. They sat on the edge of the stronghold, looking out into the blue skies extending forever out over the pale prairie.
“What you did for me, at the stronghold, with Coutelle-that’s the bravest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“I don’t know much, Ray, but I know it ain’t right to let a man die alone.”
“Even an instant Indian in a new pair of shoes?”
Crow Horse shrugged. “You turned out to be not so bad. As Feds go, you know.”
Ray laid his hand over Crow Horse’s. After a beat, Crow Horse gave Ray’s fingers a little squeeze.
***
The muscles in Ray’s forearms ached; working on the car was a different type of labor than he was used to. There was engine grease and God knew what else beneath his fingernails, coating the soft, blonde hair on his hands and arms, worked into the creases of his palms. He smelled like a gas station.
He loved it. The mindless action of working with his hands was soothing, and he liked working with Crow Horse. They didn’t need many words to communicate; even though Ray didn’t really know what he was doing, usually a gesture or a word or two was sufficient to get him on the right track.
“You go ahead and try her now, Raymond.”
Ray got behind the wheel, and turned the key. There was a throaty growl-a shock of adrenaline thrilled through Ray’s chest-but it was brief. It died suddenly, and was immediately followed by a clunking hack. Crow Horse cursed.
“This goddamn machine’s ornerier than that mutt of yours,” he said.
“Sorry,” Ray said.
“Aw, hell,” Crow Horse said, deflating. “Ain’t fair to call it your fault. Come on; I think that’s enough for tonight.”
They went inside, and scrubbed themselves clean. Together they made supper, working together in near silence; they didn’t need many words to communicate.
***
That night, Ray dreamed. They sat at the edge of the stronghold, watching the sky go inky, watching the first stars of evening come out from hiding.
“We oughta go,” Ray said.
Crow Horse squeezed Ray’s hand, and then he brought his hand up to the back of Ray’s neck and rested it there.
“There ain’t no hurry,” Crow Horse said.
Ray felt the heat rising on his cheeks, even surrounded by the cool of a desert night. The rough pads of Crow Horse’s fingers tickled the nape of Ray’s neck. He knew he should pull away, but instead he leaned back, into the touch.
Crow Horse used his other hand to tip Ray’s chin so they were looking at each other, and then he passed the pad of his thumb, slowly, over Ray’s lips. Ray took a breath, involuntarily, and Crow Horse pushed his thumb into Ray’s mouth. He tasted salty, loamy, like the earth and the sea. Then Crow Horse leaned forward and kissed him, and that was like heaven.
***
They’d kissed. It was only a dream, Ray thought, and not a vision.
At least, he hoped it was a dream, and not a vision.
“There a reason you’re so jumpy today?” Crow Horse demanded the second time Ray spilled coffee on himself when Crow Horse entered the room.
“N-no,” Ray managed, wiping ineffectually at his soiled shirtfront. “Just didn’t get much sleep last night, I guess.”
“Don’t be complaining about the couch again, now.”
“I’m not. It’s very nice of you to let me stay.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a humanitarian. Look sharp; I can’t have my FBI acting all strange, now.”
“Thanks, boss,” Ray said morosely.
Crow Horse clapped a hand on Ray’s shoulder as he walked by; Ray jumped again. Crow Horse sighed, and muttered to himself in Lakota as he left the room.
So what if they’d kissed? It had only been a dream.
And if he’d liked it, then, well, that was just part of the dream, too.
***
They took another run at the truck that evening. Ray found working on the engine soothing; it was enough to forget how nervous his dream had made him, and they fell easily back into step.
“All right,” Crow Horse said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Let’s see if we’ve raised the dead.”
Ray got behind the wheel, and turned the key. The truck’s motor growled quietly to life; Ray grinned hugely.
“Well, all right,” Crow Horse said.
Ray poked his head out the window. “You wanna go for a ride?”
***
Ray followed Crow Horse’s directions, an occasional one or two words in his gravely tone over the cadence of rocks and sand beating the truck’s undercarriage. They stopped at a mesa, the setting sun splashing the pale walls brilliant shades of orange and red.
“It’s beautiful,” Ray said.
“Thought you’d like to see more of the rez than speeders and drunk ’n’ disorderlies.”
Ray smiled. “Thanks.”
