One Link In The Chain

The following is a work of fan fiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp, or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters and settings.

Special thanks to Texas Aries for your great picture and your support in writing this story and to Sarah L, my hard working beta reader, without you there wouldn’t have been a story. Any errors are mine.

Buck Wilmington was a big man. By nature he was easy-going; he had sense of humour and enjoyed life, but he was also a gunman, and if he let go, his anger was a force to be reckoned with.

His mother had been a working girl and she had brought him up in a brothel, until he had gone off to war. She had died while he was away, yet to him she was forever a saint that had cared for him and raised him. Buck loved women, and the quickest way to unleash his temper was to mistreat a woman in his presence.

During the war he had served in the Union Army and had risen quickly to the rank of Sergeant. It was during that time that he had first met Chris Larabee, a newly promoted Lieutenant. Together they had fought to keep their men alive and through that, a firm friendship had been formed. When the war had finished, both men had drifted West. Chris had been lucky enough to find true love with Sarah, who was to become his beloved wife, and with the birth of their son, Adam, Buck had something he had never had - a family, even if it was only by proxy. But, it lasted only a short time as it was all tragically taken away when Sarah and Adam were murdered.

Chris had undergone a change. It was as if the darkness within him had to find an outlet. He had forced Buck away from him, with words and blows. When he had met him again some time later, Chris had been dressed still in mourning black, but was now a known gunman, a killer for hire. The first time Buck had looked into his eyes and into the icy-cold glare, he knew that he had lost his friend and that in his place was a cold blooded killer, existing only to avenge the death of his family.

Chris was like death in human form. He was drinking heavily and Chris’s always volatile temper was unbridled. He was as stable as a pissed off rattlesnake. Buck had been forced to leave him, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t keep track of the sombre gunman.

Buck hated ugly and that was what he found in that small cluster of shacks. To call the place a saloon was to insult every other saloon in the territory of New Mexico. It was a dive; the small windows didn’t allow in much light and that was possibly for the best. Now, Buck liked his women - he worshipped them in all their many forms - but the two working girls there went by the names of Bear Cat Anne and Lilly, and he had seen men with less of a five o’clock shadow than those two ladies. The drink put in front of him was overpriced and was rotgut whiskey at its worst.

Buck took another sip and cringed. The door to the back room opened and then closed, and a big man came out. He was pulling his braces over his shoulder. “Hell Marty, he’s one hell of a fuck, no wonder Garner kept him alive.”

The big man banged his hand down on the counter and pushed across his money for another drink. He nudged Buck in the ribs. “You want a good fuck, forget those two, take a turn in the back room. Sweetest ass this side of Tascosa,” then he laughed as if he was telling a private joke. He tossed another couple of dollars on the bar and then finished his drink and headed back to the back room, pushing one of the girls off him when she tried to intercept him.

It was late; Buck’s attention kept drifting to the back room and the steady stream of customers going in. What Buck needed was information. He smiled broadly at Bear Cat Anne and she came over, the sexy swing of her hips sending the rolls of fat rippling under her too tight dress. One of the other customers, more drunk than the rest, grabbed hold of her arm. She turned, fast for her size, and a fist sent him flying backwards in his chair and crashing to the ground, his eyes rolling over in his head as he was knocked out. With an almost apologetic smile at Buck, she patted her hair, and joined him at the bar.

The bartender was there straight away; the bottle he held had a fancy label and he made a good show of pouring out a measure. Buck grinned. His senses might be weak, but he knew coloured water when he saw it. If there was any whiskey in there, it was too weak to climb out of the bottle on its own.

Buck turned his charm on her and the whole sordid story came out. The young man was an ex-bounty hunter - a damn good one – but now he had his own bounty of $500 dollars on his head. He had been caught by some of Bill Granger’s men and brought to the shantytown. Garner, Anne said, had a real powerful hatred for the bounty hunter. His younger brother had been sent to Yuma once there the kid had been gang raped and had killed himself. Garner wanted revenge, so he was putting the bounty hunter out for his customers to use any way they wanted.

Anne laid a hand on Buck’s arm, but her smile was sad. “Why don’t you go in there?” She nodded to the backroom.

