BDSM - Beat, Dom and Shame Muscle

FREAKER

The smell of sweat and horse stuck to my clothes. Five days of riding to track down a gang of bandits wanted all over the state. But the information I had been given was wrong. The so-called bandits were only pioneers on their way to California. Since gold had been discovered in that region two years earlier, many newcomers had been arriving.

The town where I was sheriff had been born from that rush for fortune, which for many ended in death, sickness, or ruin. Brannan, my town, owed its name to one of the first millionaires who had known how to take advantage of all those gold seekers. He had learned how to exploit all their needs, taking away the few dollars they managed to earn.

My job was dangerous, but the pay was good. I had an impressive build. I knew how to fight with my bare hands. I was an ace with a revolver. All these qualities had earned me the respect of the community, mostly made up of uneducated, rough, and violent people.

I dreamed to go to the bathhouse to get rid of my terrible smell. Also, I had thought about going to the saloon to wash the dust from my throat, and also to see Greta, a curvy German woman who gave blowjobs that could take you straight to heaven.

When I arrived in town, I had the feeling that something was wrong. All was far too quiet. The few people I had met had acted distant. Young Steve, my deputy, whose admiration for me was immense, had hardly reacted when he saw me come back. He had asked no questions and, most of all, when I told him I was going to the bathhouse, he had not offered to come with me to share my bath and make the moment more pleasant.

I was getting out of the warm water thinking I just was tired by my ride, and nothing was wrong. My muscles had recovered; my clean skin was covered with drops of soapy water.  Suddenly I saw a small group of men gathered in front of the bathhouse.

Soon someone knocked on the door. Dan, one of the most important merchants in Brannan, was standing in front of me, his powerful muscles trapped inside a shirt that was too tight, and jeans ready to burst under the pressure of his huge thighs and massive bulge.

“What’s up, Dan ?”

DAN FREYR

I ain’t the kinda man who talks purty about himself, so I’ll just say it straight. Name’s Dan Freyr. Came into Brannan in ’49 with a busted wagon, two crates of nails, a barrel of flour, and a temper that had already gotten me run out of two camps. Five-nine, two hundred pounds of work muscle, bald as a river rock, ginger beard, hair on my chest and belly like I never learnt what a razor was for. Built the mercantile with my own two hands after I took it off three claim-jumpers who thought a fat man with a ledger couldn’t fight. They learned. I still got the knuckle scars.

Max Freaker rode in about the same time I did. Different kind of hard. Taller than me, longer in the arm, the kind of quiet that makes other men nervous. The kinda man who let his fists and his gun speak for him. I liked him immediately because he didn’t try to like me. Most men either wanted my money or wanted to test me. Freaker just looked at me like he was measurin how much damage I could take.

First time we really met I was throwin a drunk miner thru my front window. Max was still wearin a deputy star under old man Callahan. He din’t arrest me. He just stood there with that flat look and said, “You gonna clean up this glass or you want me to add it to your fine when I throw you in the cell?”

I cleaned up the glass. Shit I was doin that anyway. Then I told him if he ever wanted to find out who hit harder we could do it behind the store after dark. Wouldn’t ya know, he showed up two nights later. No badge. No gun. Just them big hands and that same measurin stare.

Neither of us would stay down, it was that kind of fight. I remember the taste of his blood in my mouth. Yea, it was that kind of fight too. His thighs locked around my ribs when he tried to crank my neck. I remember laughin when he finally got me on my back and I still wouldn’t tap. He din’t laugh. He just stayed on top of me a second longer than he needed to, breathin hard, and then he got up and walked away like nothin happened. That became the thing between us.

Every couple weeks one of us would get that look. Sometimes it was after a hangin. Sometimes it was after a claim war. Sometimes it was just Saturday and the store was locked and the town was drunk enough not to notice two men beatin the hell outta each other in the alley. No rules. Shirts came off first. Then it was just skin and sweat and whoever still had legs at the end. I always went after his midsection cause that’s where he was strongest and I wanted to feel it give. He always went after my head cause he knew I hated losin my feet. We never talked about what it turned into after the fightin stopped. Some nights we just sat on the loadin dock with a bottle and din’t say a damn thing. Some nights the bottle stayed unopened. Max never asked me to stay and I never asked him if he wanted me to. That was the rule. We both understood it.

He made sheriff when Callahan got his throat cut over a card game. I was the first man who walked into the office and told him congratulations by puttin my fist in his gut and darin him to make me leave. He din’t make me leave. He just locked the door. After that the town thought we were just the sheriff and the merchant who happened to respect each other. They weren’t wrong. They just din’t know the whole of it. I kept his secrets. He kept mine. When the miners got too rowdy I handled it so he din’t have to draw. When some slick talker from Sacramento tried to squeeze my prices, Max happened to be standin on the boardwalk lookin like he’d enjoy an excuse. That’s who we were before the quiet came to Brannan. Two hard men who found each other in a town full of softer ones, and neither of us ever said out loud what we were actually doin when the door was locked and the shirts were already on the floor. That was then…now…things had changed.

I filled the doorway and din’t ask if I could come in. Never have. Water still runnin off ya down that thick chest, over the old knife scar on yer ribs, straight in the towel hangin too low on yer hips. I looked there first like always but now it was different. Then I looked ya in the eye. “What’s up is ya been gone five days, Max, and this town ain’t the same town ya left.” I stepped in and shut the door behind me. 

“Ya smell clean,” I say. “That’s new. Town don’t smell clean no more. People don’t look at ya the same. Deputy Steve didn’t even ask how many ya buried this time. Ya notice that?” I let that hang in the air. My eyes went back down yer body, slower this time, watchin every drop still clinging to ya. “I been waitin on ya, Max. We got a problem bigger than bandits.” I took a step back toward the closed door and grabbed the knob. “Get some clothes on and meet me at the saloon. I’ll be waitin.” I growled low in that tone that ya know damn well, then opened the door and left ya standin there to think.

FREAKER

You’ve changed too. Your smell, for one, has disappeared. It  was driving me crazy every time our bodies rolled together in a fight or in something more intimate. Before I left, in such a situation, you would have slammed the door behind you, shoved me against the wall, crushed my body brutally between your arms while I fought back, both of us trying to find out which one would take the other.

And now you talk to me. More than you’ve ever talked to me before. Long sentences, coming from a man who used to speak to me only with his fists and his silences.But I’m not suspicious yet.

I’ve fought beside you too many times. I’ve fought against you too many times. I know every part of your body. I know every inch of that landscape of muscle that makes you what you are. I know the taste of your lips, the smell of your blood, the raw aggression of your sweat. I know your weak points just as well as you know mine.

“Okay, Dan. I’ll meet you there. You know that when the two of us are together, there ain’t a problem we can’t handle.” I flex my pecs, hoping for some kind of reaction. A step toward me. A fist driven into my abs. Anything.But you stay cold, almost absent.

