Fic: Renegades: Rebels and Rogues.

Author: Roo

Warnings: NC-17, PWP, graphic lemon, angst, sap, first-time, slash, mild BSDM, rimming, incest reference. 19 pages of pure smut.

Archive: Yes, but warning label, credit and link to Lemon Heaven required: www.geocities.com/dragoness_fei/

Feedback: This was just a little fluke written quickly to pass the time, but respectful, honest insight always welcome!

Dragoness_fei@yahoo.com Hope you enjoy!



Rebels and Rogues.
by Roo

Buster listened to the wet sounds of the rain slosh off the side of the motel roof. It made a hollow, lonely sort of drumming sound as it splashed down the tin gutter directly outside his window. It was cold; the spring night air smelled clean and crisp. He had left the window open, to keep an ear out for the sound of any approaching footsteps. Buster kept tight rein on the budding hope that he might have a visitor tonight. Still… he left the window-- and his options-- open.

After all, Hank Storm proved himself anything but a predictable man. He was a rebel, that one. Left his home, the reservation, and the Lakota way of life; only to discover that nothing else fit better. Fate had thrust them both together in the most unlikely circumstances, and from the beginning, the Indian had never done as Buster expected.

But Buster had a sense that the man would come to him before he went back to Philly. The hair on the back of his neck had been standing up all day. His body fairly hummed with electricity, a nervous energy building up in him ever since he left the Indian on the plain, his invitation a clear offering. An offering Buster secretly hoped with all his heart that Hank Storm would take.

A sudden knock on the door roused Buster from his musings. With a nervous sigh, he rolled off of his disheveled bed and crossed the wooden floor, his boots tapping out a rhythm that belied his doubts. He swung the door open and froze like a deer in headlights as Hank stood in the rain, water dripping down his hair and cheeks. The Indian just looked at him while leaning casually up against the chipped doorframe, his hands tucked comfortably in his jean pockets.

Hank shot him a lop-sided grin. "You gonna let me in, or should we just have ourselves a wet tee-shirt contest?"

The question invoked a series of mental images, each with Hank in a different state of undress, his thin cotton shirt soaked, opened, two dusky nipples peeping through. It took Buster a few moments to recover.

"Ah… yeah, ah… Come in. Come in." He stood to the side, pushing the door farther open with his right hand. Hank brushed past, his brown leather jacket nonchalantly brushing over Buster's left arm. The faint scent of musk, soap and straw permeated the air, leaving Buster a little heady. "I'm glad you could make it," he managed to croak out.

Hank turned around, raking his eyes up and down over Buster's frame. "Well, it's not as though life has been terribly busy these days. Besides, I said I would come."

Buster smiled. "No, you didn't. You said you knew where to find me. I had no idea you'd actually come."

Hank returned the smile, a wicked light gleaming briefly in his dark eyes. "Yeah, well, I like to keep you guessing."

"So I noticed," Buster muttered, extending a hand to indicate Hank should take the only seat in the room. He walked over to the nightstand and took up a cheap bottle of whiskey. "Drink?"

"No, thank you." Hank sat gracefully, crossing his lean legs with ease.

Buster raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You insulting me by refusing my hospitality?"

The Indian shook his head slightly, a lock of jet-black hair spilling over his shoulder. "I'm not so good with your white man's firewater."

Buster snorted indelicately. "Yeah, right, Chief. Good one. I didn't think there was anything you couldn't handle."

Hank stilled, his eyes glinting sharply in the low level lighting. "There isn't. When I'm sober."

Buster had the good sense to let it drop, nodding as if he understood. "I hope you don't mind if I have a drink then?"

Hank shrugged and Buster proceeded to down about a quarter of the bottle in one smooth gulp. He needed a stiff drink, if actually planned on seducing his friend tonight. The Indian said nothing, but watched him closely, his taciturn expression unreadable.

"I find there's nothing I can't handle when I'm not sober," he explained, taking another swig.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" The voice fell quietly, a light touch to his ears. No trace of accusation, only concern.

Buster couldn't keep the giddy smile off his face. "No, for once."

Hank lowered his chin a bit, peering at him with serious misgivings. "You can tell me if you are. I will help you."

Buster laughed. "Jesus, Chief, I'm not in trouble. Can't a friend just pay a visit?"

Hank said nothing, only crossed his arms. They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, before Buster moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "I just missed you, I guess." It came out more like a guilty confession than an explanation, and Buster blushed slightly.