They got out of the truck, leaning against the grill and watching the sky darken, watching the mesa bruise to purples and grays. As the first stars became visible, the warmth of the desert day bled away. Ray shivered. Crow Horse turned to look at him, and for a moment Ray was sure he was going to make fun of him, but instead he took off his denim jacket and draped it across Ray’s shoulders.
Ray looked back at him, but Crow Horse looked away.
“Why’d you tear up my ticket?” he asked softly. “Is it because you wanted to make nice with the new FBI on your block?”
“As FBI goes, you’re pretty harmless,” Crow Horse said, dark eyes on the constellations.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Ray said.
Crow Horse filled his lungs with air, exhaled slowly.
“You weren’t speeding,” he said finally. “Wouldn’t’ve held up in court.”
“The wind isn’t a reliable witness in tribal court?” Ray asked. “I thought the wind told you I was speeding. I thought it told you to nail me.”
Crow Horse looked at him, finally. Ray couldn’t read the expression on his face.
“It did,” Crow Horse said finally.
“So? Why didn’t you?”
Crow Horse’s jaw tensed. He started walking away, back towards the driver’s side door. “Leave it.”
“No. I want to know. Why didn’t you nail me?”
Suddenly, Crow Horse grabbed him by the arms, pushed him back into the body of the truck. Ray’s breath was shaken out of him. He was about to protest, but then he caught a dark shine in Crow Horse’s eyes, and the words died in his throat.
“Walter,” he said instead, quietly.
Crow Horse started walking away again; Ray followed him. He put his hand on Crow Horse’s shoulder.
“Walter.”
Crow Horse spun around, looking at him with that mad shine.
“Maybe I was afraid you’d get spooked, run off,” he said.
“You thought they’d send someone else, someone like Coutelle?” he said. “That’s why you’ve been placating me?”
Crow Horse looked pained.
“Maybe I just wanted you to stay,” he said finally.
The words hit Ray square in the gut, so hard that a small noise escaped his throat. Ray thought of the nights he’d spent on Crow Horse’s couch, how Crow Horse had never said a word about him finding his own place, how he worked around Ray’s shirts hanging off the backs of chairs and his toiletries littering the bathroom sink. Ray’s hands shook, and for a minute he couldn’t think of what to do with them. He felt too touched to be afraid, and he wrapped his hands around Crow Horse’s biceps, pulled him forward, so they were only inches apart.
“Ray,” Crow Horse said, his voice smaller than Ray had ever heard it.
“You wanted me to stay,” Ray echoed. “You wanted me to stay.”
That dark shine was still in Crow Horse’s eyes, more pronounced than before. For the first time, Ray thought he knew what it meant. Maybe it had been a vision, not a dream. He pulled Crow Horse against him, and kissed him. Exhilaration thrummed through Ray’s veins, his pulse pounding in his ears, the raw honey, limestone-rich water taste of Crow Horse flooding his mouth.
They broke for air, panting. Crow Horse was looking at him strangely, a hard look Ray couldn’t identify, and panic washed over Ray. Oh no. He had read things wrong, he was going to have to leave South Dakota, and God knows where he’d go from here, what dead end job he’d find himself in-
Crow Horse grabbed Ray roughly by the hair, by the waist, and kissed him so hard he tasted copper. He pushed Ray back until he hit the truck, and then he kept pushing, so that Ray was compressed between the hot metal body of the truck and Crow Horse’s broad frame.
Ray fumbled behind him until he found the door handle. Crow Horse allowed Ray enough berth to open the door, and then lifted him into the cab. Ray scooted back until he hit the other door, his hands reaching for Crow Horse as he climbed in over him.
Ray tangled his fingers through Crow Horse’s hair, pulled Crow Horse down, crushing their mouths together. Crow Horse’s hand snaked up under Ray’s t-shirt, teasing the sensitive skin of his belly and ribs. Ray quivered; Crow Horse laughed.
“You ticklish, Mr. Big Deal FBI?” Crow Horse said.
Ray bit Crow Horse’s ear. Crow Horse moaned, and dropped the subject.
Crow Horse rubbed the heel of his hand over Ray’s fly, and Ray bucked up into the touch.
“Eager there, aren’cha, Mr. Big Deal FBI?”
Ray growled. “Stop calling me that.”