You look me over one last time, but now your eyes are different. They’re the eyes of a slave trader inspecting his merchandise.You turn your back on me and walk out.My eyes linger on your muscular ass and on that back of yours, broad as a hill.I dress slowly.Then I pin my star back on. I means everything to me.I had a bad life before I came to Brannan. This town saved me.You saved me, Dan.From the first moment I saw you, I knew we had been forged from the same iron. Hard. Proud. Merciless. Superior.

I look out the window.You’re walking away, followed by some of the worst men in town.And you’ve left two of the cruelest men in Brannan standing outside the bathhouse: Little Bill Daggett and Elam Ferguson.What are you afraid of?That I’ll run?You know me better than that. You know there ain’t a damn thing in this world that scares me.And that’s when I finally understand.You really have changed.

I walk past your two guard dogs.Something bothers me. I don’t know what it is.They follow a few steps behind me.Then suddenly I understand.These guys have never seen the inside of a bathhouse in their lives. Usually, their smell hits you like a wild storm.But now, nothing.They don’t smell of smoke, sweat, piss, or the sour stink of clothes that have never been washed.

I walk into the saloon, and you’re leaning against the bar.The others are sitting silently around the tables, empty glasses in front of them.I don’t see Greta.She would never have missed my return. Yeah Dan! You’re right.I’ve got a problem.

DAN FREYR

“He comes out wearin that star, ya keep him on the boardwalk,” I growled. “He don’t come at all, ya come find me. Either way he don’t ride outta this town tonight.” I kept walkin. The others fell in behind me like they already knew the way. Yer smell was still on me. Clean water and that heat that used to pull the fight right outta my hands and into somethin else. Tonight, it just sits there. Didn’t pull nothin. I stopped at the corner long enough to throw my voice over my shoulder, loud enough for ya to hear it through the window if ya was still watchin. “Don’t be late, Max. And leave the star on the hook. We ain’t settlin this one with a badge.” Then I headed for the saloon. Town don’t smell like Brannan no more. And ya still think I’m the same man who used to lock the store on a Saturday night and find out which one of us still had legs. He’ll learn.

FREAKER

I heard your last words. But my star is the most sacred thing I own. There’s no way I’m not wearing it. Your two guard dogs tried to take it from me, but I kept that confidence that’s always been part of me. I put my hand on my revolver, and those cowards didn’t dare move again.Now I’m curious to see if you will.

There isn’t a sound in the saloon. Every eye is fixed on me.But the strangest thing is that there isn’t any smell either.Brannan has suddenly turned into some kind of sanitized world.I put my hat down on a table among the empty glasses.“A whiskey, Mac. And make it your best. My throat’s dry.”I walk toward you.“So, Dan, what’s the problem a sheriff can’t handle?”

I shoot Mac a hard look. He puts a glass in front of me and pours me a good measure. He starts to take the bottle away, but I grab his wrist and squeeze.He leaves it in front of me.

“A glass for my best friend too.”I fill your glass and slide it toward you.“We’re gonna drink to this, Dan... just like the old days.”

DAN FREYR

I watched ya come thru them doors wearin the star I told ya to leave on the hook. Didn’t surprise me. Ya never did take an order ya din’t feel like takin. Little Bill and Elam came in behind ya lookin like they’d just been reminded what a real gun hand looks like. I din’t blame em. I just looked at em once and they found a wall to hold up.

Saloon was dead quiet. No cards. No talk. No smell. Just that clean nothin that ain’t Brannan. Ya put yer hat down like ya still owned the place. Told Mac to pour the good whiskey. Squeezed the man’s wrist till the bottle stayed. Then he filled my glass and slid it across like we was still two men on the loadin dock after a Saturday night. “Sheriff cain’t handle this one, Max,” I said. Din’t pick up the glass. “This ain’t claim-jumpers. Ain’t Cassidy boys in a dry wash. Ain’t even the kind of problem you and me used to settle with shirts off and the door locked.”

I let my eyes go over ya the same way they did in the bathhouse. Star. Gun. That chest ya flexed at me like it was still gonna pull a fight outta me. “Ya kept the badge. I figured ya would. That’s why they’re in here with us now.” I nodded at the men lined along the walls. Every one of em lookin at ya the same way I was.

“Drink if ya want. Don’t change what’s comin. Ya rode back into a town that don’t belong to ya no more. Don’t belong to me neither. Not the way it did.” I leaned forward just enough that ya could smell whatever’s on me now instead of the man he thinks he knows. “Ya want to know the problem a sheriff can’t handle? Yer lookin at it. And yer sittin in the middle of it with a star on yer chest thinkin the old days are still on the table.” I finally wrapped my hand around the glass in front of me. “They ain’t.”

FREAKER

You step closer to me. I search your face for the old Dan, the most powerful man in Brannan, and the richest too. The saloon is one of your territories. But there are plenty of others. The bathhouse, the hotel, the store that sells food and supplies, the bank and even a gold mine. You don’t smell of anything. Just a faint scent that reminds me of something. You don’t smell like yourself anymore, but you talk far too much for the Dan I know. And most of all, you still haven’t touched your whiskey.

I’m barely listening to you now. I’m taking stock of the situation.There must be a good twenty men in here, but not a single woman. Not even the ones you usually pay to keep the place lively.I’m fast.If I draw my revolver, I could probably drop seven or eight of them, then charge Little Bill and Elam, knock them aside, whistle for my horse, and make for the gold mine. There I’d find guns and black powder if things got bad.

But the chances of making it are slim.Best case, I get wounded.Worst case, I get killed.Then suddenly Steve, my deputy, is standing right in front of me.Still. Cold.But more important, he’s changed too. Steve used to carry every smell a human body can produce.Now there’s nothing.Just that same faint scent I noticed on Dan.

Of course.I knew I recognized it.It had clung to me when Doc March treated a knife wound I got in a brawl. His whole office had been filled with it. A laboratory smell. A mixture of herbs, medicines, and chemical liquids.

Steve is close.Too close.He’s blocking my movement.My plan is too uncertain anyway. So I decide to wait and see what happens, to wait for a better moment to slip away from them.

DAN FREYR

I see yer eyes countin the room. Twenty men. No women. No smell but that thin medicine stink ya just now put a name to. Yer already workin the draw in yer head…seven or eight down, Little Bill and Elam outta the way, whistle for the horse, make for the mine. I know that look. Used to like that look. Tonight, it just tells me how far behind ya already are. Steve stepped in front of ya before ya finished the thought. Good boy. He don’t stink like a man no more neither. None of us do. I still hadn’t touched the whiskey ya poured. I set the glass down without drinkin it. “Ya even think about that gun, Max, and this saloon becomes the last room ya ever stand up in.”