"All right," Hank replied. "But don't call me Chief."

Buster looked up, grateful for the way out. "Fine. But pain-in-the-ass is a lot harder to say."

Mischievous lightening flashed in the Indian's eyes, and Buster watched with interest as Hank stood up to tower over him. "Pain in the ass? Did I hear that correctly? I think you got that backwards. Besides. I did not come here to be insulted, Buster." As he started to move away, Buster grabbed his forearm and drew him closer.

"Why did you come here?" he dared, his voice breathy and uneven.

For a second Hank froze, his body tense like a taut bowstring. Then his should visibly slumped. "Let's just say I missed you, too."

The cop stood up, not letting go of the Hank's arm and not giving him an inch of personal space. "You could have called."

More ebony strands of hair escaped as Hank shook his head. "Don't have a phone."

Buster's eyes locked on Hank's chiseled features, watching as the lips formed the words. He kept his gaze there, keenly noting the smooth skin along his jaw-line, the delicate lines and indents of his mouth. "Maybe you should get one," he whispered huskily.

"Maybe I should," Hank whispered back, "but I hope you'll have something better to say than insults."

With a deep breath, Buster closed the distance between them slowly. His eyes drifted shut as the sensation of the kiss washed over him. A simple affair. A closed mouth pressed gently against his, brushing faintly across his bottom lip, adding just a hint of pressure on the corner of his mouth.

Perfection.

It made him hungry for more, mad for more contact. He parted his mouth, rejoicing in his small victory when Hank swept his tongue swiftly inside for a taste. The Indian pulled back and looked at him warily.

"You taste like whiskey."

Buster could feel the dopey grin on his face. "That would make sense, wouldn't it?"

Hank nodded absently, tracing his index finger over Buster's mustache. "It burns. You'll make me drunk, tasting like liquor."

He just knew he would burst out of his skin if Hank didn't kiss him again. The sudden urgency made him bold, and Buster grasped Hank's jacket, tugging their bodies together. He ground his hardness into Hank's thigh, leaving no question in the Indian's mind about his desire. Staring hotly into those endless eyes, Buster challenged, "Then make me taste like you."

Instantly Hank's pupils dilated, making his eyes impossibly dark and dangerous. Buster could feel the man's sweet breath course over his face, the Indian's growing erection making its presence known in the close proximity. For a moment he could only stand there, clinging to Hank's jacket like a piece of driftwood on the sea.

"Do you have any idea what you're asking for?" Hank ground out, his voice dropping an octave.

Buster shook his head, tilting back slightly to gauge Hank better. "Not really."

With deliberate control, the Indian removed Buster's hands from his shoulders, and took a step back. "Then don't ask it of me."

Buster knew he must have resembled a kicked puppy just then, but he couldn't hide his disappointment. "I thought you wanted…" He ducked his head, ashamed that he even tried to pull this off. "I thought you wanted me."

Hank stared at Buster incredulously, and it just reinforced his disgrace. He wrenched away, moving backwards, but Hank held firmly onto his hands.

"Of course I want you!" Hank stomped his foot in exasperation, then squeezed Buster's shaking hands between both palms. "But not enough to risk our friendship."

Buster looked up, hope rekindling. "Our friendship---"

"You said yourself, you don't know what you're asking. I'm not about to fuck you in some cheap motel just so you can wake up in the morning and hate me for it." Hank dropped his hands and turned his back on Buster, clearly making his way to exit.

Buster charged after him, resting his back on the door to prevent Hank from reaching for the knob. "Hank. I want this, too." He cupped the man's face. "And I could never hate you." He grinned bravely, attempting to look reassuring. "Loathe and despise, well, yes, I do that already, but hate---"

He groaned exaggeratedly as Hank punched him lightly in the stomach. "Watch your mouth, there." As Buster doubled over in mock-pain, Hank grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged his head up, pushing him roughly against the door. A long, slender leg wedged itself between Buster's knees, moving up his inner thighs sensually to brush under his reawakening hardness. This time Buster groaned in earnest. "Or I may have to teach you some manners."

Heat infused Buster's cheeks, those petals of crimson marking his arousal. He panted slightly, nodding his ascent. "Yes, I think you do."