Crow Horse stilled, his face animated by real interest. “What should I call you?”
“My name,” Ray said softly. “Call me by my name.”
Crow Horse kissed him, gently, at the corner of his mouth.
“Ray,” he whispered. “Raymond.”
Another kiss, fully on the mouth. Ray held him down, kissed him until he lost his breath.
“Walter . . .”
Walter worked the button of Ray’s fly through the eye, ran the zipper down. He slipped his hand between the linen of Ray’s shorts and his eager flesh, taking Ray in hand. Ray thrust up into Walter’s palm, fumbled with the front of Walter’s jeans. It was like his body had switched to autopilot; there was no thought, only action. And it felt so right.
***
They lay afterwards in the lingering heat of the truck’s cabin, a tangle of limbs. Ray, who was used to the soft curves of women, was surprised how comfortable it was laying with Crow Horse, resting on his chest, their legs intertwined.
“All right, there,” Crow Horse said softly. He combed his fingers through Ray’s hair.
Ray stretched against him. “That was . . .”
Crow Horse’s arm tightened around him. “Yeah.”
***
Crow Horse drove them home. Ray fed Jimmy, and let him outside. Crow Horse started pawing through the fridge for ingredients that might make an edible dinner. Ray let Jimmy in, and went to help Crow Horse. Everything was going fine, but then something about the way Crow Horse spread mustard over bread drove Ray from reason, and he grabbed Crow Horse and pressed him against the counter and kissed him senseless.
Crow Horse, his mouth still on Ray’s and his hands beginning to loosen both their clothes, drove them back into the bedroom.
Looking at the expanse of Crow Horse’s bed, panic set in. You’ve already had sex with him, Ray’s mind said reasonably.
“We don’t have to,” Crow Horse said.
Ray started. He tore his eyes up, forced himself to look Crow Horse in the face.
“I want to,” he said.
Crow Horse grinned crookedly. “Well, all right, then.”
Ray turned away. He studied the pattern of the quilt on Crow Horse’s bed while he took off his t-shirt. He had it half off when he felt Crow Horse’s hands on him, helping strip the material from him. Ray’s breath caught in his chest. Crow Horse’s fingertips ghosted down the central longitude of Ray’s body, and Crow Horse stepped forward so that his chest was against Ray’s back, his pelvis against Ray’s ass. Crow Horse began to unbuckle Ray’s belt, which was a good thing, because Ray’s hands were shaking too hard to do it himself.
“Easy,” Crow Horse murmured, his breath hot on the back of Ray’s neck.
Crow Horse stripped Ray to his shorts, and then Ray turned, faced him. Ray rested his hands on Crow Horse’s chest, felt them move with Crow Horse’s breath, felt Crow Horse’s pulse pound into his palms. Then he pulled Crow Horse’s t-shirt off, and he unbuttoned Crow Horse’s fly. It was so strange to be undressing a man; Ray knew the mechanics, because it was the same way he undressed himself, but this was like undressing a mirror image-strange, exciting.
When they were both in their shorts, Crow Horse stepped forward, backing Ray against the bed. Ray climbed onto the mattress, pushing himself back into the bank of pillows cushioning the headboard. Crow Horse loomed over him, the horsehair whip of his hair tickling Ray’s bare flesh, and kissed him. The taste of him was at once familiar and novel, like a new favorite food. Ray threaded his fingers through Crow Horse’s hair and he kissed him back, some of his nervousness bleeding out. He knew how to do this; it felt like his body was made to do this.
Crow Horse’s mouth traveled slowly down Ray’s body, igniting sensation in its wake. Ray writhed into the pillows; his grip grew limp in Crow Horse’s hair. Crow Horse’s mouth, an inferno, slipped over the fly of Ray’s shorts, and Ray raised his hips, a mewl tearing from his throat. Crow Horse nipped at him, a pinch with the flat blades of his teeth, and that was it; Ray came, bucking and panting.
Crow Horse looked up at him, grinning, and Ray blushed; he hadn’t come that quickly since before he had hair on his chest.
“That’s’a boy,” Crow Horse purred, and patted Ray’s hip, and Ray relaxed.
