 Title: "Visions of Fate" 1/? If you've seen the show and hated Jake, you're right where I was when I first viewed the series. I was watching to see the beautiful Sully, and pretty much hated the rest of the show. (Sure -- they could have an outdoor restaurant year-round in Colorado Springs! Just an example of some of the annoying things about this show.) Then I saw something -- a spark? -- between these two characters. As usual, slash to the rescue! Hope you can enjoy it even if you hate the series, or don't know the series. It's one of my favorite pieces ever... +++++ Jake Slicker paused in his sweeping, and stared across the darkening evening gloom of the dirt street to where Byron Sully squatted, petting his wolf. Jake leaned against his broom, pushing the stiff bristles into the rough wooden sidewalk and sighed, fighting the sudden urge to cross over and speak with Sully. It wouldn't do -- he simply wouldn't allow himself to indulge in such foolishness. Sully rose then and moved away toward the edge of town, his pet wolf following behind him. Jake watched until Sully disappeared from sight, then took his broom inside his shop and closed the doors behind him. After locking the glass double-doors and dropping the shades, Jake propped his broom carefully in the corner of the room. Taking a final glance around his neatly swept and tidied barber shop, he nodded with satisfaction and turned to prepare his evening meal. Jake wanted to think about everyday things. He wanted to work until he was exhausted and then tidy and clean even more than ever before -- until his mind was full of normal thoughts and day-to-day life. He moved to the small pot belly stove in the front of his shop, and shifted a previously prepared coffee pot to the cooking surface. Then he turned to his sleeping area in the separate room at the back of the shop, walking to the fireplace and jabbing around to reveal the orangish-red embers under the banked ashes. Jake tossed in a few handfuls of straw and added some pencil thin kindling before finally lifting in some heavy pieces of wood. The fire caught quickly and the added warmth and brightness cheered the room. Though it was spring, the weather had been unseasonably chilly and damp for several days. One of Jake's dreams returned to him with vivid clarity. He saw himself kindling a different fire -- a fire on the ground, in the center of a large room. A man sat beside him as he worked, and the man's buckskinned leg pressed companionably against his thigh and hip. He knew the feel of that leg as if it had been pressed to him over months, and even years. He knew the room, too -- filled with strange, yet familiar items. Jake shook himself, and moved to place a heavy iron pot on the hook embedded in the fireplace stones, swinging the pot back inside the fireplace. While the water in the pot heated, he would cut up meat and vegetables for a make-shift stew. Jake was not much of a cook as a rule, but lately he'd found himself drawn to cooking -- wanting to try his hand at it more and more. It was odd, and it bothered him, but as it was also handy, he ignored the possible connection to the dreams -- dreams which were odd and disturbed him so much. It was growing late and Jake was hungry, but he was even more tired. He willed himself not to think about the dreams. 'Damned, dirty tepees,' Jake thought in spite of himself, as he moved to slip out of his long, fine jacket and sat to pull off his shiny, almost-new boots. Jake was tired enough to consider foregoing dinner in lieu of the comfort of the half-full bottle under his pillow -- and the welcome of his large, over-stuffed bed. Maybe if he drank enough, he could sleep without dreaming. He considered, but knew from previous attempts it was no good. Lodge, his mind said, not just tepee. But he pushed the thought away, forcefully. 'Damned, dirty Indians,' he thought savagely, forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand. Suddenly Jake could smell the coffee boiling, and the smell renewed his flagging spirits. The weeks of strange dreams were telling on him. Usually he would awaken in the middle of the night, startled to find himself inside his own bed. Then he would lie pondering the realistic quality of his dreams -- sometimes wide awake until dawn. His sleep had certainly suffered. He worried sometimes about his concentration when barbering; he'd been careless enough in the past at times -- especially when he'd been drinking too much -- to have a few 'accidents' with his razor or scissors. (Some of these had had serious consequences.) Sighing, Jake pushed himself out of his chair to prepare his dinner. He opened a square wooden box and lifted out a crusty half-loaf. The bread wasn't fresh, but hadn't gone stale yet, either. It would do. Jake had no cream or milk for his coffee today, but there was plenty of sugar. Tomorrow he would be sure to go for fresh milk, or buy a small can of condensed from the mercantile. He glanced upward for a moment, as if looking for a water skin. Then he both dropped and shook his head, moving swiftly to the larder. Jake chopped the meat remaining from his last two dinners into neat pieces. His friend Loren -- who owned and ran the mercantile -- had given him a beef roast three days back, and the meat had been especially fine. Again Jake's dreams interrupted his work, and looking down he could see his own hands cutting tender meat into strips. The smell was sharp and strong, and he guessed the meat was fresh game -- probably venison, from a doe. Beside him, strong hands worked with a long knife cutting at a smooth piece of white wood. 