Hank kissed him again, and this time it felt raw, aggressive and full of sinister promise. Buster arched into the hand that traveled possessively from his face, down his chest and across his abdomen, until it rested over the tent in his jeans. He pressed forward as Hank cupped him, teasing him with purposefully scant pressure. Instinctively, Buster covered Hank's hand with his own, forcing him to rub harder, until he broke the kiss with an abandoned sigh.

Hank smirked. "Impatient?"

Growling, Buster spun them around until Hank's back pressed up against the door, his callused hands lifted in surrender on either side of the doorframe. "Don't forget you're messing with a seasoned cop, Chief."

Hank looked anything but impressed. "A rogue cop at that."

Buster nodded, watching suspiciously as the Indian struggled not to respond to the similarly inadequate touches Buster now gave him. "Perhaps. But I always get what I want. And that's a promise." To emphasize his point, Buster flattened his hand against Hank's bulge and pawed him with delicious friction. The Indian sucked in a gasp and pushed his hips forward.

"Impatient and cocky," Hank muttered. "Looks like I'll have to teach you some manners." As quick as a thunderbolt, Hank shoved Buster across the room and down onto the bed, never giving him a moment of respite. Buster blinked owlishly, wondering how he managed to end up sprawled across the mattress, with Hank imprisoning him by the wrists. "And that's a promise," the Indian whispered, the tip of his tongue sneaking out to trace the shell of Buster's ear.

"Oh God." Buster whimpered. "Not the ear." Lust peeked his arousal, and he wrapped his legs securely around Hank's thighs without conscious thought. The cradle of their hips mashed together, both of them jerking as their swollen cocks brushed across each other.

Hank moaned, his tongue moving down to lick the sweat off the column of Buster's throat. The cop closed his eyes and offered up his neck, thrilling to feel Hank nip and suck where he pleased. He sighed happily as the Indian blew warmth over the wet trails now marking Buster's flesh. Before long, neither of them could keep from rubbing against each other, the pressure and texture of their jeans a drowning torture of pain and pleasure.

Buster opened his legs wider, letting Hank settle firmly between his thighs. He clutched the swell of the Indian's buttocks and pushed their groins together with more urgency, earning a startled grunt from Hank. Soon the Indian lost control, humping Buster deeper and deeper into the mattress, each thrust becoming faster, more firm, more demanding. Buster watched in fascination as Hank bit his lower lip to keep from crying out, the forceful tandem of their fully clothed bodies shaking the bed.

Buster had never been so turned-on in all his life; he lifted his head for an impassioned kiss, moaning wantonly into Hank's mouth as his hips snapped quickly in a series of short, frantic jabs. Just as Buster dangled on the edge of orgasm, Hank broke the kiss to bite down savagely on the chords of Buster's throat in a primal, symbolic display of dominance. That alone sent Buster screaming into ecstasy, creaming his pants full of sticky, hot ejaculate. Not far behind, Hank jerked one last time, gasping as bliss spread across his face and warmth flooded his jeans. He sprawled on top of Buster, their heavy, hard breaths mingling across the pillow.

For a long time they said nothing; Buster cautiously ran his fingers up and down Hank's spine, still reeling from the suddenness of it all. Perhaps they were afraid to look at each other, afraid to break the spell. But since Buster had done the inviting, and the initiating, he supposed it was also his duty to get the awkwardness out of the way.

"I like the way you teach manners," he spoke softly, a bit of teasing laced in his voice.

Hank chuckled. "That was hardly what I'd call a lesson in anything, except how to rub off and come like a bunch of horny teenagers."

Buster laughed outright. "I couldn't wait any longer." He grinned in remembrance. "It wasn't my fault, either. You're just too damned sexy."

Hank rested his head on his hand and glared at Buster. "Nothing's ever your fault, is it?" Buster gave him his trademark look of innocence, which made Hank snicker with contempt. "You're hopeless, city boy."

The cop stretched a little, nuzzling the pillow contentedly before tracing his fingertips over Hank's jaw. "Kiss me?"

Hank melted a little, Buster could tell by his expression, and they shared a tender kiss, licking and sucking at each other's lips for quite some time as they basked in the afterglow. "You're really something, you know that?" Hank commented.

Buster smirked. "Something good or something bad?"

For a long time, Hank looked deeply into Buster's eyes. "Something that belongs to me."

Buster had been caught off-guard by the sincere declaration, but liked hearing it nonetheless. Unable to speak, he nodded. He simply sighed as Hank drizzled soft, butterfly kisses down his chin and throat, almost unaware of the slender fingers that were undoing the buttons of his shirt.

