Rainmakers Interlude - Silenc Like Water by Lar
Sequel to Rainmakers II - Southwest of Nowhere

Author's Notes: Thanks to Donna and Sam (ISAL) for the preliminary read-through, Katie for being my Horse Whisperer and ethrosdemon for the beta of a fic that she is squicked by, with apologies for the ocean of passive tense I tend to drown her in. Love you guys! Also for Vicky, the WGF(tm) for telling me that sometimes it's OK to just do it.

-----

The horse is grazing, head down and content when Lindsey arrives. Lindsey leans against the fence and tips his hat back, observes the gelding for a few minutes. He's black with white splashes here and there, three white legs and one black. His mane and tail are long and tangled, black and white together. When he lifts his head and looks over in Lindsey's direction, his ears flicker back and forth. The white on his neck comes up to cover one eye; when he gets closer to the fence, Lindsey sees that it's blue.

Ed Collins comes up beside Lindsey, and the horse butts his head against the rancher's chest. Lindsey turns a critical eye to the condition of the animal. His neck's a little thin, his ribs are visible, although he's by no means starving. His legs are coated with mud up to the knees from being outside all the time, and Lindsey's fairly sure that he caught him favoring one leg when he walked over.

"You mind if I take a closer look?" he asks the rancher, one foot on the lowest rung of the fence, ready to climb over.

Collins nods. "Go on ahead, take a look. He's a good one, trained him myself. Likes people." Chuckles as the horse turns to watch Lindsey's approach, and then dips his head down, practically asking to have his ears scratched. "In case you hadn't noticed."

Lindsey can't help but grin, reaching out to scratch the ears on offer, looks back to see Riley standing beside the rancher, hand up over his mouth to hide his own smile. Turns to give a little more attention to the animal itself. He's a little bigger than the 15 hands in the ad, but not by much. Sweet face, intelligence evident in his eyes when he lifts his head, nose coming up to knock Lindsey's hat off. Lin picks it up and tosses it to Riley, runs his hands down the gelding's neck, across the broad, short back. Leans down and picks up the hoof on the leg he was favoring, sees some cracks there but nothing serious. Checks the other three to be sure and finds some minor cracking in each of them. He's talking to the horse the whole time, voice low and quiet, getting him used to the sound of a new voice, keeping him calm as he walks around and takes his measure.

"You said the gear's included, right?" Lindsey rests one arm across the dark back, pats the horse absently as he talks, enjoys the feel of warm skin and rough hair under his fingers.

Collins nods towards the end of the field. Saddle and bridle lay across the top of the fence there, edge of a worn blanket visible beneath. Lindsey gets his arm under the horse's neck, hand coming up to stroke along his nose. "Come on old boy, let's you and me take a test drive." Gentle pressure and he starts to walk, gelding coming along beside him amiably enough.

- - - - -

Riley stands beside Ed Collins, comfortable in the silence as they watch Lindsey get acquainted with the horse, saddling him up and getting ready for a quick ride. The rancher tells Lindsey to take his time, put him through his paces, no hurry at all. Riley waves him off with the hand that holds Lindsey's hat and turns to see the rancher's wife walking down to join them at the fence.

"Why don't you come up to the house and have a drink while you wait for your friend?" she says, brushing strands of graying brown hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand. It's a blisteringly hot day, and Riley's grateful for a chance to get out of the sun.

"Yes ma'am, that sounds great." Collins and he follow her back up the path to the farmhouse, and Riley catches them both looking at his arm when he extends it to grab the railing on the way up the steps. Too hot for him to stick to his usual longer sleeved shirts and even though the skin's pale up beyond his forearms, the scars in the fold of his inner elbow still catch the sunlight and make themselves known.

Mrs. Collins opens the back door and smiles up at him when he steps inside. "The Lord makes all things possible," she says gently, and Riley nods his head.

"Very true, ma'am," he agrees, accepting the tall glass she hands him and takes a sip. The lemonade's ice cold, just sour enough to quench his thirst, just sweet enough to keep him from wincing. He takes another, deeper gulp and then tells her, "Tastes just like my grandmother's lemonade. Thanks."

"Sit down, son. Rest a while." Collins sits at the head of the long wooden kitchen table and gestures for Riley to join him. Once he has, Collins leans forward. "You're workin' for Zeke down at the feedstore, right?"