I take one more step. Close enough now ya could see there ain’t nothin behind my eyes that belongs to the man who used to lock the store on a Saturday night. “Steve ain’t yer deputy no more. These boys along the wall ain’t miners no more. And I ain’t the man who used to let ya keep that star just cause it meant somethin to ya.” I nodded at the badge on yer chest. “Ya want the old days, ya should’ve left that thing on the hook like I told ya. Now it’s just a target.”

I let that sit. “Ya ain’t ridin to the mine. Ya ain’t whistlin for no horse. Yer gonna sit there and drink that whiskey ya poured, or yer gonna find out what this town does to a sheriff who still thinks he runs it.” I looked past ya at Steve. “He reaches, put him down. Don’t kill him. Not yet.” Then I looked back at ya. “Yer move, Sheriff. But it better not be the one ya was just thinkin.”

FREAKER 

Now things are clear. The threats are barely hidden anymore. I’m no longer the master of this town. But was I ever? I was corrupt. I worked for you. I got rid of troublesome competitors, uncontrollable miners, anyone who became a problem for your business. You know well I’m not the kind of man who sits quietly and sips his whiskey. And Steve, big as he is, doesn’t stand a chance against me. Maybe my idea is a bad one. But it’s better than staying here like a prisoner. You’re talking to some of your men. Steve has his hand on his revolver, ready to draw at the slightest move I make. I turn toward the bar and slowly drink my whiskey.

Now things are clear. The threats are barely hidden anymore. I’m no longer the master of this town. But was I ever? I was corrupt. I worked for you. I got rid of troublesome competitors, uncontrollable miners, anyone who became a problem for your business. You know well I’m not the kind of man who sits quietly and sips his whiskey. And Steve, big as he is, doesn’t stand a chance against me. Maybe my idea is a bad one. But it’s better than staying here like a prisoner. You’re talking to some of your men. Steve has his hand on his revolver, ready to draw at the slightest move I make. I turn toward the bar and slowly drink my whiskey. Then I reach for the bottle, like I’m about to pour another round.The bottle explodes against Steve’s skull.

Before he can fall, I grab him by the throat and pull him against me, using his body as a shield. My revolver is already pointed at your men. Some hesitate. Others draw and fire. Bullets whistle around me. A few hit Steve. Little Bill and Elam are dead before they even have time to react. I move backward toward the exit, my back to the door, Steve’s body between me and the gunfire. One. Two. Three... I count the men falling under my bullets. Already half of them are down. And then I see you. Still leaning against the bar. Smiling. Completely untouched by the battle around you. You knew exactly how I would react. For the first time, I get the strange feeling that I’m being tested. Then a bolt of pain tears through my arm. A bullet grazes my biceps, ripping the skin open. I grit my teeth and keep moving. The door is only a few steps away now. I reach it. 

I whistle. “Apache!” I hear my horse answer with a loud neigh outside. I throw Steve’s body aside onto the floor. I rush through the doorway, grab the saddle, and swing myself onto Apache’s back. 

Then we’re gone. Like a tornado, I tear through Brannan and head straight for the mine. I still have my star. I’m still the sheriff.

DAN FREYR

I din’t even flinch when the bottle come apart on Steve’s head. Knew ya was gonna do it the second ya reached for that whiskey like ya was pourin another round. Same as I knew ya’d use him for a shield. Same as I knew Little Bill and Elam would be first to go. Ya always was faster than any man in this town. That ain’t changed. I stayed right where I was against the bar and watched ya work. Bullets tearin the place apart. Men droppin. Ya countin em like ya still thought the numbers mattered. That graze on yer arm didn’t even slow ya down. Ya never did know how to stay down.

When ya throwed Steve on the floor and hit that doorway I was already smilin. “Let him ride,” I told the ones still standin. Din’t raise my voice. Din’t have to. “He’ll go to the mine. That’s where the gold is. That’s where he thinks the guns and the black powder are gonna save him.” I picked up the glass ya poured me and finally drank it. Tasted like nothin. “He still thinks that star makes him sheriff. He still thinks Apache and a fast draw get him outta this.” I set the empty glass down and looked at the bodies on the floor. Steve twitchin. Little Bill and Elam done. Half the room bleedin out.

Get the ones who can still walk. We go to the mine. Don’t kill him when we catch him. I want him alive. I want him to see what’s waitin in that hole he thinks is gonna save him.” I walked through the gunsmoke and the quiet and stepped out on the boardwalk. Dust from yer horse still hangin in the street. “Ya always did run when the old way stopped workin, Max. This time there ain’t nowhere left to run to.” Then I started walkin toward the mine. The rest of Brannan fell in behind me like they already knew the way.

FREAKER

Nobody in the mine. Silence greets me. I jump down, slap Apache on the rump, and with an almost joyful neigh he runs off to hide, just as I trained him to do. He’s the only thing that still connects me to the past.

 I go into the office. I take off my shirt and wipe away the blood running from my wound. I tear a strip of cloth and bandage my arm.I know I don’t have much time.I glance down at myHercules body. I’m built to fight, but more than that, I’m built to win.I step outside.The sun burns my skin, but at least it confirms that I’m still alive.

I shoot the padlock off the storehouse.Almost empty.A couple of Hawken rifles. A few kegs of black powder.That’s about it.

I look for a strategic position where I can defend myself. In front of the mine, a group of rocks forms an almost perfect barricade. And behind me, the mine itself will give me a labyrinth of tunnels to hide in if I need it.Then I see you coming toward me, followed by the men you still have left.I could kill you with a single rifle shot.But I’d rather pick off your accomplices one by one.

I don’t understand what changed you.But whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter.Only a bare-knuckle fight will bring you back to your senses.You’ll recognize my body. My muscles. My smell.Somewhere deep inside you, that memory will bring you back to me.One.Two.Three...They fall.Dead. Bloody.At least that hasn’t changed.Your men dive for cover.But you don’t.You stop only a few steps away, standing there like a perfect target.You act as if you can read my thoughts.

DAN FREYR

I walked straight into the open and let ya take the first three. Din’t dive. Din’t flinch. Ya always could shoot. That ain’t the part that’s changed. Yer boys hit the dirt behind the rocks and the ore carts. I just kept comin till I was close enough ya could put that Hawken on my chest and finish it if that’s what ya still thought this was. “Ya ain’t gonna shoot me, Max.

I said it easy. Like we was still behind the store on a Saturday night. “Ya already decided that. Ya think if ya get yer hands on me with no gun, no badge, just them fists and that body ya keep lookin at like it’s gonna wake somethin up and I’ll come back. You’ll smell the old sweat. I’ll taste yer blood again. We’ll lock up like we used to and the man who built the mercantile will crawl outta whatever ya think’s wearin my skin.”