As he bared every inch of Buster's snow-white skin, Hank deftly placed a kiss or nip there. Buster struggled for temperance, ignoring his trepidation as Hank neared the seat of his pants. Softly, but surely, the Indian removed Buster's shirt from his jeans, and then stopped to splay his questing hands across Buster's taut belly, drinking in the sight.

Buster wet his lips, trying to keep his breathing under control as the Indian assessed him with a mixture of hunger and something more predatory. "No fair," he murmured.

"What?" Hank sat up on his haunches.

"No fair. You're wearing too many clothes." Buster reached up, yanking on the lapel of Hank's brown coat.

With a feral grin, Hank slowly took his coat off one shoulder and then the other, fixing Buster with a naughty, knowing look. "Impatient, cocky and demanding… The strikes just keep adding up."

Buster sat up, and with a surge of renewed courage, ripped Hank's shirt open. Trailing kisses across the Indian's cheek and ear he whispered, "Guess you'll just have to teach me better there, Chief."

Hank pulled Buster up until he practically sat in his lap, Buster's legs on either side of Hank's thighs. Buster heard the wallop noise before he registered the sensation of being spanked.

"Ouch!"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Hank murmured. "Don't call me Chief."

"Bastard!" Buster hissed as Hank slapped his flanks again. "Ouch, dammit."

"Are you going to be a good boy?" Hank asked, his tone rich with laughter.

"Nope," Buster shot back. "I don't have it in me."

Gently, Hank leaned them both backwards until Buster rested comfortably across the mattress. "We'll just see about that."

The Indian launched a full-on assault of Buster's senses, attaching his greedy mouth to the cop's right nipple, his thumb and forefinger preoccupied with torturing Buster's left nub.

"Ah! Oh!" Buster squirmed, his hands clutching the sheets as he grappled with the totally foreign sensations. "Jesus, Hank."

But Hank could not be deterred. The ravenous mouth descended still farther, tickling at Buster's ribs and quivering abdomen. Hank licked the salt from Buster's skin methodically, lingering every time Buster's breath hitched. "You sadist!" Buster accused, as Hank opened his fly with nothing but teeth.

Hank grinned wolfishly. "My dear little rogue, I haven't even begun!"

"Shit," Buster muttered, lifting up to help Hank strip him of pants and underwear. He suddenly remembered the results of their previous activities, and blushed as Hank took in the evidence of his spending.

Hank looked at him with affection. "You're pretty when you blush,
cowboy."

"Oh fuck you."

"Maybe later." Hank swooped on him, lapping up the ropes of Buster's cooling lust, until his hips and thighs glistened clean. "You taste better than whiskey," the Indian admonished.

"Hank…" Buster gripped the iron bars of the headboard behind him as Hank took Buster's new erection deep into the cavern of his mouth. "Hank!"

"Hm," the man murmured noncommittally, taking more of Buster's length in with practiced ease. A steel-strong arm braced over Buster's pelvis, holding his bucking hips in place as Hank pleasured him. Buster mewed as Hank's tongue swirled around and around the head of his cock, until he began to see stars at the edge of his vision.

It felt unlike any time a woman had his done this to him; the lucid, exquisite sensation both calmed and excited Buster. Hank's skill probably came from experiences as a man. At least, Buster hoped so, for he feared being unable to please Hank because of his ignorance in these matters.

He hoped his enthusiasm would make up for his sexual inexperience with men. For while he desperately wanted to show his lover how much he cared for him, he walked a fine line. Neither one of them were looking for a marriage proposal, but this wasn't just a simple toss in the hay, either. He cared for the Indian, perhaps more than Hank would want. He cared so much, in fact, that he wanted Hank to be his first. If he were perfectly honest, he wanted Hank to be his only.

"Hank, stop. Stop, I'm gonna come."

The Indian lifted his head, his red lips glistening with a light sheen of saliva. "Buster, you're going to have to trust me here. I know what I'm doing, and you won’t come until I want you to."

"That's such a comforting thought," Buster wryly bit out.

Hank shifted minutely, leaning over Buster on all fours, so that they were face to face. "Undress me."

Buster swallowed convulsively, lifting his hands to Hank's button-down fly. His fingers trembled a bit, but he somehow got the buttons undone, and slipped his hand inside to palm the hot erection still encased in Hank's boxers. He could feel the lukewarm liquid of the man's previous release, and underneath that, the substantial length. With as much finesse as he could muster, he pushed the materials down past Hank's hips, and a few inches down his thighs.

