Copyright © 2026 J.P. Russell. The author asserts the application of all U.S. and associated international copyright protections and all rights to this original work of fiction. Do not reproduce without explicit written permission, etc.
If Tomorrow Never Comes
We kept the tent up and explored the top of the mountain the next morning; the afternoon storms were still intense, and we didn’t want to be caught out when lightning started popping at elevation. The vistas here were something out of a Hollywood movie—our own special gay romance—and I suggested to Grady that he bring his paints the next time and try to capture the spirit of the place in a way only he could. That seemed to please him, and he scanned the distance with new eyes, almost like he was already starting the painting in his mind.
Saddle Mountain wasn’t the tallest in the San Juans, not by a long shot; its crown was covered with trees, but its twin tips were close to timberline, and higher mountains in the range still had snow cover. We couldn’t quite see New Mexico to the south, as greater peaks blocked our view, but there was something so majestic and humbling about being surrounded by such ancient strength that had endured for so long and would be here well after we were gone. It made me feel small, but not insignificant. We weren’t here in the world for very long in comparison, but love gave meaning to that time, and it felt even more precious to be here with Grady in his special place.
The horses and dogs seemed to be in good spirits too, and that was helped by cooler air and an unexpectedly short burst of rain that only lingered for an hour or so before the clouds pulled back and the sun remained bright but not oppressive for the rest of the day. We returned to camp in the late afternoon, got the horses settled down and the dogs fed, then Grady and I undressed and headed over to the creek. Near the remains of the cabin there was a wide section under the low-hanging willows that pooled out deeply enough for us both to get in and be relatively comfortable. The sun-warmed water didn’t feel so oppressively cold, so we got undressed and slid in, our feet barely touching the rocks at the bottom of the hidden pool, washing each other clean and letting our hands explore further.
We were both hard before we were submerged, and it only got more intense as we slid warm, lathered hands across stream-chilled skin. I pushed Grady toward the bank and straddled him, nibbling his ear and rubbed my tight ass against his twitching cock. He growled and reached into the water, pulling my cheeks open and rubbing his head against my clenched hole. He rose up, pulling me with him, and slicked the soap over his shaft. We’d done enough fucking over the past weeks for me to accommodate his girth more easily, especially when I was as horny as I was now, so he eased his cock in and drove himself all the way in one smooth movement before lowering us both back into the cool water.
I inhaled sharply, my unrestrained moan reverberating across the glade. He waited for me to catch my breath before moving into a bracing rhythm, stretching my clenching walls, hitting my prostate with every thrust, water spraying high every time we rose up out of the pool. It didn’t take long until he was grunting and gasping, filling me up with every jerk of his hips, and when his cock stopped twitching I pulled myself off, vigorously jacked my dick, and sprayed my cream all over his chest, neck, and chin before collapsing on top of his hairy pecs in exhausted bliss.
We floated together, me on top, his strong arms holding me in a tight embrace, my ass bobbing in and out of the water. I could feel his heartbeat pulsing on my cheek, and we watched in a lazy, post-coital haze as the remnants of our spent passion drifted in the pool’s gentle eddies until the current pulled it downstream and out of sight. I giggled at the thought of our cum traveling to distant waters and transforming into some hot gay versions of us rising together like Aphrodite from spunky sea foam. He chuckled when I told him and rolled his eyes, but he squeezed me closer as I spun this weird little fantasy into a completely ridiculous story that left us both laughing.
We stayed there until the sun dropped beyond the mountains and the chill became too much, then we washed each other off again and made our way to the tent to dry off. We still had to get the animals sorted out before making a light dinner and a fire, but we moved slowly, almost reluctantly, because tomorrow we headed back to the reality of the ranch and all its stress and uncertainty. Tonight, though, we’d make the most of this sanctuary.
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We didn’t hurry to get going the next day, but by late morning we were fully packed and started back down the canyon toward the ranch. It was hotter than the previous days, and no afternoon storm—just sun and heat. Even in the woods it was uncomfortably warm, so we were all pretty worn out by the time we left the trees in the late afternoon and headed toward the house.
Grady had managed to keep from being dumped off by Buddy—not for lack of the horse’s trying—and the dogs were panting heavily and kept peaceful pace beside us until they flushed a rabbit and took off in eager pursuit. Beans just plodded along while I wiped the sweat from my forehead and dreamed of an iced tea when we got back.