Crow Horse moved back up Ray’s body and took the joint of Ray’s jaw in his palm, kissed him roughly. Ray could feel Crow Horse’s erection against his leg, could feel the fever warmth of Crow Horse’s excited flesh against his own.
“I want inside you,” Crow Horse whispered.
Ray swallowed, thickly. If you had asked him, back before Bear Creek, back before the stronghold-back before Walter Crow Horse-if he could even stomach the thought of a man fucking him, the answer would have been no. But he would have been lying if he said he had not imagined Crow Horse taking him, the feel of Crow Horse inside him.
He would have been lying if he said he didn’t want it now.
Ray nodded. Crow Horse kissed him again, so rough Ray’s lips felt bruised, and then flipped Ray onto his belly. Ray let Crow Horse move him; his pulse beat like a timpani in his head, and he doubted he could have moved himself.
Crow Horse left the bed for a minute, and Ray panted into the pillows. He was going to get fucked. In a minute, Crow Horse was going to come back to the bed, and he was going to fuck him.
Crow Horse’s weight shifted the mattress. He climbed over Ray, and Ray concentrated on slowing his breathing; the feel of Crow Horse’s weight over him was actually nice, reassuring. He felt comfortably contained.
Crow Horse kissed his shoulder, the bumps of his spine. The rough flats of Crow Horse’s palms traveling over his body, like a blind man trying to make sense of the terrain.
Crow Horse slipped Ray’s shorts off, snuck a hand around Ray’s hip, and stroked Ray’s cock, the way you might pet a dog. It wasn’t meant to bring him off, just to give him the sensation, and Ray could not remember ever being touched like that. The thought made him feel so small, so vulnerable, that a knot condensed in his throat.
Crow Horse’s fingers trailed over Ray’s newly bared skin, the dimples where his pelvis met his spine, the curve of his ass, the ticklish skin on the back of his thighs. Ray shivered, pressed himself into the mattress. He needed something to ground him.
“All right?” Crow Horse asked, his voice rough.
Ray swallowed thickly; he didn’t trust his voice.
“Yeah,” he said, and it was as he feared, his voice small, shaking.
Both of Crow Horse’s hands, now, cradling Ray’s hips, running up his ribs and down over his thighs.
“This good for you?” Crow Horse asked.
Ray couldn’t help himself; he whimpered. He had never been asked that question before.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Okay,” Crow Horse said. “It’s okay; I’m gonna take good care of you.”
“Yeah,” Ray said, and he believed him. He wanted to know what that meant, Crow Horse taking care of him.
For a moment Crow Horse’s hands were off him, and Ray heard Crow Horse fooling with something, a stubborn cap. Then Crow Horse’s fingers, suddenly lightning slick, slid inside him. Ray exhaled sharply. At first it was strange, uncomfortable, an invasion, but then Crow Horse began moving his fingers inside of him, and Ray felt something within him bloom, opening and unfurling, and soon Ray was moaning into the pillows. Then Crow Horse’s fingers hit some secret spot inside of him, and Ray was overtaken by sensation. He lost his breath; he felt like he was losing his mind, losing control of his body.
“Oh, God, please, please . . .”
“Shh, shh, easy now,” Crow Horse murmured. He gentled some. But Ray didn’t want him to gentle; he wanted more.
“Now,” he rasped. “Please, Walter, do it now . . .”
Crow Horse hesitated a moment, then withdrew his hand. Crow Horse shifted above him. Pressure, and then a line of the purest pain Ray had ever known; he gritted his teeth and swallowed it down, swallowed down the voice in his head, no no no what are you doing this is wrong no. Crow Horse pushed fully into him and then paused, bent over him, kissing Ray’s neck and whispering soft, formless words into his skin. Finally the pressure relaxed and the pain relaxed, and Crow Horse drew back, and then pushed slowly in, and after a moment it was like Crow Horse’s fingers inside him but on some wonderful drug, and the first time Crow Horse hit that secret spot Ray’s vision flooded black and red like he’d taken a blow to the face.
Crow Horse squeezed Ray’s shoulders and whispered, “Sugar, Sugar Ray,” and then lovely, rhythmic words like poetry in Lakota, and Ray felt Crow Horse inside him and all around him and he felt so loved and connected that he wanted to cry.
It was like coming home.
***
That night, Ray didn’t dream. He slept peacefully in Walter’s arms.