Buck opened his mouth to protest and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll get his horse saddled. Bill has his clothes and guns in a cupboard. Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

The big woman returned later; she put the bottle on the table and leaned over Buck to pour him a drink. “The horse is ready and I have his things.” She turned, shielding her actions, as she pressed the knife in his hands. “You’ll need this.”

Buck patted her hand then went to the barman. Pushing a couple of dollars over, he nodded towards the backroom. “Have to wait your turn, old Frank can’t get enough of him tonight.”

For Buck it seemed like an eternity passed before the door opened. Quickly, he brushed past the man coming out and closed the door behind him.

The lamp in the room was turned down low. The bed was sagging in the middle, but made of iron and the naked young man was stretched out, his hands shackled above his head.

The growl was low and deep throated and in the scant light Buck saw a young man in his mid to late twenties, good looking with long hair, his lithe body covered in bruises old and new. There were bite marks, some of them red and infected, and blood and cum coated his thighs and dried across his face, across his chest and in his long hair. The room stank of sex and urine.

“Hey,” Buck protested as he just avoided getting a kick to the groin as he neared the bed. “You could do a man some damage like that, Junior.”

The snarled reply was obscene and to the point. The young man lashed out again but Buck managed to dodge it and had to use his greater weight to pin him down. Teeth sank into his hand yet Buck didn’t hit out, he just met his gaze levelly, the blue eyes flashing with an unholy fire of hatred. Keeping his voice reassuring, Buck said; “I am not here to hurt you, so if you’ll quit biting my hand, I’ll get you out of here.”

The young man released his hold. When Buck moved his hand, he flinched, waiting for the blow. “Told you, I am not going to hurt you.” Working quickly, he unshackled him and then, from his boot, he took out the Bowie knife that Bear Cat Anne had given him and pressed it into the young man’s hand. The knife came up fast and the point was pressed to Buck’s throat. His eyes locked on those of the young man.

“You’re wasting time, Junior.” There was a long moment, then the younger man finally nodded and removed the knife.

Buck left the backroom, a smile of satisfaction on his face. By now there was only a few people in the saloon. A man pushed past him, a whiskey bottle in his hand, going to the backroom. When the young man came out, still naked as a jaybird, blood was smeared across his body. The bartender started to pull a scattergun out, when he felt a gun pressed to his head.

“There’s a horse out front; get on it and get the hell out of here,” Buck said.

Buck slowly backed out of the saloon. The young man was sitting on his horse, a Winchester in his hand, and he protected Buck as he climbed on his horse. It was only when the older man kicked his horse into a gallop that the young man followed him out of the shanty town.

Buck sat next to the fire, sipping his coffee and waited. He didn’t hear the younger man arrive, he seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere. It caught him by surprise that the man had gotten that close to him.

“You’re a regular ghost, aren’t you son? Coffee’s in the pot and the stew’s fresh, help yourself.”

The young man settled himself just outside of the reach of the firelight. Buck could just make him out; he was wearing a buckskin jacket and a slouch confederate cavalry hat, the shirt was washed out and old, as were his pants, held up as they were by leather braces and his boots had seen better days. Instead of a colt, he was wearing a mare’s leg and in his hand was a Winchester rifle.

Given what had happened to him, it was understandable that he was going to be skittish, so Buck just ignored the rifle in his hands and tried to project a feeling of peace and contentment towards him. Buck finished his coffee and then added a few more bits of wood to the fire, then went over to his bedroll. Getting himself comfortable resting against his saddle, Buck took one last look at the young man and then pulled his hat down over his eyes.

The first indication he got that the other man had finally entered the camp was when he heard the sound of a spoon on metal plate as the man helped himself to the stew. With a smile, Buck allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

The next morning, he found the younger man still sitting near the fire, the rifle cradled in his hands, an empty tin cup near his feet.

“Morning.” Buck got up slowly, not wanting to startle him. “There’s coffee in the saddlebag, a pan and bacon. You want to get started on breakfast, I’ve got some personal business to take care of.” When he returned a few minutes later, the younger man was working on breakfast. Looking around the camp site, Buck could see that sometime during the night, he had collected his horse and brought it in, but he frowned as he saw the dark stain on the saddle that could only be blood.

