A Magnificent Seven slash novel by SueN, set in the ATF Denver AU and with lots of humor and hot action. NOTE! This story has appeared, or is currently available, on-line.
Chris has a problem, and Vin isn't being much of a help, but when he turns to Buck for advice things go from bad to worse!
Chris had expected either JD or the machine to answer, but was surprised when Buck's voice came on the line. What the hell was Wilmington doing home on a Saturday evening?
"Buck, that you?" he asked, wincing at the stupidity of the question. Christ, he was losing it!
"In the flesh, stud," the big man crooned. "And I do mean," the leer was audible, "in the flesh."
Chris closed his eyes against the image that conjured, then rubbed his forehead hard with the fingers of his free hand when it wouldn't go away. Yep, this call had definitely been a bad idea.
"You all right there, pard?" Buck asked in concern; he could swear he heard the sound of teeth grinding over the phone.
"Well," Chris sighed, dropping his hand from his forehead and unconsciously clenching it into a fist, "I do have a little problem, and I was hopin' you could help me out."
There was a long silence at the other of the phone, and Chris' fist curled tighter still. Then Buck's voice came back, pitched low and filled with sympathy. "Aw, hell, ol' son, I was afraid this would happen, you keepin' yourself outta practice for so long. Y' know, a man's gotta keep the equipment oiled and pumpin' or it'll just grind to a halt. But don't you worry, ol' Buck's got some things here that'll perk you right back up…"
All at once, Chris realized what Buck was rattling on about and almost choked on his horror. "That is not what I meant!" he protested hoarsely, his face flooding with heat. "Jesus, Buck, do you always think below the belt?"
"'Least I got somethin' goin' on down there, pard," the man answered gently. "And you would, too, if ya didn't live like a goddamn monk."
Chris closed his eyes tightly and clenched his jaws; by now, his fingernails were digging ruts into his palm. "I do not live like a monk," he grated harshly. "And keepin' my 'equipment' oiled is not a problem—" He broke off abruptly before the words with Vin around came tumbling out. "I got mice," he spat.
Again that silence stretched. Then, after what seemed an eternity, Buck said carefully, "I just ain't sure I wanta know what one's got ta do with the other."
Chris exhaled heavily and hung his head. "Buck," he said in a low, tight voice, "try thinkin' with your other head and work with me here! The house, my house, is overrun with mice and I need an exterminator ta get rid of the fuckin' things! I've called just about everyone in the book, and not one of 'em can come out tomorrow. But I thought, though God alone knows why, that you might be able to help me out. Now…" Out of sheer force of habit, he glared murderously at the phone base. "…do you know someone who can help me or not?"
"You wanta turn down them eyes a notch, stud?" Buck asked calmly. "You're gonna burn out the phone lines."
Chris dropped his head back down onto the bar.
"But you were right ta call me," Buck went on blithely, unscathed as ever by his old friend's temper. "I just happen ta know the best damn exterminatin' service in Denver. Wouldn't think of usin' anybody else. Lemme find the number…"
114 pages. $10 for PDF version with color cover.
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