"Yes, sir, I am." Riley takes another sip, rests Lin's hat on his knee. Collins could be any one of a dozen men that he knew back home in Iowa, accent different but nature the same. He feels himself relaxing, easy enough to fall into the small talk he knows is coming. Tells Ed Collins that the job is working out fine, that he's planning on staying around for a good while. When he's asked what brings him to their tiny town, Riley gives him the truth.

"Just finished my time in the service and wanted to get back to doing something I grew up with. Just not the same place I grew up." Smiles when he says it, sees the ghost of a smile echo on the rancher's weather-beaten face.

Mrs. Collins works at the kitchen counter, snapping green beans into a pot. She says, "I've seen you at the First Baptist, haven't I young man?"

"Yes, ma'am. And it's Riley, Riley Finn." He places the Collins' at once; they sit way up front. Mr. Collins's one of the deacons, passes the collection plate; Mrs. Collins sings in the choir. Good, solid people who're probably completely unaware of the things that live all around them, the things that this nice, young man who attends their church and drinks their lemonade has seen, touched, killed.

"Well, Riley, it's nice to see that you've settled in, made a friend." Mrs. Collins continues to work as she talks. "You say you were in the service?"

"Yes ma'am, just got out about a month ago." Ducks his head and wishes, hopes, *prays* that they don't ask him what branch or where he served or anything that'll force him to lie to these nice folks. Looks back up to see that they're perfectly content with that simple answer.

Mr. Collins drains his glass and stands. Riley gets to his feet as well, but the rancher waves him off. "Go on now and finish Mae's lemonade. Gonna go see if your friend is ready to talk horses with me. You come on out when you're done."

He sits back down in the chair and sips his lemonade, looks around the airy kitchen. Hardwood floor, dark at the edges where it meets the walls and bleached almost white where the people who lived here over the years have walked a pattern into the wood. Mrs. Collins sets her pot of beans on the cast iron stovetop and comes to sit with him at the table. He sees her glance fall on the scars time and again while they talk of farming life and families, but the gentle smile on her face never falters.

-----

Lindsey remembers this feeling, weird sense of deja vu as he urges the horse into a smooth canter and just lets himself fall into the rhythm of the ride. Years drop away and he's a boy again, forgetting all the bad things in his life and simply running, body in tune with the animal between his legs, wind in his hair and sun hot on his face and arms, burning through his shirt against his back. The gelding seems to pick up on his urge to just go, and he opens up a little more, field a golden-green blur as the reach the fence and turn. Lindsey grins; the horse turns on a dime, easy neck rein and no break in his stride. He slows them down to a rough trot, much less pleasant than the canter and hell on his tailbone, but he's still smiling as he pats the mottled neck and smoothes the mane.

Looks up to see Collins waiting for him, wonders briefly where Riley got to as he stops, dismounts, leads the horse over to the rancher.

"So what do you think?" Collins asks, hands in his pockets and hat far back on his head. "He needs some feedin' up, but he's a good horse. Got a lotta workin' years in him still, if you're willing to give him the attention."

Lindsey steps around and looks at the horse. Rubs his hand up the nose, between those bright, mismatched eyes. The gelding gazes back, and then bumps his head against Lindsey's chest when the hand stops stroking. Here is something to care for, care about. Something that will rely on him, need him every single day. It means a hell of a lot more than just the money from his bank account.

"Yeah I think we got a deal here." Strokes the horse's nose again, reaches up to scratch under the forelock, and smiles absently before turning to shake the rancher's hand. "I don't have the money with me today, but I can get it to you tomorrow."

"Well let me see. You're working for Frank Lordi, right?" Collins rubs his chin, examines the toes of his scuffed boots as he thinks. "Got some business with Frank to take care of, so I'll hitch up the trailer, bring this old boy with me when I come, and we can square up Sunday afternoon."

"That'd be great, I appreciate that, sir." Lindsey shakes his hand again and turns to the horse, begins to remove the saddle and blanket, eases the bridle from him. Hefts the equipment up and carries to it the end of the field, Collins walking along with him on the other side of the fence.

"Your friend's up to the house with the missus, should be back any minute." Collins pauses, helps Lindsey settle the saddle over the fence then leans on it. "I never woulda pegged him as one of those types."