Now, in the light of day, he could see the blood on the bounty hunter’s pants. He needed help, but it much too early for the younger man to accept it if it was offered. So all through breakfast, Buck kept up a one-sided conversation, but he knew the other man would only speak when he was ready.

“Good,” Buck said with feeling. “I am heading to Four Corners, you heading that way?”

After breakfast, Buck saddled up his horse. When he turned back, the younger man was gone. “Hell Junior, you’ve got to stop doing that,” Buck drawled.

That evening, after stopping for the night, the younger man reappeared again. Whatever Buck was about to say was forgotten as he saw the unhealthy flush to his face. Reaching up, he caught him before he could topple out of the saddle, then eased him off the horse, catching him in his arms and carrying him to the side of the fire, to lay him on the bedroll. The fever had a tight hold on the younger man and Buck could feel the heat radiating off him. Reaching for his canteen, Buck supported him while he drank. “You rest, you’re going to be alright. Old Buck will look after you, Junior.”

“Name’s Vin Tanner.” The voice was soft; he was exhausted and his eyes closed. He could no longer fight against the darkness that was closing in on him.

“Vin Tanner,” Buck sounded, thoughtfully. As the former Deputy Sheriff of Clay’s County, he had heard of Vin Tanner and seen his wanted poster. $500 dollars, dead or alive, for murder. He had killed a farmer from Tascosa and tried to pass his body off to claim a $200 dollar reward on a man called Eli Joe. Now Tanner was wanted, but that could wait. He was running a fever, that had to be dealt with first.

“Okay kid, let’s see what the damage is. Now I know you’re out cold at the moment, Vin, but someone once said you might be able to hear me, so I am going to tell you everything I’m going to do. I am not going to hurt you, but we need to get this fever down.”

Buck began to strip him down, his face hardening as he saw the damage up close. The shirt caught on Vin’s back and carefully he rolled him onto his side. There was a bite mark at the base of his neck; the wound was inflamed, and the infection was beginning to spread. Going back to his saddlebags, Buck pulled out the shirt that Sally May had given him. He tore it into wide strips, then he retrieved the bottle of whiskey. He poured some of the whiskey over the knife blade and then cut into the swollen bite. There was a sickening, decaying smell as the pus oozed from it; Buck caught it on pieces of the torn shirt. Thankful that Vin was out cold, he worked the bite with his fingers to force out the pus, until only bright, clean blood came from the wound. Only then did he pour the whiskey straight onto the wound. The body arched against him and then crumpled back to the ground. Buck covered the wound and bound a pad in place.

Making sure Vin’s upper body was well covered, he opened the blankets below the younger man’s waist. Then, with great care, all the time talking to the unconscious man, he eased his legs apart and then lifted the muscular thighs up to rest on his own, as he knelt between the younger man’s legs. This way he could check the damage done, as he cleaned the blood away from his centre. Tanner needed to rest, to give himself a chance to heal; riding was only causing him more problems. Now cleaned up, Buck wrapped him up again, then placed some large stones in the fire to warm up. Once hot, he would fold them in one of his spare shirts and put them in with Vin to keep him warm as he began to shiver.

First, however, Buck fought to get the fever down. The big man smiled when he looked down and found himself looking into unfocused blue eyes. Sliding an arm round him, Vin was pulled up to rest against Buck’s chest so that he was able to coax him into drinking some water. Speaking softly, he said; “It’s okay, Tanner, you’re going to be alright, you just need to rest.”

Vin wrapped a hand into his jacket and pulled himself up close to the older man.

“It’s okay kid, I am here.” Laying the cup down, he gathered Vin Tanner close as he felt the younger man’s body melt against him.

From then, Buck’s world constricted until he was centred on only Vin; wiping the sweat from his face and body, cleaning the wound as it drained away the infection and cleaning him when Vin was unable to control his bladder and bowels. Finally, the fever broke and Buck looked into the exhausted blue eyes that, for the first time in three days, were clear of fever, and straight into a burning hatred that flared in them. Vin began to struggle against him; weak as a kitten, his energy was soon spent.