I stopped a few steps short of yer rocks. Shirt still too tight. Hands empty. That thin medicine smell hangin on me instead of the man ya remember. “It won’t.” I looked past ya at the hole in the hill. The gold. The tunnels ya think are gonna save ya. “Ya sent the horse off. Bandaged that arm. Counted two rifles and a few powder kegs. Set yer ground like a man who still thinks he’s defendin Brannan.”

I shook my head once. “Ya ain’t. Yer standin on what we came for. And ya just killed three more of what’s mine tryin to pick the fight ya used to win.” I spread my hands a little. Not surrender. Invitation. “Ya want it bare-knuckle, ya come out from behind them rocks and take it. No Hawken. No black powder. Just you and me like the alley. Like the back room. Like the night I put my fist in yer gut and ya locked the door.” I let that hang in the heat. “But ya come out knowin this: the man who walks back into that mine with ya won’t be the one who used to let ya keep the star. And when yer on your back this time, ya will stay down.” I waited. “Yer move, Sheriff. Come out and find out if yer body still remembers mine… or stay behind them rocks and watch the rest of this town walk right over ya to the gold.”

FREAKER

You don’t lack courage. But I know you’re like me, a little crazy. You act without thinking about the consequences.The wind carries your strange smell toward me. It’s much stronger now. It seems to be the only scent your body gives off.I miss your strong, salty sweat, the smell that used to excite me so much.But I’m going to work you over so hard that it’ll come back.I got what I wanted.A fight between us.

I step out from behind my cover, hoping I can still trust you.I throw my rifle down at your feet.I keep my star hanging around my neck.That one, you’ll have to take from me yourself.I let my muscles roll beneath my sweat-covered skin. Then I walk toward you, close enough to breathe the words into your face.

“I’m yours… in front of your men… or like the old days, in the mine like we did in the alley behind your store. Just you and me.”

DAN FREYR

Ya threw the Hawken at my feet and walked out of them rocks like ya still believed the old rules was in play. Star hangin on your chest. Muscle rollin under that sweat ya thought was gonna wake me up. Close enough to put the words right in my face. “I’m yours… in front of your men… or like the old days, in the mine…” I let ya get that close on purpose. “Mine,” I said. Then I hit ya. Not the way I used to. Not the gut shot that used to start the Saturday night and end with both of us laughin on the floor. I stepped inside your hands, dropped my weight, and drove my fist into the side of yer neck where a man goes out if ya mean it. Yer knees buckled. I caught ya before ya hit the dirt, one arm under yer chest, the other hooked under that bandaged bicep.

Ya tried to stay up. Always did. That big body of yours twitched once, tried to lock a thigh around me like the old days, then went slack. “Stay down, Max,” I muttered into yer hair. “This time ya stay down.” I looked at the men still crouched behind the carts. “Nobody follows. Nobody touches him. He’s mine.” I dragged ya into the mouth of the mine. Cool dark. That thin medicine smell thicker in here, comin off the walls and off me and off what’s waitin deeper in the hole. Yer star scraped the rock. I left it on ya. I’ll take it when yer ready to give it. I laid ya out on the timber stagin just inside the first bend, where the gold vein shows in the wall and the air ain’t Brannan air no more. 

Yer chest was still workin. That Hercules body ya was so proud of, still hot, still the same shape I used to pin in the alley. I put my hand on yer sternum and felt the fight still tryin to live in there. “Ya wanted it like the old days,” I told ya, even though ya couldn’t hear it. “Just you and me. No badge. No rifle. Ya got it.”

The thing that’s in me…the same thing that’s in Steve, in Mac, in every man left standin in that town moved under my skin like it already knew the way. I leaned down over ya till that laboratory smell was all ya was gonna breathe when ya come to. “Brannan don’t belong to the sheriff no more. The gold don’t neither. And in a minute, ya won’t neither.” I set my forehead against yers the way I used to after the fightin stopped, when neither of us would say the third thing out loud. “Ya always said when the two of us was together there ain’t a problem we cain’t handle. Yer about to find out what we handle now.”

FREAKER

I don’t even have time to react. The blow snaps my head to the side, and a violent pain tears through my whole body. Everything around me blurs. My legs suddenly go weak, and I collapse.I feel your arms against my skin, but more than anything, I smell you.That strange scent is getting worse. Now it smells less like medicine and more like rotting meat.Then everything goes black.

When I come back to myself, your hand is pressing hard against my sternum and you’re leaning over me, your forehead against mine. But this time I know it isn’t because you want to kiss me, to have our tongues fighting inside each other’s mouths before doing what neither of us ever dared to admit.

I see something move inside you.The smell is suffocating now.Out of the corner of my eye, I see the vein of gold in the wall shining with an unnatural intensity.Something is wrong here.Very wrong.I search for my star and close my hand around it.It gives me courage.I feel nailed to this wooden platform. I try to smash my forehead into yours, but there’s no strength left in me. Then suddenly I slip my hand between us.I grip the star.I drive one of its points straight into your right eye. Liquid spills down onto me. You jerk above me, but I can’t tell if I’ve hurt you badly enough.I don’t even know if I’ve weakened you at all.

DAN FREYR

Ya drove that star into my eye like ya still thought metal could stop what was already in the rock. I jerked. Couldn’t help it. Hot wet ran down my face on yer chest and that star ya was clutchin like it still made ya sheriff. Hurt like a bastard. The man I used to be would’ve laughed and hit ya back just to feel ya hit me again. This one didn’t laugh. I caught yer wrist before ya could twist it deeper and slammed it to the timber beside yer head. The point tore free of my eye with a wet sound. I could still see ya out the other one. That was enough.

“There he is,” I growled, blood and that other shine drippin off my cheek on yer mouth. “That’s the Max who don’t stay down.” The thing in me din’t care about the eye. It was already in the cut on yer arm. Already in the air ya was draggin. Already in the gold light crawlin along the vein over yer shoulder. The rotten smell ya named got thicker. Medicine gone. Meat and metal and whatever came thru that hole in the world. I put my forehead back on yers, harder this time, pinned yer star-hand and yer other wrist both, and let more of it pass where our skin me

“Ya wanna cut me, ya cut me. Ya wanna keep that badge, ya keep it. It don’t come off till ya give it. But ya ain’t nailin me with it twice.” I shifted my weight across that Hercules body ya was so proud of till ya felt every pound of the man who used to lock the store. “Ya come back to yerself for one second and use the only weapon ya had left. Good. Now feel what I brought ya into this mine to feel.” The shine kept movin. Yer pulse under my palm stumbled again. “When both my eyes are lookin at ya again, Max, ya won’t be lookin back alone.”