He stared at the Indian's malehood; it's salient size and weeping tip more than a little daunting.

"You've never done this before, have you?" Hank pierced him with an unforgiving stare.

"What?" Buster tried to keep his voice from squeaking.

"Earlier. When I asked if you knew what you were doing… I meant did you know what you were doing to us. I see now I should have taken you more literally."

Buster looked away, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I wasn't lying to you…"

Two fingers insistently tapped Buster's chin back to center, forcing him to look at Hank. "I never accused you of lying, Buster. I was merely saying I should have been more… considerate. You just came on so strong…"

"Yeah well," Buster huffed his mounting frustration, "I know what I want. I just… don't know what I want."

"Care to try that again?"

"Argh. I meant, I know that I want you. I do, Hank. I really, really want you. I have no idea why--"

"Well, thank you very much."

"I mean, Jesus, Hank, I've never lusted after a guy before!"

Hank chuckled candidly. "You lust after me? I never would have noticed…"

Buster frowned, suddenly austere. "Are you making fun of me?"

Hank sobered. "No. You were saying? Go on."

"I want this with you, I'm just not sure... of the logistics. So I guess, for now, you'll have to lead and I'll follow."

Hank smiled sweetly, running his hands up and down Buster's arms in a soothing motion. "I hope you're better at following in the sack than you are on the streets."

"I hope you're up to the task," Buster quipped.

Hank leaned forward so that their lips were just barely touching, letting his words scrape over Buster's mouth. "I'm up for it. The question is, are you?"

Buster could think of no more convincing an argument then a sound kiss and the fervent, hasty removal of the rest of their clothes. Latching on with all his strength, the policeman invaded Hank's mouth with gusto, little pleading noises escaping his throat every now and again. Somehow, amid the wild wrestling match, they managed to rid themselves of all that hindering clothing. Feverish flesh flushed against flesh, Hank's honey-bronze skin contrasting nicely with Buster's milky-white complexion.

Hank cradled Buster's head in the crook of his arm, his expression endearingly dazed. "You're really something, Buster."

Buster smiled sheepishly. "Well, whatever that something is, it's yours, if you want it."

Hank ran his thumb across Buster's lower lip, smearing the wetness there. "I'll take it," he whispered, leaning in to capture another kiss.

Buster's sense of time evaporated; it seemed as though they kissed and touched each other for hours. Using his hands, Buster mapped Hank's body with devotion, all the while taking mental notes of every expert caress and kiss.

"You're so good at this," Buster blurted out. "Have you been with many men before?"

Hank started. "Am I a cock hound, do you mean?"

Buster blushed to his roots. "No! I just meant… you've obviously had practice… I mean…"

Hank raised a hand in warning. "Just stop before you dig your own grave," he said good-naturedly. "Yes, I have done this before. And yes, I have done this often. But not with many men. Mostly, with just one."

Buster blinked, absorbing this information. "A lover?"

"Yes. He was very special to me." Hank's voice held such melancholy in it. Buster stroked his fingers gently through the Indian's silky tresses, deep in thought.

"But now he's gone?"

Hank's eyes misted for a moment, his voice sounding like gravel or broken glass. "Yeah."

For a long time, Buster stared at Hank before realization dawned. "Your brother?"

Bitterly, Hank nodded. "I suppose that grosses you out, huh?"

Buster worked his jaw. "Incest? Um, it should. But seeing as how I'm in a motel room making out with another guy, I can't throw stones." He twirled his fingers around one large strand of Hank's hair, pulling him closer. "Besides, I get the feeling that whatever happens between you and your bedmates, it's meaningful. And that makes it OK in my book." Hank looked relieved. "Besides, I'm glad you've got some experience. And it's just as well it was with your brother."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, he grew up with you. So he was used to seeing your ugly face everyday—oof!"

"Piece of shit!" Hank spat out in jest, pressing all his weight down on Buster's stomach. "So now that's impatient, cocky, demanding and insulting. Buster… Where do you keep your handcuffs?"

Buster stiffened, his eyes widening in shock. "You're not serious?"

Hank leveled him with a look.

"Hank? That's some crazy shit. I'm not telling you where my--"

"Don't you trust me?"

"Fuck no!"