Buck used his size to pin the younger man down, not wanting him to break open the wound again. “I am not going to hurt you, Vin.”

“That I might be, but I am still not going to hurt you.” Carefully, Buck freed the younger man, who pulled the blankets up around his neck. “I can see how it would spook you waking up naked and all. But Junior, you ain’t got curves in the right places for me.” Then Buck’s voice became serious. “And to be honest, if I wanted to fuck your brains out, I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of getting you out of there. I would have just enjoyed the show back at the saloon. Now, try to sleep.”

It was only when Vin’s body went limp that he laid him back down, carefully covering him with blankets and then enjoyed his first cup of coffee for several days. When Vin moaned and began to move in his sleep, Buck lowered a hand and gently stroked his head until he settled again. When he awoke, he would make sure that Vin ate and then try to build up his strength. Only when the younger man was ready would they continue their journey.

It was five days later that Buck entered Four Corners with his Texan shadow watching him from the hillside overlooking the town. The place was wide open and Buck was looking forward to a few of the comforts of home. Not necessarily his home, but a warm body with a few nice curves and a good home cooked meal. For all the fact that Vin wasn’t exactly a chatterbox, he found the young Texan to be good company and that he had a real dry sense of humour. Chris Larabee hadn’t arrived yet, so Buck was quite happy to kill time waiting for him. He was interested to see what his oldest friend would make of the former bounty hunter.

He had been surprised when Vin had gotten himself the job at the Virgil’s store, but the stubborn young fool had refused to take any money off him, and this way he got a square meal and a good bed

The banging on the door and the shouting of the enraged husband had Buck, pants in hand, escaping out of the window before hitting the top of the porch and landing on all fours on the ground. It was then that he had seen Chris, and regardless of the fact he was wearing only his union suit, he had hugged Chris close as he said;

Chris looked round him, seeing the uneasy look one of the townspeople was giving him and Buck. He smiled. “Easy, big fella. Folks will talk.” [1]

Then, looking up towards the window he asked, “How'd you know I was here?”

It was then Buck had seen Vin come up behind Chris; before he could say anything, he noticed that Vin was so close that he was leaning on Chris. And touch me and you’re dead Larabee wasn’t blowing his head off. “He with you?” Buck had aimed the question at both of them and was surprised at the reaction.

“I imagine so,” Chris drawled. Buck didn’t fail to see the way Chris’s right hand had brushed across Vin’s hip and the younger man hadn’t pulled away. Why did he get the feeling he had missed something very important?

Buck had a few drinks with Chris and Vin and then decided to try his animal magnetism on Lizzy Long, a sweet looking blond with a really friendly nature. Leaving the other two men drinking.

Chris Larabee’s arms were wrapped around Vin as the younger man struggled to break free. “Vin, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Vin, I will always want you.” To re-enforce his words, Chris kissed him. It started gently, then deepened.

Vin’s fingers dug into the older man’s arms as he tried to break the kiss, which resulted in him being pulled even closer.

Now Chris was beginning to get worried that there was something seriously wrong with him.

“I was caught by Bill Garner, he ……….. His brother was sent to Yuma because of me. The kid was raped and killed himself. He … he...”

Chris closed his eyes, forcing back the anger. He couldn’t allow his young lover to feel his anger otherwise Vin would think that it was aimed at him.

“How does Buck fit into this?” His concern for Vin made his voice angrier than he actually was.

“Chris,” the younger man placed one calloused hand against the firm jaw of the man he loved. “I took a fever an’ he nursed me, didn’t touch me.”

“Can understand if you don’t want me. They fucked me every which way to sundown.”

“I will always want you.” Tilting his beloved’s face, Chris kissed him, trying to put all his love into that one action. Then Chris eased back from Vin, catching his young lover’s hand and led him to the bed.

It was late when Buck decided to call on Chris to shoot the breeze, a bottle of good sipping whiskey in his hands. He knocked and didn’t get a reply. Slightly drunk, he twisted the door handle, jerking it hard enough to spring the lock.