'So real,' Jake thought, again shaking himself back to the task at hand. He turned to the barrels -- recently purchased -- in the corner of the room, and drew out some small, red-skinned potatoes and several turnips. He glanced again at the ceiling, this time remembering he had the day before placed some dried celery to hang in the corner. Jake lifted down a small bundle and crushed pieces carefully between his fingers into the old blue ceramic bowl he'd moved into his lap. Then shifting the bowl to the rough sideboard, he pulled out some fine, small yellow onions from the farthest barrel, envisioning for a moment a large, beautifully woven basket painted prettily with bright yellow and blue designs. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he glanced quickly back to the corner, but the barrel stood there now -- still of dull, unpainted wood. He reached back to the sideboard, picking up the carefully sharpened paring knife he'd recently purchased. Taking his onions and the knife and sitting once again, he gently peeled them, adding them whole to his bowl. The bowl (which he'd had for several years) seemed strange in his hands, but the task (which was new to him) didn't seem at all strange. Still, Jake longed to feel the touch of finely rubbed wood in place of the heavy ceramic. Finally he cracked open two large bones and threw them into the pot over the fire, sorry he hadn't thought to boil out the marrow earlier. In his dreams, those fine, strong hands would bring him large bones -- carefully cracking them open for him. 'Sully's hands,' he thought -- though he wasn't certain. He'd never seen the man's face, though the buckskin pants and boots were quite familiar to him. Jake stood again and moved to the large pot, where the water was bubbling furiously. Using the heavy stick which leaned by the hearth, Jake shifted the iron hook toward him, bringing the pot out of the direct heat of the busy fire. He tilted his old blue bowl and let the contents roll carefully into the pot. The water splashed a bit, but Jake avoided being spattered by the hot liquid. Carefully pushing the hook, he again shifted the pot back toward the fire, close enough to simmer without danger of boiling. Now he could rest, drink a cup of the strong, boiled coffee, and let his dinner cook for a bit. Jake took a tin cup into the shop and using a rag lifted the heavy pot of coffee to fill his cup. He carried both cup and pot back with him into his living area, putting the pot down on the hearth, close to the fire. He blew on the contents of his cup and finally drank deeply, sighing with satisfaction. Putting down his cup, Jake moved to his wardrobe and swung open both doors. The wood had warped a bit on the left and the door swung inward again, trying to close. Jake gave it a small shove as he moved out of his slacks and shirt. He finished undressing and hung his clothing neatly on the pegs inside the wardrobe after checking them for cleanliness. (Jake was unusually fastidious compared to most of his neighbors, and something of a dandy by the standards of the small town.) Jake glanced at his clothes, thinking of the fine white buckskins he sometimes wore in his dreams. He reached a hand absently to his hair, almost expecting to find eagle feathers woven carefully and artfully into one side. His most expensive white shirt hung in the corner. He knew he wore it often in that dream world -- along with a pair of white buckskin pants which were dyed blue and red and covered in magical patterns. This apparel -- shirt worn with buckskins -- was designed to combine his 'white man' background with the life of one 'chosen by the Spirits.' The Spirits. What did it mean? Why would he, a man who hated Indians -- and who had even killed an Indian -- have these strange and compelling dreams in which he was practically an Indian himself? It wasn't liquor, he was sure of that. Of course, Jake had even tried to drown out the dreams with drink, but this had failed. The dreams had come -- even when he hadn't had a drop in some time. Somehow he now knew drink could potentially draw the dreams even more quickly, so these days he rarely indulged his fondness for the bottle. Jake sat down heavily on the edge of his bed -- his nightshirt in his hands -- as he considered whether or not he dared to stretch out for a few minutes of rest. Would he fall asleep the moment his head dropped? Would the dreams pull him swiftly down if he allowed himself to recline? Better to drink more coffee, and wait to eat the cooking stew. Maybe tonight the dreams wouldn't come. He never knew for certain when they would. He rose and pulled on his nightshirt, absently rubbing the soles of his bare feet against the rough floorboards. 