Category: Movie/Western slash, prequel
Fandom: pre-Young Guns I
Pairing: Doc/Chavez
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Morgan Creek
Productions. No copyright infringement intended.
Archive: Anywhere that wants it, but please let me know so I
can admire and read other works. :-)
Feedback: Sure! Any other Doc/Chavez fans out there?

Title: "NIGHT DANCING" by mako
Email: makolane@a...

Two silent figures made their way through a moonlit plain on
foot, dust kicking up from their boots, one of them carrying
a blanket, the other a book and an oil lantern. They walked
side by side, arms brushing easily and took a moment before
choosing their spot, a level bit of ground scattered with
tufts of sun-dried sage.

The darker of the two, a slim young man with both Mexican and
Indian features, flapped open the blanket and laid it on the
ground, motioning for his friend to sit. "This is a good
spot," said Chavez. "No rocks."

His companion shook his head disparagingly. "I don't know why
you insist on coming out here," Doc sighed, pushing a
stubborn lock of blond hair out of his eyes. "I could've
just as easily read you some poetry back at the house."

Chavez gazed at him calmly. "Better out here. The air
cleanses away distractions, makes learning easier."

"In the middle of night? With just a lantern?" Doc asked,
disbelieving. "I can barely see."

"Stealing away out here makes other things easier too."
Chavez kissed Doc warmly on the mouth then pulled away,
smile bright against flawless brown skin. "Unless you'd like
to do this back in the bunkhouse."

Doc blinked, already aching at the loss of his lover's touch.
"No thanks. " He returned the smile. "But we can just do
that instead of all this reading. I mean, I can read to you
anywhere, even in front of Mr. Tunstall."

"I came here to learn." Chavez plopped to the ground, legs
folding gracefully beneath him. "I can teach you a few
things ... later."

A seductive hint in his voice and Doc grinned. "Teach me,
huh? Maybe I'll teach you a thing or two."

"I doubt that," replied Chavez solemnly. "Begin."

Doc fought the urge to roll his eyes. Chavez was so serious,
sometimes it was hard to keep from ribbing him. But Chavez's
childhood had been hard, even harder than Doc's, much to his
surprise. His family, no, his entire tribe, had been slaughtered
in one day, leaving Chavez, a boy no older than thirteen, alone
in a world that felt nothing for him but hatred and contempt.

He was a survivor, a lone survivor and Doc had to respect that.

Besides, he loved him too much not to.

"All right. Since you're so into the night air, how about
some Tennyson?" said Doc, settling in beside Chavez with a
pained grumble. It had been a long day herding cattle and
everything hurt, his legs and back especially but he obligingly
flipped through the poetry anthology until he found the verse he
wanted. "Here, listen to this."

Clearing his throat, Doc began:

"All night have he roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancer dancing in tune
Till a silence fell with the waking bird
And a hush with the setting moon"

When he'd finished Doc glanced at Chavez, whose eyes had
closed in contemplation. He studied him for a minute,
marveling at his dark beauty; the perfect skin, the black
silk of his hair and wondered why everyone else didn't
see the same sweetness in his features -- as well as the
goodness in his heart.

All they saw was a "damned greaser" and there was nothing Doc
could do or say that would ever change their minds.

Their loss, thought Doc as he snuggled in closer. He leaned
his head on Chavez's shoulder and stared up at the midnight
Western sky, a billion stars twinkling in an endless sea of
black. "What did you think of Tennyson?"

"I think my family had similar rituals," Chavez replied
quietly. "Night Dancing we called it. My brother loved his
drum, he'd play it even without formal celebration. My little
sisters and I would dance, but only in the darkness, since
dancing was sacred and reserved for special occasions. We
did it for fun, and that would've been frowned on." His eyes
opened, revealing a profound sadness. "I think my parents
knew, but they turned the other way. I often wonder if they
had done the same in their youth."

Doc traced a finger along his lover's knee. "Probably.
Rules are only fun if you break 'em once in a while."

Chavez turned to him, eyes bright. "You're right. And we're
breaking rules now, aren't we?"

"We ain't hurting no one," Doc insisted. "Just settin' out
for a spell. Mr. Tunstall knows he can trust us not to make
any trouble for him. Why, compared to Dirtface and ..."

"Steven, you mean?" Chavez said. "Why do you call him
Dirtface? He's not much dirtier than the rest of us."

Doc shrugged. "I dunno. Keeps him in his place."

"Names are good for that," Chavez agreed, a slight bitterness
coloring his tone. "For keeping a man in his place."

Doc bolted upright, eyes blazing. "Wait a minute," he said
angrily. "You're not comparing me callin' Steven "Dirtface"
to the names they call you, because if you are ..."

"No, love." Chavez placed a gentle finger against Doc's
lips. "I know there's affection in the names you call the
others. There's no hatred in your heart, not a touch of it.
He paused. "But sometimes there's hatred in mine.
Hatred for the killing, hatred for the names ... and it
frightens me."

"I don't blame you for hating them, Chavez. They killed your
whole family." Doc curled against him with a heavy sigh.
"Do you know what I dream sometimes? That somehow they
escaped, your parents and your brothers and sisters. And one
day, I find them and bring them home to you just so I can see
your face light up with happiness, real happiness, the kind
that lasts forever." Another sigh, this one impossibly sad.
"Guess I ain't ever gonna see that."

"Beloved, look at me." Soft, irresistible command. "And
tell me what you see."