Lindsey freezes before he can catch himself. "Types?" Struggles to keep his tone normal, flashback to the bar, and he tells himself that it can't be what the old guy is talking about.

"One of those drug people. Seems like a nice boy, been in the service and all. Guess you never know." Collins sighs, shrugs, turns to the house. "Here he comes now. Suppose the missus chewed his ear a bit."

Lindsey's mind is racing. //drugs, what the hell? // Looks carefully at Riley as he approaches, as he leans over the fence and hands him back his hat, and that's when he gets it, makes the connection. The scars, bare to the world in this heat that forces Riley into short-sleeved shirts, have been taken as track marks, evidence of drug abuse. He can't imagine the couple find it so easy to believe that Riley's been off shooting up heroin in his spare time, that they accept it as part of the past life of the man who looks like a Norman Rockwell brought to life. Lindsey himself is still slightly off balance with the reality of it, and he knows he's got a hell of a lot more experience to draw from than the Collins', safely ensconced in their small town knowledge of the outside world.

They say their goodbyes, Mr. Collins shaking Riley's hand and then clapping his other one over them both, two handed grip that seems strangely affectionate and out of place to Lindsey.

//and what were they talking about up in the house?// he wonders as he and Riley get back in Lindsey's truck and head down the road that leads them towards the town.

-----

The truck is off of Collins' property and on the marginally wider road that connects somewhere down the line to an even smaller one before Lindsey asks him the question that has obviously been itching at him since they left the ranch. "People always think you're a recovering addict?"

Riley glances over at him briefly, then back out the window of the truck, watching the billows of dust clouding up behind them. His answer's simple and honest. "I am."

"Hm. Yeah, I could see that."

Riley does look over at Lindsey then, sees him biting his bottom lip. Not an anxious gesture, more like he's thinking, contemplating something. Riley can see him having the same expression as he works on the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. He knows this talk was going to come sooner or later, was actually hoping for the later aspect to pan out, but there's no sense in playing games.

Lindsey surprises him by glancing over and saying, "Tell me or don't, I won't push it." Looks back to the road, body language reading relaxed and calm, shoulders loose and one elbow propped out the window.

Riley considers a minute. He'd failed completely at explaining it to the one person in the world who could have -- should have -- been able to understand him, and he can't imagine now making himself clear to Lindsey. It's not even clear in his own head anymore; whatever strings had tugged him towards the obsession are frayed and fuzzy. He tries anyway. "You ever been bitten?"

"Yeah." Lindsey's hand strays towards his neck, rubs briefly and rests on the steering wheel again.

Riley feels the echo of a piercing bite sketch through the nerves in his shoulder and closes his eyes. "Then you don't need me to explain it," he manages to say, voice quiet. Apparently the strings are still knotted tight, no matter how many loose threads there might be; it's unraveling but far too slowly.

"No, not really." Set of Lindsey's jaw tells him that this is not time to prod any deeper, and he can understand that. Can't really see himself getting any more out of Lin than he is giving up himself, and doesn't want to push on things that will make him feel the sting of a backlash. But even so, there's that flash of recall, Lindsey's mouth working over the scars and...

"You only bitten the once?" Fingers straying to the marks on his inner arm, willing the ones that burn in other places to be still, be the dead flesh they really are.

The sound of Lindsey clearing his throat is loud, even over the wind blowing in the truck through the open windows "It was enough for me."

"I wish I could say the same." And wishes he hadn't said that, sounds like a bid for sympathy, and that's not what he's looking for. Would have happily kept all this to himself for the rest of his life, or at the very least for the next few years, until it's really just a memory of so long ago that it doesn't make his chest ache when he thinks about it. He looks out the window, tries to think of something to say, change of subject, but the ghosts are firmly entrenched now and not about to be exorcised with small talk.

Lindsey is either determined to get it all out now, or has a knack for not knowing when to shut the hell up. "I've heard about people who like it, who seek it out, but I never met one."

Dry little laugh at that, and he says, "You might have and just never knew it."

Lindsey nods, looks over at him with eyes that're three shades darker than the sky. "Like most things."

"Yeah, like most things." Riley thinks //why the hell not, since we're playing q&a here// and asks, "How do you even know about vampires at all?"

"I go to the movies." Lindsey shifts in the seat, sits up straighter, puts both hands on the wheel.

