CHAPTER 8 - DRUNK AND DESPERATE
When I eventually slowed the horse to a walk, I realised I was completely alone. Sure, we'd scattered, but I hadn't expected all of them to take off in the opposite direction to me. Still, when I thought about it I supposed I understood. Billy seemed to have warmed to me again, but the others were clearly still less than impressed with my recent antics.
I rode on slowly, beginning to feel the cold, until I eventually came to a tumbledown shack a few miles out from White Oaks. I could just make out the shape of the small building, but it was a dark night, the moon hidden behind clouds, and I didn't notice the horse standing to one side. I tied my own animal to a rotting fence post, hoping it would still be there in the morning. It snickered and stamped one foot as if it had seen or heard something that I couldn't.
"Shuddup," I muttered and pushed open the door of the shack. I immediately heard a gun being cocked. "Shit," I said. Now what?
"Who is it?" said a familiar voice. Godamnit.
"Chavez? What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded angrily. I wouldn't have been so riled if it hadn't been for my sudden and dubious desire to shoot Billy in order to help Chavez if it came to it.
"What do you think I'm doing? Same as you only I got here first. Best thing for you to do is either leave, or sit down and shut up."
Squinting in the darkness, I watched him lower the gun. I didn't fancy going back outside and trying to find somewhere else to shelter; I was already shivering from the cold. I shut up and sat down, draping the blanket from my bedroll around myself. Then I pulled out the bottle of whiskey I'd managed to grab before we had to make a run for it, uncorked it and took a few gulps. The liquid immediately began to warm me from the inside out.
"You want some?" I offered Chavez the bottle automatically.
"No, thanks."
"Fine. More for me." I made myself more comfortable on the heap of old straw which conveniently covered the floor of the shack and poured more whiskey down my neck. I didn't make any further effort to speak. My eyes gradually got used to the darkness and I found myself staring down at my crossed ankles to avoid looking at Chavez. The couple of times I did glance up, I noticed he had his arms wrapped around himself and was shivering. His coat was missing and he didn't have a blanket any more either, since Billy had put it around Deputy Carlyle before he was thrown to the wolves. I wondered briefly how long it would take for a person to freeze to death. With a sigh I got up and took the half dozen steps to the other side of the shack. Chavez immediately pulled a knife out and watched warily.
"Put that away," I grunted and sat down next to him. "Here." I shoved the bottle into his free hand. "It's good for keeping the cold out."
He looked at me, surprised, then put the knife away and gulped some of the whiskey. "Thanks." He passed me the bottle back and his hand brushed against mine. His skin was ice cold.
"Jesus, Chavez, you're frozen," I commented. I stuck the cork back in the bottle so it wouldn't spill and dragged the blanket off my shoulders. I spread it out and threw half of it over Chavez's legs, keeping the other half to myself. He glanced at me curiously, then slid down a few inches into the straw and covered himself up to the neck. After a few more minutes I did the same and then uncorked the bottle again.
"What happened to your coat?" I asked, aware that my voice was a touch slurred already.
"Left it in the room."
"Damned inconvenient time for an interruption," I remembered. We'd only been upstairs about ten minutes. My frustration wasn't forgotten and I immediately began to feel heat in my groin again. I groaned and then bit my lip.
"Get interrupted at a crucial moment?" Chavez laughed.
"What, in ten minutes? I was gonna make it last and get my money's worth," I said.
Chavez snorted. "Better to just get on with it, the law is never very far off Billy's tail."
"I suppose you had a great night then," I scowled.
"Not in ten minutes," he admitted.
"Good thing I grabbed this," I said with a grin, raising the bottle. "Drown our sorrows."
I wondered how much I would have to drink before it drowned my ardour. Usually it didn't really seem to make a lot of difference. I could down half a bottle and still get it up if I was in the mood, which was more often than not. I took another swig and passed it back to Chavez, wondering why I wasn't fantasizing about painful ways to despatch him to the spirit world.
It didn't take all that long before the whole bottle was gone. I was fuzzy-headed and my vision blurred, but I was right about one thing. It didn't kill the damned ache in my groin. I even found myself wondering if Chavez had drunk enough to not slit my throat if I put my hands on him. I swallowed that thought right quick and closed my eyes. I was going to sleep and forgetting about it.