FREAKER

I make a superhuman effort to lift myself up. But these Hercules muscles are useless now. A terrible pain explodes inside my head.I want to scream, but I refuse to look weak.I clench my teeth. My fingernails dig into the wood. Then suddenly, I decide to change my tactic.  I do as if I feel good.  The gold sends its energy into me, and I absorb it with a smile on my lips. I recognize you now and tell you :“We did it, brother. We defeated the Sheriff.”

I open my hand and look at my star. I say : "it means nothing to me anymore. It belonged to the other man." I hand it to you like a gift of submission. I continue : "I know now that I’m part of something greater, and that an attack against one of us is an attack against all of us. We are one single entity now. And you are its brain."

DAN FREYR

I din’t take the star. Ya held it up like a gift and smiled like the fight was over. Called me brother. Said we defeated him. Said ya liked the smell now. Said the gold was puttin energy in ya. I looked at yer face a long time. “No.” That was all I said at first. Then I knocked the badge outta yer hand. It hit the timber and skittered toward the vein. “Ya think I’m stupid, Max? Ya think I don’t know how ya fight when yer losin?”

The shine was in yer arm. I felt it. The smell was on yer breath. Ya was breathin easier and that smile looked real enough to fool a lesser man. It din’t fool me. Not all the way. There was still too much of ya in the way ya said desire. Still too much of the sheriff who drove a star into my eye thirty seconds ago. “Ya don’t give up a badge. Ya don’t call me brother. And ya sure as hell don’t quit with me still on top of ya.” I drove my forearm across yer throat and put my weight back where it belonged usin every pound of the man who used to lock the store. “The thing in me ain’t finished with ya. And the thing in ya ain’t finished with him. So we ain’t done.” Ya tried to lift. Those Hercules muscles came alive again under me, not lazy, not given over and fightin. Good. That’s the Max I brought in here.

I hit ya in the ribs the old way. Short. Mean. The way that used to make ya laugh and hit me back harder. “C’mon. Ya wanted it like the alley. Ya wanted it like the back room. Ya don’t get to smile and hand me yer star and call it finished.” Blood from my ruined eye dripped on yer mouth. The rotten smell mixed with the sweat that was still yers. “If yer theirs, stay down. If yer still mine…still his…ya get up off this plank and make me take it.” I din’t wait to see which one ya was. I hauled ya halfway off the stagin and slammed ya into the gold vein in the wall so yer back hit the rock that brought all this here. “Fight, Max. I ain’t convinced. And I ain’t stoppin till one of us stays down for good.”

FREAKER

You know me too well. I tried to trick you, but you didn’t fall for it. I gave in too quickly, when I’ve never been the kind of man who gives in. And yet I can feel that something inside me is trying to change me. I’ve always been stubborn. Even in the worst situations, I’ve always challenged fate. The scars on my body prove it. Death, however, has never wanted me. I start fighting again. I try to lift you, but you weigh a ton, or at least that’s what it feels like. Your forearm across my throat, then your fist slamming into my ribs, hits me like a shock and sends my testosterone surging. You still stink. That smell is unbearable. Only because of that, I will never give in.

I greedily breathe in the smell of sweat rising from my hairy armpits. It helps me to fight against the lethargy creeping through me. Your blood runs across my lips. Now even that tastes disgusting. Then you throw me against the wall of gold. I feel a burning sensation in my back. You want to fight like we used to in the alley. You’re challenging me... My cock hardens inside my jeans. Whatever you are, I’m going to make you bite the dust.

In an instant, I’m on you, my arms wrapped around your waist. I lift you slightly off the ground. I squeeze your lower back like a python until I hear your vertebras start to crack. My head rests against your shoulder, and my teeth sink deep into the back of your neck. Your blood runs into my mouth. The taste makes me want to vomit. “You’ll never stop me. Only Dan could have done that. But not you... not the thing possessing him."

DAN FREYR

Ya got yer arms around my waist and lifted. Same move ya used the night I thought I had ya beat behind the store. Python squeeze on the lower back. I heard my own spine complain. Then yer teeth went into the back of my neck like ya was tryin to spit the thing outta me thru my blood. It hurt. Good. “There ya are,” I snarled, even with yer mouth on me and my boots half off the rock. “That’s the stubborn bastard death never wanted.” 

I din’t try to peel yer arms off. That’s how the old Dan lost this hold.I drove my skull backward into yer face instead, once, hard, and felt yer teeth tear wider in my neck when yer nose took the hit. Blood…mine, the wrong kind ran hotter down my collar.

“Ya can smell yer own pits to stay awake. Ya can hate the taste of me. Ya can get hard in them jeans like this is still Saturday.” I hooked my heel behind yer calf and dropped my weight the wrong way, the mean way, tryin to take yer balance out from under that squeeze. “It don’t make ya him and it don’t make me gone.” The shine in your arm pulsed against my ribs where I was still pressed to ya. The vein in the wall threw gold light across both of us. Yer back had to be burnin where I put ya into it.

“Ya say only Dan could stop ya.” I get a handful of yer hair and wrench yer bite off my neck enough to speak in yer ear. “Then stop talkin to the thing and hit the man. I’m still in here enough to break this hold, Max. Ya feel that crack in my back? That’s me lettin ya have the old fight so I can finish the new one.” I rammed us both into the gold wall again, yer spine to the vein, my ruined eye and bleedin neck paintin ya. “Ya don’t give in. I know. So don’t. Squeeze till somethin gives. Bite till ya vomit. Get as hard as ya want. When this hold breaks, yer goin back on that plank, and what I started in yer wound is gonna finish whether ya like it smell or not.” I dig my chin into the bite and laugh once, short and ugly. “C’mon, Sheriff. Make me stay down. Ya ain’t done it yet.”

FREAKER

You are Dan, and yet you’re not. The way you talk about the past almost sounds nostalgic, as if some part of you still wants Freaker to dominate you the way he usually did. But at the same time, you keep threatening me with something I don’t understand. Your blow to my face, your brutal attacks, they hurt, but at the same time they make me glad. You’re there, somewhere, fighting back, fighting me. My back hits the gold vein again, and the burning pain flares up just as violently as before. I grimace as sweat runs down my back, over my pecs and abs, soaking into my jeans and between my ass cheeks. I stink. And somehow, I know that if my own smell is still there, I’m still the sheriff.

You want to feel my strength. You want to find yourself on the ground again. I feel you trying to hook my leg. I tighten my arms around your waist and drive forward with everything I have. We crash to the ground.  I land on top of you, drop to my knees astride your hips, and pin you there with my weight. 

Then I start hitting you. One fist slam into your sternum. Another into your abs. Then your ribs. Then your face. Again. And again, like I’m trying to beat the thing out of you and drag the old Dan back. Beneath me, I feel your whole-body tense, your cock gets hard in your pants. I rub it with my ass as I grab your shirt and pull your face closer to mine. "There you are, Dan.”