Doc obeyed and was surprised to see happiness ... real
happiness, shining in Chavez's eyes. It was a rare and
precious sight and Doc couldn't help but reach out and kiss
him, once, twice, then again, losing himself in the taste and
feel of his lover's lips and tongue. So many times that day
he'd wanted to kiss him, every time Chavez looked his way,
always with such meaning and desire, but it was impossible,
with the others always there ... always watching.

"You make me happy," Chavez whispered against Doc's mouth,
making his lips tingle with each word. "You're my love and my
hope, my spirit horse rides with yours and when this life
ends we'll be together in the next world, more than brothers,
more than friends, even more than lovers, forever."

"Is that a poem?" Doc asked, kissing the corners of his
mouth, the wonderful shivering ache spread throughout
his body, straight down to his toes.

"No, that's merely the truth." A hand crept between Doc's
legs and he moved against it with a moan. "Do I have to
teach the white boy *everything*?"

"Yes, and ... oh!"

His pants were loosened, the caresses grew demanding and Doc
suddenly wanted more, like a starving man teased with the
tiniest of sweets. It was so much better than anything he'd
had before, such slow kisses down his neck, teasing fingers
between his thighs, driving him happily out of his mind. The
two-bit whores he'd known as a boy, even the occasional ranch
hand bringing him off in the brush, nothing had come close to
what he'd discovered with Chavez.

This was the way it was supposed to be, loving and real. No
matter what anyone else said.

Chavez's hands were everywhere, maddeningly slow, but it was
worth the torture. A hot tongue brushing his nipple and Doc
cried out, his voice lost in the vast New Mexico night. Once
they'd done it in the cool caverns to the South, his cries
echoed against the rock for what seemed like hours and they'd
giggled like children every time the sound came around again.

Pants were slid down to his knees and he liked it that way.
*Never take your pants down to your ankles* the gunfighters
always said, and Doc had lived by their rules for too long to
change now. Death came in an instant out in the badlands
and if nothing else, Doc wanted to live.

Live to be with Chavez, making love, for as long as the
bullets missed them.

"Querido," Chavez murmured against his stomach, his tongue
lapping at the droplets of sweat gathering in its hollow. A
playful nip at his thigh and Doc yelped.

"Hey!" Doc sat up and struggled against the tangle of his
pants, but Chavez shoved him back and pinned him down.

"Behave, paleface," he growled jokingly. "Or no more singing
with the missionaries for you."

Doc laughed aloud but obeyed, all coherent thought
disappearing when his cock was enveloped by the blazing
heat of Chavez's mouth. He moaned hoarsely, his fingers
raking through the sandy dirt, fists curling around sharp
bits of sage that dug into his palms, no doubt leaving them
scratched for days to come.

It was so good, so much better than anything he'd dreamt of
and his hips arched up seeking more of Chavez's touch.
Someday they'd go to town and rent a room and have the luxury
of a real bed with sheets, maybe even spend the whole night
there. That's if the innkeeper would rent to a Mexican-
Indian and a renegade ranch hand ...

Suddenly the heat disappeared and Doc groaned in agony.
"No, don't ..."

"You're thinking." Chavez chastened him lightly between
kisses. "I want you to stop thinking. I want you to feel me,
be with me and no one else."

"I'm with you. I love you," Doc protested weakly, caressing
Chavez's cheek, leaving behind a light smudge of dust.
"Please ... please go on. I ... I won't think anymore."

"Good. Now where was I? Oh, yes ... here." A pair of
strong arms encircled Doc's waist and Chavez took him inside
his mouth again, sucking fast and hard.

Doc struggled against the loving assault, not wanting the
bliss to end, but soon gave up and allowed his body to take
over, helpless to resist the orgasm that washed over him like
an ocean wave, cleansing away all his fears. This was the only
time he wasn't afraid, the only time he could have cared less
if he was going to live or die, just as long as Chavez was
with him. Loving him, and him alone.

"God, that's good," Doc panted, pulling Chavez toward him.
He nuzzled the warm neck, damp bits of silky blue-black hair
tickling his cheeks. "So good." A soft nip to the proud
chin. "Your turn now," he growled before pouncing.

He took it slowly at first, but Chavez urged him on,
practically snaking his body around his, whispering Spanish
in ear, mixed in with another language, strange and ancient.
Was it Navaho? Cherokee? Doc didn't know, but the sound was
intoxicating and he found himself aroused again, no longer
interested in taking his time.

A trail of wet kisses down the smooth belly and Doc was
about to take him when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"No, querido ... like this instead." Chavez slid under him
until their eyes were level, then pulled Doc's hips firmly to
his own. "Together," he gasped as their erections touched.
"Like this."

"Yeah," Doc breathed as Chavez undulated beneath him the
movement making him shut his eyes tightly against the
pleasure. "Oh God ..."

Chavez kissed his eyelids, his voice hoarse with effort.
"This is dancing, isn't it? Our dance, here in the night,"
he whispered. "You and me, till the waking bird sings."

He had no idea how long it lasted, but Doc soon felt the
familiar lightning at the base of his spine. He came with a
cry, feeling his lover's own pleasure follow, covering him
hotly, dripping over his stomach and thighs.

Buried his face in Chavez's neck, heart thudding. "Best
dance I ever had," he murmured against his neck. "Better
than the best."

Chavez kissed him tenderly. "Nothing like breaking the rules."

Doc smiled. "Nope. Especially when you're as good at it as
we are." Another kiss followed, this one as passionate as
poetry itself. "Especially when it's with you."

--------
end :-)

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