With a tender touch that most people would have found alien to his reputation, Chris Larabee had gentled his young lover, stripping him slowly, worshipping him with his hands and his mouth.

When Vin was finally ready, he tried to ease him onto his side so that he could enter him gently, but Vin suddenly began to struggle, pulling away, the fear plain in his eyes.

“Need to see you.” His breathing was coming in short, harsh pants. Carefully, so not to spook his lover, Chris firmly pulled him close and returned to kissing him and soothing him with his hands, until his body melted against him.

Vin’s body was ready, but his mind wasn’t. So, holding him close, Chris rolled onto his back, taking Vin with him. Like this, looking down at his blond lover, Vin began to take the lead, his eyes never leaving Chris’s. Slowly, he began to move against him. His breath coming out in shudders as he finally let go of his fear, he was back with Chris and nothing could harm him. Bending his head he captured Chris’s mouth with his in a searing kiss, leaving the older man gasping for breath.

With a smile that was mischievous as well as sexy that made Chris want to throw him on his back and take him, Vin eased himself up and straddled his lover.

Chris’s hand stroked Vin’s hips and thighs as the younger man eased himself up and then lowered himself onto Chris’s hard, weeping cock. Vin bit his lip as the burn of pain turned into pleasure and he got used to the full feeling. He leaned forward, one hand stroking down Chris’s. His hand was caught and Chris sucked at the tips of Vin’s fingers, swirling his tongue round them, sucking hard and then soft. Vin was moaning at the sensation. He began to slowly lift himself up and down as he rode the man under him; his breath coming in hard pants as he urged himself and his lover towards completion. When Chris’s other hand pulled at his nipple, Vin cried out as it became the spark that pushed him over the edge. As he splattered his cum over Chris’s chest, his body squeezed his lover, bringing Chris to completion, his seed filling Vin.

The younger man collapsed onto Chris as he fought for breath, and hands moved on his face, neck and back, calming him as he rode out the emotions crashing over him. Chris pressed a kiss to his young lover’s forehead, then helped him to ease down by his side, pulling Vin into his arms and holding him close. Chris closed his eyes and sent up a grateful prayer to whoever was listening that his young lover was back with him and safe in his arms.

Suddenly Vin’s head snapped up as he heard the door lock go; his lips pulled back over his teeth in a snarl and he powered over the bed, tugging his Bowie knife from its sheath, launching himself at the man that was entering the room even as Chris grabbed his gun and aimed it at the intruder.

“Chris… umph-” was all Buck managed to get out as he was bowled over, his gun skidding across the floor and he was pinned with a knife at his throat, which sobered him up quicker than a dip in the water trough.

“Easy, Tanner, it’s just old Buck. Stud, you going to call Junior off me?”

It was the longest few seconds of his life, and then the knife was gone. Looking at the bed, he found himself looking down the barrel of Chris Larabee’s gun.

His eyes never leaving his old friend as his lover closed the door and used the back of a chair to wedge it shut.

Instead of looking disgusted at a naked Vin and equally naked Chris, Buck’s face split in a wide grin. “Whoopee Stud, you sure move fast when you want to.” He got to his feet and offered the bottle to Chris, who took a deep pull on the bottle, then handed it off to Vin who had taken a seat on the bed near Chris, leaning into his touch. Chris wrapped an arm around his waist, his hand resting on Vin’s naked hip, his green eyes burning into Buck and proclaiming his ownership of the younger man.

Looking from one to the other, he shook his head. It made sense now. The way Vin had been leaning into Chris, the way the older man hadn’t pulled away. A mated pair. It would also explain the accounts he had heard about the way Chris and Vin had saved the life of Nathan, a black healer who was being dragged away by a lynch party. The two men had worked together as a smooth, practiced team.

One thing was certain, the smile he had seen as he had hugged Chris was the nearest he had seen to the old Chris in three years. So, if that was Vin Tanner’s doing, he owed the kid big-time.

It looked like life had just gotten a lot more interesting, and Buck just loved interesting.

[1] Italic dialogue taken from Ghosts of the Confederacy, Season 1 Magnificent Seven.

2 Italic dialogue taken from Ghosts of the Confederacy, Season 1 Magnificent Seven.