"Buster, do you think if I really wanted to subdue you, that I'd have to use handcuffs?" Hank folded his arms across his chest, his look intense. Buster's memory flashed full of scenes where Hank welded him around Philadelphia like a well-used tool.

"You got me there."

"Handcuffs?"

"I'll get them." Buster shifted up onto his elbows before Hank slapped a hand on his chest.

"Just tell me where to get them."

Buster pressed his lips together in aggravation, not liking the smug expression on the Indian's face. "Don't you trust me?"

"Fuck no."

The standoff lasted for a few seconds, before Hank enticingly slid his groin across Buster's engorged penis.

"Suitcase. Brown pants pocket," Buster choked out.

Hank swiftly got up and walked across the room, leaving Buster to appreciate the comely sight of his naked body in motion. The Indian made quick work of Buster's belongings, heading straight for the handcuffs and then doubling back.

"What are you doing to do with those?" Buster asked.

"I'm going to bake a cake." Hank deadpanned, straddling Buster before lifting his left arm and cuffing it to the headboard.

"Aren't you doing to cuff the other hand?"

"No."

"No?"

"This is your first time, Buster. I don't want to take away your freedom of choice; I just want to narrow the field a little. You can stop me anytime you want."

Buster nodded. "So, now what do we do?"

Hank titled his head. "I can't believe that anyone on the force as long as you has no idea about anal sex?"

"I meant, smart ass, what would you like me to do?"

Hank grinned. "Sit there and look pretty."

"You--"

"Are you prepared? Were you a boy scout?"

"Huh?" Buster frowned.

Rolling his eyes, Hank wiggled a bit in Buster's lap. "Do you have any lube?"

Buster blinked. "You mean like jelly?"

"That could work. Or Vaseline? Lotion even?"

The cop blushed crimson again, clearing his suddenly tight throat. "There should be some in the bathroom…"

Hank nodded, getting back up. "Don't get used to me fetching you everything, cowboy. I'm just doing this while you're cuffed, you know."

"You mean we can't play cowboy and Indian love slave?"

Hank shot him a wilting glare before disappearing out of view.

"Guess not. Hey, how about Indian and cowboy love slave?" he called out.

Hank returned from the bathroom, bottle in hand. "Now you're getting the idea." As swiftly as it had come, the joking manner evaporated off of Hank's face, and he quietly took Buster's free hand up in his own. "This is the last time I'm gonna ask you this, Buster. Are you sure?"

Touched by Hank's tender concern for him, Buster lifted the Indian's hand to his lips and kissed it. "I've never been more sure of anything, Hank."

Hank used that hand to tilt Buster's face up, exposing his neck. He bit down again, growling something unintelligible. "Spread your legs," he ordered gruffly.

"Yes, master," Buster replied cheekily.

"Careful. I may get to like hearing that title."

Buster swallowed thickly as Hank tongue-traced random patterns down his torso. The Indian savagely pushed Buster's legs farther open, sliding the cop's knees up almost to his chest. Without warning, Buster felt the velvet-soft tip of Hank's tongue brush across his most intimate area.

"What are you…?"

"Shhh. Just enjoy it." Hank continued to lave at Buster's opening, swirling his tongue around the rim of the puckered ring. Just when Buster thought he would die from the pleasure of it, Hank entered him slightly.

He almost brought the headboard down, Buster convulsed so forcefully. Panting, gripping Hank's hair with his free hand, Buster cried out uncontrollably.

A soothing hand massaged his thigh, and in time Buster heard Hank's calm voice. "…It's OK. Buster, just breathe. It's OK."

"Ha… Hank."

"Yeah, I'm here. Are you all right?"

Buster nodded, his cerulean blue eyes screwed shut.

"Did you like that?"

He had no idea how to respond to that question. Yes, it felt fantastic, but on the other hand, it had been so weird, so personal. So… very not hygienic… Not that sex should be hygienic, but…

"Did it feel good?"

"Yes," Buster managed.

"Do you want me to do it some more?"

Buster opened his eyes, taking in Hank's sincere expression, his parted lips, and that drop-dead sexy look about him with his hair tussled and his eyes shining bright. "I'm yours, Hank. You do what you want to me."