DAN FREYR

Ya put me on my back and that was the old fight, sure enough. Knees astride my hips. Weight I used to welcome. Fist in the sternum. Abs. Ribs. Face. Ya hittin like ya could beat the thing outta me and drag Saturday night back through my ruined eye. My cock answered ya. Couldn’t help that part. Never could when ya was on top and stinkin of yer own sweat. Ya rubbed that ass on me and pulled my shirt till our faces was close enough I could taste my blood on yer mouth. “There you are, Dan,” ya said. I spat red on yer chest. “I never left, Max. That’s the problem.” The material of my shirt’s already startin to tear open as ya pull on it and I remember how the sight of my bare hairy tatted chest was always a turn-on for ya.

I din’t cover up. I took the next shot to the face so I could get my hands on yer waist the mean way with my thumbs in, haulin ya down while I bucked my hips up hard enough to break the rhythm ya was usin. The shine in yer arm smeared across my shirt. The gold vein threw light over both of us on the mine floor. “Ya stink. Good. Ya said it yerself. If ya can still smell yer own pits yer still the sheriff. So stay the sheriff. Keep hittin. Keep grindin. Keep tryin to fuck the old me back into this body.” I snapped my head forward and butted ya, not as clean as the last one, just enough to make yer next punch sloppy. Then I locked my legs around yers the way ya used to lock yers around my ribs.

“Ya ain’t beatin it out. Yer mixin it. Every time ya bleed me, every time ya rub on me, every time ya breathe that rot and still call my name, ya give it another door.” I grinned up at ya with the one eye that still worked, blood in my teeth. “There I am. Now get off me or finish it. Cause if ya stay sittin on my cock like this is the alley, I am gonna roll ya, put ya back on that plank, and what I started in that arm is gonna take the rest of the stubborn outta you whether ya grimace or smile.” I tightened the lock and hit ya once in the same ribs ya’d been workin on me. “Yer move, Sheriff. Beat it out… or get taken with me still hard under ya.”

FREAKER

I don’t understand a damn thing you’re saying. I don’t understand what is mixing into me, what is coming from you. What I do understand is that your cock is hard as a ramrod, and soon I’m going to make it explode. I also understand that every blow you give me is proof that you’re still here with me.You want me. You’re proving it. My smell always turned you on, just like your hairy chest always turned me on. I tear your shirt open and wipe my face with it, soaking up the sweat and blood running down my cheeks and over my lips.

Then I lean down over you and bury my face against your pecs. But the usual smell isn’t there.There’s only that artificial, chemical scent.I nibble at your nipples, hoping to get some kind of reaction.But you just stare up at me with that hard, hostile look on your face

Furiously I slap your face, sending it snapping from left to right. Your indifference excites me even more. I desire you. I unbutton your jeans and take out your cock. It's dripping and its smell is the one I love, strong ammonia-like and aggressive. I squeeze your hairy balls, two full orbs. All of Dan is there. I unbutton my pants and free my ass.  I press my hole against your rod and impale myself on it. "Tell me Dan that you could do without this." My hands go to your throat and I start moving on top of you while squeezing your neck as hard as I can, hoping that you'll finally react.

DAN FREYR

My hips met yers the mean way…up and hard, the way that used to make ya swear and take more. The shine from yer arm smeared down my torn shirt and onto where we was joined. Every stroke ya took, every grind, every time that chemical rot mixed with the smell ya loved off my cock, ya opened another door and ya knew it. Ya just didn’t have a name for it. I let ya squeeze. Let ya ride. Let ya think indifference was all ya was gettin. Then I rolled. Not all the way off cause I din’t wanna dump ya. I turned us into the gold light so yer back hit the rock again and I was drivin up into ya from underneath, both hands on yer throat now instead of yers on mine.

“Ya want a reaction, Sheriff. Here’s one. I could never do without this. The man couldn’t. The thing cain’t neither. Yer mixin it yourself every time ya take me to the root and call my name.” I didn’t let go of yer neck. “Keep movin. Keep stinkin. Keep tryin to beat it out with yer ass. When ya finish, yer still goin back on that plank. And what I put in yer arm is gonna finish what ya just invited the rest of the way in.” I grinned up at ya, ugly, hard, still inside ya. “Tell me ya could do without this, Max. Then make me stay down.”

FREAKER

You push me back and I feel again the intense burning of this golden wall. I feel the heat of the energy it gives off. My sweat sizzles, turning into steam. With all my strength, I push us back to the previous position. You' re onto your back again, I stay on you. I squeeze my muscular ass like a vice. Your cock completely fills my channel. It tears my insides, pushes against my abs, and shows through my skin. 

If this is the last time I fuck you Dan, or rather that you fuck me, I want it to be wild. I place my hands on your broad chest and grip your hairs that are dry. Still no smell or sweat. I feel the air thinning under your choking.I feel something in me spreading. I feel the sweat evaporating. I refuse what you're giving me. I simply want to make you come, to flood me with your power.

I grab your wrists and free my throat. I trap your arms back above your head. Then I start to ride you, slowly at first. I lift up slightly to caress the glans of your cock. My cock is painful, directed toward your face, dripping with odorous precum that streams down onto your magnificent chest. Then I go back down quickly until you pound into me. My ass stroking becomes quicker and more brutal. I still moan, proof of my humanity. I am the Freaker of the alley, no longer the Sheriff. I've abandoned that role. I am the guy you loved in secret, who made you come beyond everything. And that one will never disappear, except in death.

DAN FREYR

Ya shoved us off that burnin vein and put me on my back again like the alley still belonged to ya. Vice in that ass. Took me to the root till I showed in yer belly. Dry hair in yer fists. No sweat left on me for ya to smell. Ya ripped my hands off yer throat and pinned my wrists over my head and started ridin like this was the last Saturday we was ever gonna get. Slow on the head. Then down brutal. Yer cock slappin my chest, that precum ya always did leak when ya stopped bein sheriff and started bein the man who made me come apart in secret. Ya moaned. That was human. I’ll give ya that.

"There he is,” I growled up at ya, one eye, blood, the thing and the man both lookin at the same body takin me. “Alley Freaker. Not the star. Not the speech. Justt he bastard who never disappeared except in death.” I din’t fight the pin yet. Let ya have the wrists. Let ya stroke that ass like ya could fuck the rotten out and pull a load outta me that was still mine. My hips met ya anyway. Mean. Up. The way that used to make ya swear and take it deeper. 

“Ya want it wild. Ya want my power floodin ya. Ya want to refuse what I put in that arm and still sit on the part of me that never stopped wantin this.” I flexed in yer grip just enough ya felt the strength that used to lock the store. “Ya can have the come. Ya can have the moan. Ya can have every inch till ya shake.”