“Goddamn it, Larry,” Grady snarled under his breath. I looked to see what he was talking about. My stomach dropped. The hay had been delivered early—not at the stable as we’d specifically instructed, but on the driveway by the house, almost blocking the front entrance. One hundred bales, each one weighing fifty pounds, now needed to be relocated to the other side of the shop, one more massive task for our ever-growing list. And this one couldn’t be delayed, as we needed to deal with it before it rained again and the bales became too heavy to move safely.
Grady was pissed. “Are you kidding me? Who the hell does that? Nobody asks for hay to be dropped in front of their fucking front door!”
“We’ll sort it out,” I said. I knew he was upset, but I also knew this was about more than the hay, as frustrating as it was.
“You’re damn right we’ll sort it out. I’m going to call him right now to get his ass down here and put these where he said he would!” He spurred Buddy forward at a quick canter, and Beans trotted after him, keen to keep up.
Grady swerved Buddy around the hay and jumped down, almost incandescent in his rage. Beans and I trotted closer to the massive pile when a strange whirring sound erupted from the ground next to one of the bales.
The next moments were pure chaos. Beans let out an unholy scream and reared up sharply. I flew backwards off the saddle and landed hard on the driveway, the impact driving the breath from my lungs and sending a stabbing pain through my ribs, the back of my head smacking hard on the compacted gravel. Through a haze I saw Grady swing back around as Buddy jerked the reins from his hand and took off on a gallop down the driveway, Beans in full panic mode close behind him.
The odd buzz was loud now, almost deafening, and I groggily turned to face a sinuous, scaled brown form uncoiling from a broken hay bale just a few feet away, its slitted bronze eyes fixed on me, its heat pits and flickering black tongue jutting in my direction. The snake was agitated, its many-chambered rattle loud as trumpets in my ears. I couldn’t move. My head was pounding, my vision blurring in and out; my tortured wheezing only seemed to increase the creature's growing aggravation. The whole world telescoped into a single point of primal terror until it was just the two of us, the mottled rattler growing larger as I quailed before its menacing stare. I hurt everywhere, but I couldn’t turn away. I didn’t dare to.
“Hold on, Ben,” I heard Grady whisper from somewhere nearby. I couldn’t see where he was, as all my focus was on the threat in front of me, but the fear around my heart loosened just slightly with the knowledge he was near. “Don’t move.”
There was click, then a loud explosion, and I saw the gravel in front of the snake burst into the air. It reared back, and although it didn’t retreat it didn’t move toward me either.
Another shot, but this one went wide. “Get ready, Ben,” I heard Grady say, closer now. His voice was shaking. This was why his shots were off: he was scared, too.
I wanted to say no, to warn him that I couldn’t breathe right—there was a sharp sting under my right ribcage, and I didn’t know if I could do what I knew he was asking me to do. But no sound came out. The air grew thick with menace.
I didn’t have time to think. Grady fired the pistol again, the bullet again striking the ground between me and the snake, and I heard him shout, “Go!” and I tried to roll away, but an involuntary spasm brought me to an abrupt, gasping halt, like someone jabbed a knife in my side, pinning me in place.
The snake moved with blistering speed. I threw my left arm up, protecting my face, and its fangs buried themselves deeply in my bicep. I let loose a shriek of pain and terror.
A roar of mingled rage and grief cracked the air like a thunderbolt. The snake pulled back, just for a second, but it was enough time for Grady to grab it by the tail, ripping it away from me and whipping it as hard as he could against the side of the house. It crumpled to the ground, body crushed, and I could hear the dogs racing back, barking in shared alarm at the commotion. But I didn’t have time to think about anything else, because Grady was by my side, his face dark with worry. My arm, side, and head pulsed with agony, the pounding growing more painful and disorienting with every heartbeat.
“I’m here, Ben,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ve got you.”
“It bit me,” I wheezed. “I’m sorry—I tried….”
He reached over and ripped my shirt sleeve open. I couldn’t see the wound, but saw his face go pale. “Shit. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“You…going to cut me?” I whispered. My arm was starting to swell. It felt like my skin was on fire, and I was getting woozy.
Grady had been raised in snake country in Arizona and knew what to do. He shook his head. “That’s a myth, Ben—cutting the skin just spreads the venom, and if you bind it the swelling can cause permanent damage.” His hand cradled my head and he looked at me with an intensity that was almost as frightening as the snake attack. “I’m going to put you in the truck and call the ambulance, okay? You just stay put—don’t move, got me?”