A bit of wonder crept into Hank's gaze. "Very well." Gentle hands parted Buster's buttocks again, but this time Hank's tongue danced across his balls, now heavy with lust. Buster squirmed a bit as Hank drew each one into his mouth, rolling the sac across his tongue sensually for a few tense moments. Finally, that expert tongue found the gap of skin between Buster's anus and testicles, teasing the frenum with deft, confident strokes. Just when Buster thought he could take no more, Hank inserted an index finger, coated in creamy white lotion, deep into his body.

Buster almost came off the bed at the intrusion, but Hank was there, cupping his hipbone, murmuring to him, helping him ride it out. When Buster calmed, Hank crooked his finger slightly, sending Buster into an explosion of mindless sensation.

"That's your prostate, Buster. That's what makes it so nice…" Hank kissed the junction of Buster's thigh and pelvis, meanwhile scraping the pad of his finger over and over that delicious spot inside him.

"I'll never have sex with a woman again."

Hank cracked up. "Never say never, Buster. The best is yet to come." Hank reached for more lotion, then pressed two fingers into Buster's opening, spreading and kneading the entrance, preparing it with extreme care. When the third finger found its way inside, Buster grunted in displeasure.

"There's no way you're going to fit, Hank," Buster said dejectedly.

"Buster, my boy. You really ought to trust me."

Buster looked up, using his free hand to pull the hair out of Hank's face. "I do trust you, Hank. I trust you more than anyone. More than myself. That's why I'm here."

For a moment, Hank held Buster's hand to his face. "That's why I'm here, too." He brought Buster's hand down, opening the palm to the ceiling. He poured a generous amount of lotion directly into Buster's hand, then guided Buster to fist his throbbing erection. "Coat me with it," Hank said, his voice taut as he thrust into the tight channel of Buster's hand.

Buster did his best to use long, firm strokes, enchanted to find the Indian harden even further under his ministrations.

"Yeah," Hank moaned, rocking his hips in and out.

"Feels good?" Buster ran his thumb over the tip of Hank's cock, watching the man's eyes slide shut with pleasure.

"Yeah…"

"Put it in me?"

Hank needed no further invocation it seemed, pulling away from Buster's fist to sink between the cop's spread legs. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Why?"

Hank drove forward slowly, pushing his cock deep into Buster, until the cop thought he would split in two. Buster choked back the scream welling up in him, but he clutched frantically at Hank nonetheless, his fingernails raking down the Indian's back.

"I'm sorry," Hank whispered again, kissing Buster's forehead once he was fully sheathed.

"It… it hurts," Buster cried brokenly.

"I know, baby. Not for long, though." Hank rained kisses down over Buster's face, drinking in the hitching sobs.

"Ah. Oh god, Hank. Hank…" Buster pressed their cheeks together, nuzzling Hank for comfort. To his credit, the Indian held perfectly still, and Buster knew from his experience with women that to keep oneself in check, especially while in the clutches of a virgin, was no easy task.

Time passed, Hank still rigid and frozen above him, until Buster began to breathe normally. He forced himself to relax a little bit, drawing his free hand across the back of Hank's shoulders. "I think I'm ready now," he offered, his cheek still pressed to Hank's.

With a shaky breath, the Indian languidly pulled out and thrust back in again. The pain had lessened to some degree, but Buster couldn't keep from wincing. As far as he could tell, Hank watched his every expression, gauging their movements based on Buster's responses. As Buster's shoulders began to relax and his legs started to drift open, Hank's pace gradually increased.

Within mere minutes, Buster's body had warmed to the Indian's thick penetration, the sensation of Hank's pistoning cock beginning to make Buster pant with need. Hank's left hand supported all his weight, as his right hand stretched forth and cupped Buster's aching length.

"Hm," Buster hummed, "it's good."

"Yeah, baby. I know it is." Hank murmured, his pacing quickening just a tad.

Words had alarming impact on his lover, Buster realized. He wondered how far he could push the man, before Hank lost all control.

"Hank. God, Hank, it's so damn good. The way you fuck me… The way you make me feel… The way you own me."

Hissing in frustration, Hank let go of Buster's cock and gripped his ass instead. "Don't you dare rush me, cowboy."

Buster grinned, knowing he found a weakness. "But, baby. You know how good it is… to have a big, thick cock up your ass--"

"Oh God, Buster, stop it--"

"Fucking your cunt like some damned whore---"

Hank growled deep in his throat. "I mean it. I'll gag you."

"Kinky," Buster teased. "But you know, I'll let you do anything to me, Hank. Anything you want. You know it. I'm yours."