I couldn't seem to get comfortable. The ground was hard beneath the straw and my cock was harder. It throbbed painfully under my clothes and I resisted the urge to put my hand on it with difficulty. I rolled over onto my right side, trying to find a better position to rest in and bumped against Chavez. He lay with his back to me. Predictably within a second a knife was in his hand although he didn't turn over; he just gripped it in readiness. I reached my arm over him and caught his wrist to prevent the blade coming any closer. He flinched and hissed through his teeth and I realised I'd grabbed his injured arm; the arm I'd rammed my knife through. I let go quickly, cringing with guilt, and mumbled an apology - another one.
"Put the knife down," I said for the second time. "What do you think I'm gonna do? Kill you in your sleep or something?"
He stiffened and didn't let go of the knife. "Better to always be prepared," he said.
"I don't want to fight with you, alright?" I sighed.
Fighting was the last thing on my mind right then; all I could think about was the fastest way to relieve my frustration and much as I might swear blind I hated him, he was right there and probably just as desperate as I was. My arm still rested over him and I pulled my hand back until it rested on his chest, then moved forward. I was only an inch or two away anyway. I noticed that he felt warmer than he had earlier, but not all that much. He stiffened further. I grinned to myself and ran my hand down his body to his stomach. The muscles jumped and he drew his breath in sharply again.
"What the hell are you doing, Dave?" he said. The tip of the knife appeared above his shoulder, inches from my nose and I was surprised that he didn't actually push me away.
I didn't answer. I drew my face back a couple of inches and my hand crept lower. I had been right; he was just as ready for it as I was. I squeezed and he spat something in Spanish or Navajo that I suspected was 'stop' or 'go to hell' or something similar. I ignored him and pulled his hair away from his neck with my other hand, sinking my teeth in gently below his ear, risking the knife coming closer to my eyes. I rubbed my hand over the hard bulge in his trousers and he lowered his hand back into the straw with the knife in it. I grinned to myself. I was going to have some fun after all. I forgot about the part where I'd always vowed I wouldn't touch someone unless they were white and of course the other part where I hated Chavez.
I unfastened his trousers, slid my hand inside and encountered warm flesh that felt almost like steel encased in velvet. Christ Almighty, he felt good. He let out a strangled moan and another curse and I felt him leak into my hand. My own erection throbbed and I pressed myself harder against him. I slid my right arm under his neck, bent it back at the elbow and put my hand around his throat, forcing his neck back until his head rested against my shoulder. He let go of the knife at last and groaned again, writhing under my hands, his hips jerking slightly as he thrust himself into my fist.
He didn't last very long; probably not even as long as Tom. Who'd have thought I'd get that kind of a reaction out of him? I laughed inwardly; I was enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would. I took my hands off him, but I left my arm draped over him. He was hot and panting and when I tried turning him over, he rolled onto his back without protest. His eyes were closed and it occurred to me he was completely at my mercy and unusually trusting.
I unfastened my clothes and my cock sprang free of its own accord. I reached out and took hold of Chavez's uninjured wrist and placed his hand on me. His eyes opened and I imagined he would have looked shocked if he hadn't drunk so much whiskey. At least I could hold my drink marginally better. He jerked his hand back suddenly and I thought he'd probably never had his hands on a man. I dare say he'd had them on himself though, so it wasn't like he didn't know what he was doing. I shifted closer to him and my cock bumped the back of his hand. After a moment he twisted his wrist around and gripped it hard. I was aware his hands were so strong that he could probably yank it out by the roots without much effort and the thought just added to the excitement. I closed my eyes and enjoyed it as his hand caressed me slowly and then began to speed up. His hand was a little cold and nowhere near as rough as mine; then again he wore gloves practically all the time. I panted and groaned, thrusting myself more urgently into his palm, shuddering as his thumb ran repeatedly over my tip. When it was over I opened my eyes, thinking smugly that I had lasted longer than he did. His eyes were closed and he was just inches away from me. My heart was racing and I leaned forward, then froze in alarm. No way was I going to kiss the greaser; what the hell was I thinking?
I rolled away onto my back and stared up at the roof of the shack instead. There was a hole in the battered old wood and I could see a star through it. For the first time in as long as I could remembered I felt like I would fall asleep in seconds. My breathing slowed rapidly and then I was slipping out of consciousness, hoping Chavez wouldn't suddenly decide to take his knife to me while I slept, when he sobered up and realised what we'd done.