I nodded dizzily, my head throbbing. He cursed under his breath as he lifted me up and laid me down in the crew cab. “Ben, listen to me—I’ll only be a minute. I’m going to call 911 and get some stuff to clean out the wound, then we’re going to go. You’ve got to lay down and keep that spot lower than your heart, okay? Do you hear me?”
“m‘kay,” I mumbled, my tongue thick, my mouth parched. I heard him whistling and shouting to the dogs as he ran inside.
I tried to lay still, but it was like a furnace in the truck, and I started to break out in a sweat that quickly bled into a low-grade nausea. We don’t have rattlesnakes this high up. I tried to think of what to do, but my thoughts were muddled. Then a scene from Dad’s favorite western, True Grit, flashed into view, when Kim Darby’s character, Maddie Ross, fell into a dark pit filled with rattlesnakes. We’d always cheer anxiously when John Wayne’s iconic one-eyed marshal, Rooster Cogburn, came rappelling down a rope into the pit, shooting his giant army revolver at the agitated snakes to keep them away from young Maddie.
But he couldn’t stop her from being bitten. Sometimes the hero’s aim was off. Sometimes the hero didn’t make it in time.
But in the movie Maddie passed out shortly after being bitten. She wasn’t drenched with sweat, her arm swelling into a massive blister; she wasn’t sobbing from the pain; she didn’t seem to feel hot lava coursing through her body from the strike site; she didn’t feel like she was going to puke her guts out.
This wasn’t like the movie at all. This was all wrong.
Did she die? I couldn’t remember what happened to her. Maybe Rooster got her to a doctor? Or did he? It wasn’t clear in my memory. My heart thumped in rising panic. Maybe she survived? Or maybe she lost her arm? There was a scene of a grave on a hill—was it hers? Would I die?
I was so dizzy, and then the nausea suddenly surged. I rolled over, hoping to pull myself toward the open door, but I didn’t get far when I vomited across the back seat. Each retch sent another wave of torment through my head and ribcage, and I coughed and choked as I spewed what little remained from our small lunch.
“Grady….” I tried to cry out, but another spasm of puke hit just as I was strained for breath, and I thrashed against the seat, certain I was going to suffocate. My chest seized up and tears streaked down my cheeks. I was blacking out.
And then Grady was there, solid, loyal, loving Grady, his strong arms holding my head up, a warm, wet cloth on my face as he hurriedly cleaned the vomit away from my mouth and wiped away as much of the mess as he could before throwing the cloth into the back of the truck. He grabbed a second soapy rag and cleaned the bite wound in spite of my pained screams, then threw that cloth too. My hand fluttered as I desperately tried to hold him, but he pushed me back, gentle but firm.
“Ben, I need you to lay down. You’re going to be okay, I promise.” His voice broke, and I knew he was lying, but the words were still comforting. I tried to smile but it took too much effort, and I could feel myself getting sick again. He folded a jacket up under my head. “The ambulance is on the way. They’re going to meet us on the road, and your folks will meet us at the hospital. Just hold on, okay? Hold on!”
I tried to nod but my head just sagged. He cursed again and shut the door, then ran to the driver’s side and jumped in. The truck roared to sudden life and he peeled out, one hand on the wheel, the other holding me up against the back of the seat as best he could to keep me from flying, and we headed out at top speed toward town.
I drifted in and out of awareness. My head, arm, and side were in a death match vying for pain supremacy, and my whole body felt like a pulsing fever blister. Breathing was getting harder to do. I wanted to cry but didn’t know why. What happened to my glasses? I wondered, but I couldn’t reach up to see if they were still on my face—somehow I didn’t think they were.
“Grady, did Maddie die?” I whispered, but I didn’t know if the words were only in my head. At one point I thought I could hear his voice comforting me, then shouting at me to stay awake at another, then telling me he loved me—I couldn’t be sure, but I smiled when he said that, and the pain didn’t seem quite so all-encompassing.
Just as the world started to fade to black the truck skidded to a stop and the sky was suddenly bursting with fireworks of blue, white, and red, and I heard him sob, “Thank God!” and then telling someone, “He’s in the back seat” before other hands reached in for me. I tried to fight them—Grady was taking care of me, where was Grady?—and I heard him say, “Ben, they’re here to help,” then shout, “Help him, for fuck’s sake! Can’t you see he’s dying?!?”
That was the last thing I heard as I slipped into merciful darkness.