//so long relaxed, hello defensive// Riley almost grins at the shift in mood. Seems Lindsey's far less comfortable on the answering side of the give and take. He tries again. "I wasn't kidding."

"I've met a few." Short, clipped speech, and there's not a single trace of his accent, not a rounded vowel to be heard in those four little syllables.

And the jaw clench again, a habit Riley recognizes as one of his own warning signs for having strolled into the minefield of what's allowed and what's off limits. Even so, he's still damn curious. "And survived?"

"Barely."

Riley turns in his seat, psych major coming to the fore as he studies the man across from him. "Not something you're really long-winded on." If Lindsey clenches his teeth any harder, there's going to be a hell of a dental bill somewhere down the line. Riley watches the flex of the muscles in his jaw for a few seconds until Lindsey glances over at him and catches himself. Riley sees him force the jaw open, drop the shoulders down, but his back is still ramrod straight and his hands open and close on the steering wheel.

Finally he says, voice quiet but without anger, "You didn't volunteer the information yourself."

"You got me there." Riley nods agreeably, wanting to steer the conversation into calmer water, ease the tension somehow. He taps his fingers on his knee, watches Lin out of the corner of his eyes until his hands stop gripping the steering wheel in that choke-hold. Out of the blue, his mouth just seems to open of its own accord. "Did you know Dracula was real?"

Lindsey grins, and that's the ice breaker. His left arm rests on the edge of the window again, and when he answers Riley his voice is familiar. "No, but I know a guy who could scare him."

"The Draco babes are real, too." When Lin looks over at him Riley arches his eyebrow, grin nothing but pure lechery.

"They the ones who bit you?" Lindsey is slowing down now, foot easing off the accelerator, truck's motor not quite so loud as the demands on it lessen.

Riley snorts laughter. "No, but I wish they had now."

"I could get into that," Lin says, looking over at him, head down and eyes crinkled at the corners from his smile.

"I thought you didn't want to be bit again."

"Not really, but I have a weakness for dangerous chicks."

"Get in line." Riley's quiet for a few minutes, imagines that his own face has the same faraway look that Lindsey's holds. He takes stock, like he always does when he thinks of her, finds the ache right where he left it, still firmly in place. Wonders if that's ever going to leave, or at the very least get less painful, less *there.* Part of him wants desperately for it to just disappear, to wake up one morning and not even think of blonde hair, green eyes, and the way the goddamn field looked when the chopper took off. And the other half panics if he can't remember some little detail, like what was the name of that perfume she wore all the time, or was it mochas or cappuccinos that she liked. He's stuck between wanting to be free and terrified of getting his wish.

Lindsey's voice breaks into his reverie. "Sometimes I wonder how I missed all these things going on under my nose, you know, before I had a clue. Here we are in south west of nowhere, and I'm in a truck with a guy who, well, you know what you're into."

"Not into it anymore. Trying to move on, but it's not so easy when it's written all over my body, and I can't escape that, can I?" He knows he sounds bitter, but he can't help it. Kind of impossible to forget the way you've fucked up when it's branded on your skin forever, and he knows someday all he's going to have is the scars without the reason he convinced himself he needed them.

"You could try the heroin, that might do it." Sees Lindsey smile, even though his eyes are still on the road, can't help but smile back. //laugh or cry, finn// he thinks, and it's not much of a choice.

"Don't think I haven't thought of it." Riley tries for that note of sarcasm and misses. Misses enough to get himself a sharp look from Lindsey, a look that makes him blush in embarrassment over all he's spilled. And because he has to shift in his seat to hide the fact that this little mental excursion down memory lane has excited him just enough to react to Lindsey's blue eyes, to his full lips and the way he clearly remembers them against his skin.

"How about we change the subject? Wanna pull over and park for a while?" Lindsey's already pulling off the road, truck bouncing roughly over ruts and uneven ground as he pulls into the shade of a stand of trees. The road is deserted; they haven't seen another soul since they left the Collins ranch.

Riley's heartbeat kicks up a notch. They're alone.

-----

It's still damn hot out, but there's a breeze, and in the shade of the trees, back off the road and away from the dust, it's pleasant. Lindsey takes off his hat, wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, sets the hat on the dashboard. Turns off the engine but leaves the keys in the ignition and turns on the radio.