'Where is Sully now?' he wondered without meaning to. Had Sully gone to the Cheyenne camp to sleep, or was he holed up in a cave or lean-to somewhere in the thick of the woods? Did Sully dream -- perhaps of him? Forget Sully! Forget the Indians and the wonderful warmth and unexpected comfort of the inside of a skin lodge, and the finely painted baskets and smooth, carved bowls and the quiet laughter from outside -- along with the sound of the wind moving through the evergreens... It was all just dreams. He -- Jake Slicker -- was no Indian. Nor was he a white living among Indians. Heck, he was now the mayor of Colorado Springs -- an important man in his own world. The smell of the stew drifted over to him, and Jake moved to stir the boiling pot. It would be ready to eat soon, he thought, his stomach growling. Now it was time to sit to table and let the food fill his thoughts for a spell. Jake turned quickly at the scratch on the heavy wood of his back door. Who could be calling here this late? And who would come to the back? Jake rarely used the door himself, so few people ever thought to come there. He moved to the door and shifted away the strong bar, pulling open the door. It was now full dark outside, but Jake knew immediately who stood staring in at him. His heart began to pound furiously in his chest, and he drew in a deep breath before speaking. "What you doing here, Sully?" he asked, forcing his voice to come out normally, with just the slightest edge of a sneer -- the way he'd almost always talked to Sully in the past. "Had to come, Jake. We need to talk." Sully pushed past him into the room, and Jake found himself moving back to allow Sully's passage inside. Sully's wolf stood in the doorway, but didn't enter. Jake wondered if he should shut the door on the animal, or leave it open. He stood staring awkwardly, until Sully waved an arm at the wolf and shut the door himself. "Go on now," Sully whispered loud enough for both Jake and the wolf to hear. "I'll be here awhile." The wolf padded off quietly into the darkness, as the door closed out the sight. Jake stood staring at Sully for a moment, not knowing what he should do next. Then he moved to the fire and leaned over his pot, hoping to cover his embarrassment. "You want some stew?" he called over his shoulder, as he stirred the contents of the pot. Strong arms came up around Jake, and he fell from his half-squat to his knees with surprise. He didn't move -- almost didn't breath. Let Sully decide what to do. Jake would wait -- and let Sully decide. He could feel the strong hands traveling over his chest, and flushed as he recalled he was dressed only in his nightshirt. Sully's head was close to him -- he could feel warm breath against his neck. He fought the urge to shiver with pleasure. "You know why I came," Sully said, pulling Jake tighter to him. "You've been watchin' me for days. I guess you know about the Visions. Maybe had some of your own, I'm guessin'." Jake didn't answer, didn't move. He could feel the room growing warmer; he could smell Sully's potent muskiness mingling with the odor of strong brewed coffee, cooking meat and vegetables. Outside somewhere there was a night cry from a dog or wolf. Maybe Sully's, Jake thought. "We can't fight our Fate, Jake Slicker," Sully was saying to him. Sully's hands pressed into him -- brushed up and down his body. Jake was aroused and could feel his body flushing. The heat started in his loins and moved swiftly outward through his torso and limbs. The strength of the feeling made him dizzy, and he leaned into Sully. The feel and smell of the buckskins and man-musk was so familiar as Jake pressed against the strongly muscled arms and chest. "It ain't right," Jake managed to gasp after only a brief instant, struggling to push Sully away. "We shouldn't ..." "Hush now. I wish I could talk to Cloud Dancing, but he's gone on his Vision Quest. We'll just have to trust these Visions -- and ourselves, Jake." "I don't know any 'visions,'" Jake said, crankily. "This is some crazy, Indian thing -- ain't it?" he questioned accusingly. Sully pushed his face into Jake's hair and laughed softly. "I don't know, Jake. I only know what I've been seeing and feeling. The Spirits speak to men, if they'll listen. They've been speakin' to me about you, Jake. I waited -- to be sure -- but I guess I just decided I'd been waitin' long enough." Jake wanted to argue -- knew he should argue. Men didn't do this; men didn't hold each other like this. But the body pressed into him felt too good to deny, and the joy of his dreams came back to him. It was hard to deny happiness when you felt it, he realized suddenly. (And he'd been so happy in that dream world. Not alone anymore.) Sully was rising, pulling Jake with him. "Guess we'd better eat first," he said, helping Jake to stand. Eat first? Before what, Jake wondered. He forced his mind away from the question -- guessing at the answer, but not ready to face it -- and moved to grab up bowls and spoons. He watched Sully out of the corner of his eye as Sully moved to the hearth to pour them each a cup of coffee. Finally Jake turned, and ladled large portions into each of the bowls before moving back to the