The shine on yer arm smeared down my chest with yer precum. Gold light painted the ink ya used to lose your mind over. “But ya don’t get to say he never disappears and then think this ends when I bust. Yer mixin it faster like this. Every time that hole grips me. Every time ya drip on me. Every time ya call me Dan like the secret’s still just ours.” I bucked hard enough to lift ya and slammed ya back down on me. “So finish it, Max. Ride it outta me. Make me come like the old days. Then ya find out whether the man who loved ya in secret is the only thing that just went into ya.” I grinned through the choke of the air goin thin. “Ya wanted wild. Ya got it. Now don’t ya dare stay down when I roll ya after.”

FREAKER

I stare down at you, breathing hard.  For a second I don't know which part of you is talking to me. Dan? Or the thing wearing him? Maybe both."That's what you still don't understand." I tighten my knees against your sides and keep your wrists pinned above your head. "I don't care what you put in my arm. I don't care what's in that gold. And I sure as hell don't care what you think is crawling inside me."

That disgusting chemical smell is still there. But so are you. I can see it in the way your muscles tense beneath me. In the way you fight the pressure. In that look in your one good eye.I release one of your wrists. Not to let you go. To drive my fist into your sternum. Once. Then your ribs. Then your abs.The fact that I'm hitting you while riding you excites me even more."So come on, Dan," I growl, moving faster now, my thighs slapping against yours, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the mine. "Fill me with your truth. Show me what never disappears."I release your  other wrist to grab my own painful cock, hard and pointing toward your face, and I jerk off above you, precum spurting onto your lips, your chin, your throat."Taste," I breathe in rhythm with my hips. "That's the man you love. That and nothing else."

I lean down, my mouth near your ear while I keep riding your thickness, each thrust tearing me open a little more, bringing me closer to the abyss."And when you roll after..." I bite your lobe, pulling a cry from you, "...you'll discover I took you deeper than you took me. That you're already inside me, completely. Irreversibly."I feel the orgasm building, my prostate on fire, and suddenly I sink down onto your pole, pushing to the limit, stopping all rhythm, seized by convulsions. I shoot a massive jet of cum across your face, your chest, hoping you'll follow and fill me.

DAN FREYR

Ya painted my face with it. Hot. Thick. The smell I used to chase down in the dark behind the store. Precum first on my mouth, then the rest of ya stripin my chest and the ink ya always lost yer mind over. Ya sank to the root, seized up, and spent yerself like the alley was the only law left. I licked what hit my lips. “That’s the man,” I rasped. “I know. I never needed ya to tell me.” Ya still had me in you. Still clamped to the hilt. Knees tight. One fist still smellin of my sternum. The chemical rot under all that honest stink ya just put on me. I din’t come yet. Not cause I could do without it. I told ya I never could. I held it cause I ain’t convinced the sheriff’s gone just cause the alley showed up and blew across my face.

“Ya think ya took me deeper.” I got the wrist ya freed and the one ya forgot, and I rolled ya hard and mean, yer back to the gold again, me still buried, drivin now instead of bein rode. “Ya think it’s irreversible cause ya came and I din’t.” I shoved in to the limit and stayed there, one hand on yer throat, the other smearin yer own load across yer mouth so ya’d taste what ya called the only thing that never disappears. “Fill ya? Yeah. Ya asked for my truth. Here it comes.” I let it go. The old way. The Saturday way. Hips snap, whole body behind it, floodin ya while the shine on yer arm and the vein in the wall and the rot on my breath all hit at once.

I din’t pull out. Din’t get off. Forehead to yers, ruined eye drippin, yer spend still on my skin. “That’s me in ya. That’s the thing in ya. That’s every door ya opened when ya sat on it and hit me and called my name like the secret was still just ours.” I stayed hard inside the aftershock. “Ya don’t care what I put in yer arm. Ya don’t care what’s in the gold. Ya care that I followed. Good. Now get up off yer back and prove the alley’s all that’s left… or stay where I put ya and feel what ya just invited finish the job.” I din’t let ya up yet. “Yer move, Max. Shake it off. Or stay full of me and find out which one of us don’t disappear.”

FREAKER

I’m back against that damned wall again, against that gold that seems so important to you.The burning, the impossible smell, makes me want to vomit. But I fight the pain. I fight the stench.At least you’ve taken control again.You own me now, buried inside me to the limit, one hand around my throat, the other smearing my own come across my mouth. Gestures from the past that somehow give me hope.I don’t know where I’m finding the strength to resist.

Clearly, the whole town gave in. Even you, the strongest man in this community, have been possessed by some unknown thing. I can feel that it’s already inside me too, but it seems confused by the strength of my resistance.

Your hips slam against me, and suddenly you empty yourself inside me while everything around us becomes more violent at once, your breath, the gold burning into my back, the unbearable smell.Then I remember a rumor.

When the mine first opened, the Natives had refused to work here. They said something evil lived inside the mountain.You stay inside me, still hard.I shove you away violently, sending you rolling several feet across the ground, just as I hear your last words:“Now get up and prove the alley is all that’s left… or stay where I put you and feel what you just invited  to finish the job.”

But I can feel my strength and my will beginning to fade.I stagger toward a rock where, earlier, I had hidden a coil of safety fuse and a miner’s lamp. My back burns, every muscle aching.The fuse runs away into the darkness.I know where it leads.Before you arrived, I packed black powder charges into several places throughout the mine, enough to bring down the galleries and bury anyone still inside.I take the end of the fuse in one hand.With the other, I reach for the flame of the lamp.One touch.That’s all it would take.

The fuse would start burning, carrying the fire deeper into the mine toward the powder charges.None of your men would have enough time to stop it.And you and I would remain here forever, trapped together in our Saturday-night alley.“Talk to me, Dan. Tell me what possesses us. Come back to me and help me destroy it… or die here with me. With the sheriff. With the man from the alley. But most of all, with the man you love… and who loves you.”

DAN FREYR

Ya shoved me off and I hit the rock several feet back, still wet from ya, still hard, one eye gone and the bite in my neck pulsin. Ya staggered naked to that lamp like the last honest thing ya had left was fire. I seen the fuse in yer hand. I know where it runs. Ya packed this hole before I ever walked ya into it. Galleries. Buildings. Enough to bury the gold and every man still walkin in Brannan… and us with it. “Don’t.” Not a beg. A growl from the dirt. “Ya light that and ya don’t kill the thing. Ya feed it the mountain. Ya feed it the gold. Ya feed it the two of us in the dark forever like ya think that’s Saturday night.”

I got to one knee. Din’t rush ya. Ya was too close to the flame and too far gone in the head for a charge. “Ya want the truth, Max. Here it is, no speeches.” I pointed at the vein that burned yer back. “It come thru the rock. Natives was right. Somethin in the mountain. It don’t want the town. It wants the metal. It takes men to carry it, to dig it, to send it back thru. That’s why nobody smells like a man no more. That’s why I wouldn’t drink yer whiskey. That’s why I put ya on that plank.” I touched the ruin of my eye, the tear in my neck, the spend still on both of us.