That got the reaction Buster had been looking for. Hank's stoicism snapped; he shifted positions and pulled all the way out of Buster, much to the cop's dismay. Without mercy, the Indian grabbed Buster's hips and flipped him around, wrenching Buster's wrist in the grip of the cuff.

Suddenly Buster found himself face down on the bed, his ass lifted high in the air. Hank pressed the nozzle of the lotion bottle into his entrance, squirting more of the cream deep inside of him. Buster moaned at the crazed wantonness of it all, lifting his hips in silent entreaty.

Hank's muscular forearm snaked around, cradling Buster's torso as the Indian's slick length resumed its encasement in Buster's willing body. They both sighed with happiness at once again being joined.

"Buster…" Hank whispered, sucking ferociously on the cop's earlobe, plying the blonde man's chasm with steady thrusts.

"You don't fight fair," Buster whined.

"Neither do you. That's why we're perfect for each other."

Buster thrust back to meet each of Hank's impalements, causing the mattress to squeak and groan in protest. "Yes, we are perfect for each other."

Hank's forearm squeezed him tightly, forcing Buster flush against the sculpted, tanned body, rocking them both in a timeless rhythm. When Hank bit down on the back of Buster's neck, it proved too much for the cop. "God, yes, Hank! God help me, I love you!"

The Indian slammed Buster's shoulders down on the mattress as he tattooed into Buster's spread ass, his harsh breaths pounding across the hollow of Buster's ear. "I love you too, you… damned… annoying… cowboy!"

"Hank!" Buster called, jerking uncontrollably as his lover branded his newfound pleasure center. Sticky gobs of come erupted from him, running in little rivers down Hank's coaxing hand and spilling out onto the sheets.

Hank followed not far behind, his hips humping Buster in a blistering cadence. The cop held perfectly still as Hank's molten seed gushed into him, filling him with his scent and his spending in the most unbelievably satisfying way. The Indian came long and hard, collapsing over Buster as he finished.

For a while, both of them could only struggle for air, each secretly delighting in the close contact and heady smell of the other. When their wits returned, Hank gently pulled out of Buster and inspected him thoroughly.

"Not too much bleeding. Are you hurt, baby?" Buster could hear the strain in that voice, the worry. It made his heart skip a few beats.

"No, love," He mumbled into the pillow. "But my wrist is sore…"

"Keys?" Hank asked, sliding off Buster but remaining close by.

"Er… In Philly?" Trying not to panic, Buster opened only one eye.

"Idiot," Hank berated, slipping his thumb and forefinger across the metal circles until the telltale click released Buster's hand.

"Hey, how did you---?"

"Old Indian magic," Hank informed him with a straight face.

"Old Indian bullshit, more like." Buster grinned, rubbing his wrist to get the circulation going.

"Poor baby," Hank mocked, but he took up the wrist and kissed it anyway, slowly massaging the blood back into his fingers.

Buster sighed contentedly. "I meant it, you know."

"What?"

"I really do love you." Buster let the fear wash over him, the stone of uncertainty sinking deeper in the pit of his stomach. This would be the moment of truth, and why he couldn't have put that off till later and just enjoy the moment was beyond him, but he needed to know where he stood now.

"I know," Hank said softly.

Buster gulped, steeling himself for the blow-off speech. Surprisingly, Hank pulled him close, making him rest his head against the Indian's smooth chest.

"I love you too, you know. I'm just not too good at saying it. Not even to my brother…"

Buster bit his lip to keep the sting of tears out of his eyes. "Well, it doesn't have to be said, just so long as it's shown."

"Well, that I can do."

Buster's beatific smile turned rakish. "Oh yes, you can; anytime you like."

Hank chuckled. "You are really something, you know that?"

"I've been told that before." Buster winked up at Hank, his hand tracing circles across the Indian's abdomen.

"Slut."

"Sloe-eye."

"Redneck."

"Injun."

"Cowhand."

"Savage."

"Cop."

"Rebel!"

"Rogue!"

"Yours." Buster nuzzled Hank's chest in an uncharacteristically kittenish way.

The Lakota kissed Buster's forehead, running his fingers through the unruly yellow bangs. "Yes. Mine."

Buster let his hand still, his eyes drifting shut of their own volition. He could still feel Hank's languid gaze on him as he drifted into sleep, the sound of the drumming rain ceasing as dawn slipped in between the clouds.



~ The End. ~