table where Sully now sat. Again, things felt weirdly familiar, as if he'd prepared and served meals for both of them many, many times before. "Smells real good," Sully said appreciatively, smiling. He dropped his gaze to his bowl and began to eat. Jake watched him for a moment, until Sully's eyes came up and stared into his. Then Jake jumped up again, embarrassed, and moved to bring the bread and sugar over to the table. He was glad now he was in his nightshirt -- it hung loosely enough so as not to be too revealing. "Let me put some sugar in," Jake suggested, reaching for Sully's cup. He tore off a large hunk of bread and pushed it across to Sully's bowl. "You think I'll like it that way?" Sully questioned softly, dipping a small piece of the bread into his bowl. Jake tried to concentrate on spooning sugar into Sully's steaming cup, rather than watch as Sully's strong, white teeth chewed the tough bread. "You'll like it," he answered positively, as if knowing Sully's tastes. He stirred the steaming cup and pushed it in front of Sully's bowl. They sat in warm and comfortable silence, glancing watchfully at each other now and again as they ate their meal. The fire snapped and popped, and the pines sighed outside. Finally they both finished eating. "More coffee?" Jake offered, rising. "No." Sully reached out a hand, gesturing Jake to sit. "I think we've both had enough now. I just want to look at you a minute." Jake found himself starting to blush as Sully stared him up and down more intensely now. He wanted to rise and take care of their dinner dishes, but knew somehow that Sully wouldn't permit it. So he sat and tried not to duck his head as Sully continued to look at him. Suddenly Sully rose and moved behind him. Jake could feel Sully's hands gripping his shoulders and guiding him to stand. "I want to take you. I need to have you right there, in front of the fire," Sully was saying in a husky voice. And Jake could feel the power of Sully's lust coming off of Sully's body -- could hear it in every word Sully was now saying. "Let me help you undress," Sully's passion-deepened voice said in a near whisper. He pulled the nightshirt up over Jake's head and tossed it lightly aside. Then he pulled roughly at his own tunic, revealing his sun-bronzed, muscled torso and full, wide shoulders tapering to his muscular stomach. Jake stared into the deep blue of Sully's eyes, suddenly realizing that Sully was clean shaven -- that very day. Now he allowed himself to look more closely at Sully, noticing the shiny clean hair which hung in a silky, chestnut frame around Sully's face. The hair fell to below Sully's shoulders in thick waves, and was very obviously freshly washed. 'He cleaned himself up to come to me,' Jake thought, touched by the gesture. Sully moved away from him, and Jake stood, waiting. He watched as Sully pulled the heavy quilt from his bed, and spread it on the floor before the hearth. Then Sully was going down on his knees, drawing Jake down with him, their hands joined. Sully's hands guided Jake's body to turn, as he in awestruck tones, "So pretty, Jake. You are such a pretty man. Such a pretty butt. And all so white ... Such sweet hair." A hand trailed through his hair, gently rubbing Jake's scalp. Then the world turned red for a time -- and everything was hot and full of pain as Sully entered him. The moment passed and the movement continued, strong and deep. Jake pressed back against Sully, wanting him -- wanting this. Strong arms circled him tightly and strong fingers dug into his willing flesh. They rocked together, both moaning without thought of the sounds as the movement grew faster. Jake cried out as he climaxed. Soon after felt hot warmth inside him, and knew Sully had climaxed, too. Their bodies stretched into one another for several intense moments as they both strived to make the instant last before collapsing down together on the dampened quilt. Jake could feel Sully's naked flesh against him; he wondered for a minute exactly when Sully had finished undressing himself -- then forgot the thought in the pleasure of the moment. Sully was pressing warm lips into his neck, and Jake turned swiftly to face him. Then they were kissing, mouth pressing firmly into mouth. "I got to mark you, Jake Slicker," Sully said softly -- insistently -- as he broke their kiss. "I got to make you mine forever." "Huh? Mark me? What'd ya mean?" Jake asked, confused. Still, he nuzzled his face into Sully's chest, feeling tender and happy. "It's a special thing. Big magic. I saw it in my Vision." Sully's voice was clear -- he seemed unaffected by the usual torpor of a man who had just climaxed. His voice was insistent and held an edge of obvious excitement. "It ain't a thing that's really talked about -- it's a thing with ... a thing with few words." Sully struggled to find a way to make Jake understand. "Oh," Jake said, dismissively, "it's some Indian thing. Never mind then." Drowsiness threatened to draw him down and he felt no need to fight the urge for sleep. Sully took Jake's shoulders in his strong hands and looked straight into Jake's face. His expression was intense, serious. The pressure of his hands and force