“I’m in it. Yer half in it. Ya shoved me off cause the sheriff ain’t done and the alley ain’t done and the man who loves ya ain’t done. That’s why the thing’s confused in ya. Ya fight too ugly to swallow clean.” I stood up the rest of the way, empty hands. “Ya want Dan back to help ya destroy it? Then ya put that fuse down and ya come here and we finish this the only way we ever finished anythin. Fists. Floor. No lamp.” I took one step. “Ya light it, we die in the alley like ya want. The gold stays in the hill for the next poor bastard. And whatever loves ya dies thinkin he could’ve talked ya outta the match.” Another step. Close enough ya could see the man and the thing both lookin at that flame. “Talkin time’s over, Max. Drop it… or I take it off ya the way I used to take everythin else. Yer move, Sheriff. Love don’t need a mine for a grave.”

FREAKER

Am I really going to lose you? I stand there, ready to blow everything apart, while you ask me to come back to you, to keep fighting, to beat the beast,or whatever the hell it is, out of you. You don’t beg. You speak calmly, pouring out words, trying to keep me from thinking. You’re on your knees, then suddenly you’re standing. You start walking slowly toward me. I can feel that thing inside me, but my stubbornness seems to be an obstacle to it. My love for you too. A love I finally admitted after all those months beside you, after all those physical encounters disguised as fights, all those secret fucks in my office. You want to draw me toward you, but you don’t try to fight.

You keep your distance, carefully. You quickly admit that you love me. But I can feel it’s a trick. You tell me you’re only half possessed, but my instinct tells me otherwise. You tell me the mine wants the metal. It takes the men. “Well, it won’t take me.” Then suddenly, in horror, I see what’s inside you. I see it crawling beneath your skin, but I also see it emerging from the golden wall. It has no shape, no real form, but the sight of it is terrifying. 

Then you threaten me, and I understand that I have to destroy everything. You tell me it won’t do any good. Maybe not. But if I destroy this mine, this man-eating, soul-eating place, at least I can stop anyone else from ever coming inside.

Without hesitation, I light the fuse. I don’t say a word. I’m on you in an instant. I hit you square in the face with one of those punches that could drop an ox, one of those punches that put most of my opponents flat on the ground. You fall forward into my arms, half-conscious. I throw you over my shoulder and run toward the entrance. You’re heavy. So damn heavy. I know my attempt is probably doomed. 

Then I hear the first explosion. A second follows. Soon the roar of collapsing rock and the crash of the blasts reach my ears. A thick cloud of dust rolls through the tunnels and swallows me. It knocks the breath out of me. I can feel the thing inside me fighting, tearing at me from within. The exit is only a hundred meters away. I stumble. But I don’t fall. We’re almost there. We’re going to make it. More explosions tear through the mine. Then everything goes black.

DAN FREYR

I come to on yer shoulder with the mountain comin down around us. First thing I feel ain’t love. It’s yer fist still echoin in my face and the fuse already gone. Second thing is the thing inside me screamin cause ya just tried to bury the gold with both of us still in the hole. “Max…” Dust takes the word. A blast hits and the tunnel bucks. Ya stumble. Ya don’t fall. I feel every step in my gut. Yer naked, burned, half-eaten by what’s in yer arm, and yer still carryin two hundred pounds of me like the alley never ended. I should fight ya off. The part that came through the rock wants the vein, wants ya to drop me and go back. The part that locked the store on Saturday wants ya to keep runnin.

I hook one arm around yer back so I don’t slide off. “Ya lit it,” I rasp into yer shoulder. Blood from my mouth on yer skin. “Ya stubborn, beautiful son of a bitch. Ya lit it anyway.” Another charge goes. Rock screams. The thing in me claws up my throat like it can crawl back to the metal. I swallow it down and hold onto ya harder. “Don’t ya fall. Ya hear me? Ya said we was gonna make it. Hundred meters. Ya don’t get to go black first.”

The cloud hits. I cain’t see the entrance. Cain’t see my hands. Just yer smell…the sweat, powder, that rot ya hate and the beat of ya not quittin. “If we come out the other side, Max, I ain’t the man who walked ya into that mine. And ya ain’t only the sheriff. We finish it in the sun or we finish it under the hill. But ya don’t put me down.” The last blast takes the dark and takes me with it. I don’t know if yer next step is out… or under. I just know I ain’t lettin go.

FREAKER

The pain brings me back to myself. It runs through my whole body. The darkness is absolute. My hands search the space around me. Before I even touch you, I smell you. You smell like the old Dan again, a mixture of sweat and wild animal. I pull myself free of the rubble. I try to stand, but a terrible tearing pain shoots through my thigh. A jagged piece of broken timber has ripped a deep gash along the outside of my leg. A long splinter is still caught in the torn flesh, but it hasn’t gone deep enough to pin the muscle or hit anything vital. I grit my teeth, pull the loose splinter free, and press my hand hard against the wound. Blood runs between my fingers, but the leg still holds my weight. It hurts like hell.

My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. You’re beside me, half-covered in rocks and broken planks. But you’re breathing. That’s enough to reassure me for now. The entrance is blocked by massive boulders. It would take Hercules himself to clear them. Then suddenly I notice something just beside us. A small hole in the wall. A thin ray of daylight is coming through it. I need a tool. For once, luck is on my side. A pickaxe with a broken handle is lying on the ground. I grab it and start striking the rock. Every blow sends fresh pain through my injured leg. Sweat pours off me, and the air, thick with dust, slows my movements and drains my strength. But I don’t want to die here. I want to keep being your sheriff. I want to keep being the man from the alley on Saturday nights.

Soon the wall begins to crack. Then part of the rock collapses outward. Light floods in. I go back to you. You’re still unconscious. I lift you into my arms, filling my lungs with your smell. I whistle for Apache. He comes. I throw you across the saddle, then haul myself up behind you, grimacing through the pain. I’m close to passing out, but I fight it. I have to make it back to Brannan. Around us, almost nothing remains of the mining operation. There doesn’t seem to be a single survivor. 

Back in town, I carry you into a room at the hotel. I undress you and tend to your minor wounds before laying you in the bed.  I find a bottle of whiskey. I pour a long splash over the gash in my thigh, biting down on a piece of wood so I don’t scream. Then I wrap the wound tightly with clean cloth. You re stil incouncious. At last, I lie down beside you, my cock hard. You re stil incouncious.

 I rest your head on my chest and stroke your hair, your cheeks. Then I fall into a deep sleep, hoping that when I wake, I’ll finally have you back.

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