Flips around the stations some but can't find anything he likes, so Lindsey turns it off again. "Just my luck, nothing on when you want to listen." He looks over at Riley who's staring out the window. Lin tries to follow his line of sight, sees nothing there but the same flat fields, some trees in the distance.

"Hey, Ri, we don't have to stop. I just thought we both needed to, you know, cool down. Relax." He pauses, waits for an answer, a reaction, anything. When Riley doesn't respond, he reaches for the keys, ready to turn the ignition on.

"No, it's fine. I'm not in any hurry to get back." When Riley turns to look at him, Lindsey sees the color high in his cheeks and drops his gaze to his mouth, back up to green eyes that're dark and intense here in the shade of the trees.

"Good. Well, look, it's about ten degrees cooler out there than it is in here, so I'm gonna turn the radio on and go lay down in the shade and think about something -- anything -- besides things that go bump in the night. You comin' with me, or you stayin' here to sweat in the truck some more?" Lindsey turns on the radio again, opens his door and turns to slide out, looks back over his shoulder. Riley stares at him for three heartbeats - Lindsey counts them - and then opens his own door and jumps down.

It's much cooler out of the cab of the truck, breeze steady and light, grass green and tender under his boots as Lindsey walks over to the largest tree and sits, skinning off his damp t-shirt before lying back with his hands behind his head. He can feel Riley watching him, knows that he's hovering on that same edge - awkward without the alcohol to smooth the path to intimacy again. The thing is, and Lindsey is crystal clear about this, the thing is that he just flat out *likes* Riley. Lindsey can't remember the last person he genuinely enjoyed spending time with, where there was no ulterior motive for the need to be together. He's intrigued by the contradiction in the other man; that honest, open face belonging to the same person who has his body covered in evidence of a much darker side. And Lindsey can't -- won't -- deny that he's attracted to him, physically attracted to his body as well as drawn to something in him that sends out a signal of need on a level that Lindsey is fairly certain Riley is unaware of. Not a weakness, but a sense of being incomplete.

Lindsey can never resist the thought that he might be someone's missing piece. That they might be his.

He's halfway to hard when he feels Riley settle down next to him, waits a few seconds before cracking open one eye to peek. Riley's shirt is off, too, bunched up behind his head as he lays there on his back. Staring at Lindsey, lips parted, and when Lindsey drops his gaze along the length of Riley's body, he sees that Riley is way ahead of him. As far as Lindsey in concerned, that's an open invitation for him to take the next step.

With the realization that there's nothing slipping away from him here, that life has not fallen into the usual routine of want-chase-lose for him, comes the ability to see himself for something other than what is written on old labels. Poor boy, charity case, pity fuck; evil lawyer, stubborn prick, selfish bastard, crippled loser. None of those apply right now, not in this moment of time. He's not stupid; he knows that he's at some point in his life going to be at least some of those things again, and others, too. But for right now, for this one burnished-gold afternoon, he's not labeled at all.

Song on the radio is too low for him to hear, and he regrets not turning it up louder before he got out of the truck. He rolls to his side next to Riley, props his head in his hand, elbow comfortable on a tuft of grass. Riley's still watching him, eyes tracking each movement, closing as Lindsey leans over, very slowly and lets his lips press against Riley's. Just the hint of a kiss, brush of lips and nothing more. But Riley's mouth parts under his own, waits for more.

Heartbeat of hesitation as Lindsey's eyes flutter open, see Riley's lashes laying dark against the thin skin. Decides what the hell, he's not going to hesitate and wonder and think too damn much. He's going to take some advice he heard once in another lifetime

//do you think i ever hesitated when i wanted something? life's too short //

and he's going to take what he wants. What Riley's offering him.

Already leaning back down when Riley's eyes open, and he asks, "What's wrong?" Lindsey shakes his head, silences Riley with another kiss, harder this time, mouth open and tongues meeting. Brings his free hand up to cup the back of Riley's neck, thumb rubbing over smooth, unmarred skin. Feels the weight of Riley's hand on his hip, finger in the belt loop tugging.

Lindsey smiles against the mouth he's kissing, obliges that tentative invitation by rolling his weight onto Riley's prone body. Gets one knee between Riley's legs, straddles his thigh and rests on his forearms. Works at Riley's mouth slightly longer, nibbling the soft, lower lip and sucking it in, letting his tongue sweep over the captured flesh until Riley moans, hips rolling just a bit below him. Shifts his weight to one arm and brings the other hand down the broad expanse of Riley's chest, fingertips brushing over a hard nipple, trailing across the washboard of his belly and stopping at the waistband of the jeans that ride low on his hips.

