Lakota was comfortable enough in the dark, but something about Cyris (probably just his holy rock) lit up the room. It wasn't as though Lakota was afraid to be seen.

He kept his hat on as Cyris cleaned the wounds on his back, not saying a word, waiting for it to be over, keeping an eye on the prize, which was the diamond. Stupid kid. It was his fault he'd gotten hurt.

Bandits had attacked the caravan- no one Lakota knew. Cyris's knight and her talking mutt had been fighting them off, while their new Weaver friend protected the bystanders. Lakota had decided to take inventory of their skills rather than just shooting the punks, and was watching with his finger on the trigger. When one of them got Cyris in a headlock, his trigger finger got itchy. Lakota had never been afraid of a fight, but charging full-steam onto a battlefield without watching his back had been, in retrospect, a mistake.

"Figures. The guy's got a knife to your throat, and you yell at me not to kill him." Of course, he had only planned to shoot said guy in the shin anyway, but the brat didn't need to know that.

"Sorry about that. I know you wouldn't really, I just- the gun kind of scared me."

"You were scared for the guy about to knife you. Makes sense." The kid wasn't just naïve, he was weird. "What makes you so sure I wouldn't kill him?"

"I don't know." Cyris's whisper was gentle, eerie, and Lakota felt too close. "You've saved my life twice now." Lakota said nothing.

The boy's fingers trembled a bit as they ran over the outlaw's bare back. He had some gauze bandages to cover the gashes, and he knew how to dress the wound, but he was oddly reluctant to end the task.

"Do you, um-"

"Talk louder."

"Um, would you like me to, to try to use the Diamond to help with the healing?" He didn't know why the question made him nervous.

The Nakoté thought about it, frowning deeply. No.

"No."

Inexplicably relieved, Cyris picked up the gauze. Lakota knew how to bandage himself after a knife wound to the back, but the kid thought he owed him. And he was right. Lakota could use that. After he allowed himself a few seconds to enjoy the contact of Cyris's fingers, he would use that.

Cyris was so clean, so soft. So easy. He tied Lakota's bandage and kept his palms against the outlaw's back. "Is that okay?" His voice was shaking. He was shaking. He was nervous. Idle fingers slipped out of a glove, briefly touched snow-white hair, and the light sensation on his scalp ran all through him.

Lakota turned to face the boy. His gloves dropped on the floor.

"You did fine, kid." The intense green of his eyes was intense, but Lakota almost never noticed colors anymore. "Y'okay?"

"What? Yes." His face wasn't pale now, it was pink, deep dark pink. He was so pretty. So pretty, but Lakota had to use him.

The floor was hard and his back arched automatically before he fully comprehended the outlaw, hat off, above him, hands holding his wrists. Lakota's hair tickled his throat, his breath tickled his lips, and his mouth opened.

"Let me thank you," the darker man muttered. His fingers ran up Cyris's arm. He brought his mouth to the boy's ear. "I won't hurt you."

Cyris cried out as his savior's teeth seized his earlobe, stubble rubbing roughly against his neck, pain, pleasure, sensation. No. Forbidden. His hand on the thief's back. He wanted to say his name. Would Skylar and the others rescue him? He couldn't see the light of the diamond. "Please, Mr Lakota..."

"Please what?" Insistent lips crashed into Cyris's, and other thoughts went away. The outlaw knew he shouldn't enjoy the kid calling him 'Mr Lakota'. He should be more surprised at the arms wrapping around him. Just get it over with. Tire him out, forget about earning his trust. He owes you.

Is this love?

Is this right?

To Cyris, the ground seemed to be rolling beneath him. The tall loner had let go of his wrist to run both hands through his hair. The smaller boy was trapped beneath him, the outlaw's hips pressed against his thighs. He was overheating; he couldn't breathe. Rough fingers stroked his stomach under his shirt, back and forth, then in circles, higher every time, lower- too low. "I need you," one of them whispered, and Lakota kissed him and he returned the kiss, his head dizzy because he wasn't getting enough oxygen.

Who needed oxygen?


He was asleep, Lakota was sure. The outlaw stood up, quickly pulling on his clothes, keeping his eyes on the boy. Still asleep.

Carefully, he took hold of the staff. The diamond wouldn't shine for him. It didn't matter; he could still use it, or sell it. He retrieved the gun that had been resting a couple feet away from Cyris's sleeping area, and turned to pick up his hat.

Something stopped him.

With a long look at the innocent boy beneath a single blanket, Lakota slipped out of the tiny room.

Cyris slept. Next to him rested the darker man's hat. He dreamed in shades of gray.


Lakota had only gotten a step or two away from the caravan when some icy blue stuff shot out of the ground in front of him. He readied his gun.

"Drop the gun, please." Lakota whirled around to face the witchy woman behind him.

"Sure. Just let me have one shot first."

The blue-haired woman- Erilys was her name, he remembered- advanced calmly. "You may be able to take me down, but not without waking the whole caravan. And I can guarantee I can detain you long enough for them to catch you."

The outlaw scowled. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"

"I don't want any trouble. But that diamond doesn't belong to you. I won't stop you from leaving, but I'm going to insist you hand me the staff first." The Weaver extended a hand.

"The boy doesn't need it. I do. He doesn't mind."

"I think he would." Erilys didn't back down. "Please make this easy on us all. I don't want to hurt you, and I don't think you want to hurt me either. Leave peacefully."

Lakota narrowed his eyes, his trigger finger twitching. If he fired, Erilys's friends would wake up, and in his injured state, he didn't think he could take the sorcerer and the knight and the dog and Cyris with his green eyes.

"I know. You'll be back," the young woman said as he handed her what she wanted. "Try not to get caught."

"Don't worry about that," he growled. In an instant he was gone, back into the darkness, his element.

The Weaver turned back to the caravan. She'd slip the staff back to its owner before he woke up. For now, she'd leave him alone.