of his gaze drew Jake out of his stupor. "It's what the Spirits told me, Jake. It was part of my Vision. It don't matter if it's a Cheyenne thing or a white man thing or what. It's what I want. It makes you mine. Makes it so I can always find you -- here, and in the Spirit World." Jake shook his head, blinking. "I don't see why it means so much to you ... but if it does, well ... well, I'll give it some thought." Sully smiled, and took both of Jake's hands in his own. Looking into Sully's handsome face took Jake's breath away. Imagine -- Sully wanting him. "I love you, Jake Slicker." Sully gathered Jake in his arms and drew him once more into a long kiss. "You've got such pretty lips," he added when they finally parted. "Soft and full as any girl's." Jake could feel himself blushing. He was unaccustomed to flattery -- and more, unaccustomed to emotional declarations. He didn't know how to respond. They rose and stood together quietly for several moments, simply watching one another. Finally Sully broke the silence. "Guess we should get some sleep. I want us to make an early start to the Cheyenne camp." "Cheyenne camp? I ain't goin' to no Cheyenne camp. They practically killed me the last time I was out there. They don't like me, Sully. You go out alone." Jake moved to the hearth and grabbed up the quilt from his bed. It was damp in places, and Jake felt fire grow in him just noticing this. He carried it over to the bedstead and spread it on top of the soft brown blanket there. Sully came up behind Jake and wrapped an arm around Jake's chest. "We both have to go, Jake. We need to go to the sweat lodge there -- together -- and see if the Spirits will send us a new Vision." He pressed his face into Jake's neck. Jake leaned back into Sully, smiling. "Come on. Let's climb in." He reached down and pulled back the bedcovers, reaching up a hand to take Sully's and lead him downward. They both climbed into the bed, facing inward and moving their bodies tightly together. The fire was dying and the room was growing dark, but they could still make out each other's features in the dimness. "You gotta trust me, Jake." Sully's voice was insistent, his look serious. "I do trust you. I just want to keep this between us. I don't see why anyone else has to know." Sully shook his head. "I don't see how we can keep it a secret, Jake. People will find out -- just by how we act." Jake struggled out of Sully's arms and sat upright in the bed. "This isn't just up to you, Sully. I got some say, too. It ain't that long a time since I became mayor. I'm respected here in Colorado Springs -- and I plan to keep it that way. After all," he added hotly, "how would you like it if Michaela found out?" Jake stared into Sully's face, hoping he would cause Sully to reconsider at the thought of Dr. Mike. "This really doesn't have anything to do with her," Sully answered, softly. "This is a man thing. But I'll tell her, when the time is right. Even if she doesn't understand it, she'll just have to live with it." Jake sighed and shook his head. "I don't want you to tell her -- or anybody. If you want this -- want to be with me -- you have to agree to keep it between us." "And the Indians," Sully added firmly. "We have to have the ceremony. I saw it in my Vision." "Okay. Then maybe we'll have this ceremony of yours -- and maybe then the Indians'll have to know. But you got to tell them not to tell anyone from town. And you got to act just like normal with me when we're both in town." Sully sighed and closed his eyes briefly. Then he rose to his knees in the bed and drew Jake into his arms. He slid down in the bed, taking Jake with him. "I'll do whatever has to be done. This is our fate, Jake. You'll come to know it someday the way I do." "Maybe." "You'll go with me to the Cheyenne camp tomorrow?" "I said I'd go and I will. But you remember what you said. Promise me." "I promise to try, Jake. I can't promise nobody will ever know. Things like this have a way of surfacing sooner or later." Jake ran a hand through Sully's tangled hair. So thick, yet silky to the touch. "It's gonna be even more special, bein' our secret, Sully. You wait and see." "Sleep now, Jake. You must be tired. Did I hurt you before?" "You're big there. I already knew that, though. I figure I'll get used to it real soon. I'm okay." "I don't want to hurt you. But I sure wanted to have you. It was good, Jake. Real good. I guess the best I ever had." Jake felt a swelling in his chest and knew he was grinning and blushing. He felt proud and happy. He didn't want to think beyond this moment. He didn't want anything to spoil this. "Sleep now. I feel pretty tired -- I know you must." Sully snuggled closer to Jake, stroking him with his hands. Jake allowed himself to completely relax in Sully's embrace. He knew he would sleep soundly tonight, with none of the dreams which had haunted for what seemed like forever. At this moment, his dreams had become reality -- in the best possible way. Real in a way which Jake would never had dared to guess at before. The fire glowed orange as it died; the two men slept, wrapped together. Out in the night, a wolf howled once, briefly. -The End of Part One- |