"You need to take your shirt off more often, boy," Lindsey says quietly, dipping his head to flick his tongue over Riley's nipple as his fingers slip back and forth across the skin right below the button of his pants, teasing touch that's rewarded with goosebumps on Riley's forearms, nipple peaking even harder against Lindsey's tongue. Another lick produces a groan, and Lindsey lifts his head. "You need to lose this farmer tan you're workin' on."

"Not exactly my top priority right now," Riley says, voice ragged, hips still rolling up to brush against the hard ridge of Lindsey's hip bone, rubbing his cock against Lindsey's with not nearly enough pressure to satisfy either one of them.

Lindsey pops the button on Riley's jeans, tugs the zipper down. Stops. "Just what would that priority be then?" Sees Riley blink in surprise and guesses he's not used to talking while he does this. Slips two fingers into the open fly, rubs over the soft nap of cotton that covers the head of Riley's cock, hears him inhale sharply. Hooks one of those fingers in the elastic of his underwear, tugs it down to expose the skin and waits. "Well?"

"Can't you figure it out yourself?" Riley's voice is strained, and Lindsey grins, hides it with a ducked head as he lets his tongue slip over the silky tip, looks back up again.

"I could probably make an educated guess." He pauses, licks again, harder this time, and gets to his knees. Undoes his pants and tugs them down, wraps a hand around his own dick and looks down at Riley. Just stares down at him, strokes himself once, twice, slow familiar movements. Riley makes a move to sit up and Lindsey stops him. "Just stay right there."

He reaches down then, both hands pulling at Riley's clothing, Riley raising his hips and helping him, until he's bare to the knees. Jeans in the way, making it awkward as Lindsey lets himself fall forward again, Riley's hands catching him, breaking the impact and then holding him there, bare skin hot against Lindsey's as they both begin to move.

-----

Riley gets one hand buried in Lindsey's hair, holds his head still and kisses him, feels those full lips as soft as a woman's against his mouth while the hard body rocks and slips over his own, sweating and warm and just what he needs. Physical assurance that he's still someone worth wanting after the confession of his own weaknesses, something he could never ask for, but somehow Lindsey knows. Knows just how to make him fall into the desire, too, and not think about anything other than what feels right in the moment. When Lindsey's hand curves around Riley's cock, Lindsey's cock pressing down against him at the same time, Riley arches his back and forgets everything else. Grabs Lindsey's hand in his own, thrusts his hips up and fucks himself into both hands, against hard dick and a sweat slicked calloused palm, feels drops of salty perspiration hit his face as they roll off of Lindsey's forehead. Riley raises his free hand, works it into wet tangles of hair at the back of Lindsey's neck, holds it there and closes his eyes. Listens to the sound of harsh breathing above him, the low moan that comes whenever Riley clenches his hand around Lindsey's tighter, far off background of the radio in the truck. Feels himself teetering on the edge of climax, bites down hard on his own lower lip, tries to hold off for a few more minutes, hours, days - wants to have time stretch out and slow, hibernate for a while and let him just be here, enjoy the feeling of this warm body on his own, sweat-slick from sex and strung out towards climax.

"Riley."

His eyes fly open at the sound of his name, and he's caught in Lindsey's gaze. His hips stutter and rise, buck into their hands, and he comes with a stifled groan, feels Lindsey thrust twice more before the sticky warmth increases and his moan is echoed. Lindsey leans down, forehead pressed to Riley's, eyes closed. Riley feels his body relaxing, weight increasing as Lindsey leans on him fully. Lindsey's heart is thudding in his chest; Riley feels it against his skin. When he opens his eyes again, Lindsey's are still closed.

In a second, they'll move. Lindsey will roll over; they'll clean up the best they can. They'll get in the truck and head back towards the places they both call home for now. In a second, they'll be back to whatever they are when life picks up and moves them forward, and the way it feels right now will be a memory. Riley knows that. It's the way the world works. But when Lindsey stirs just a little, makes a movement that will start them heading towards the rest of today, Riley's hand tightens in his hair and holds him still.

He just wants another second.

.End
Read the sequel Rainmakers III - Spindrift