by Peter Styles
“We’re headed out to the north barn,” James called out to me, before his horse began to trot, mine following dutifully behind.
I chanced a single glance back at the ranch as we went.
I was surprised to find Quinn there on the porch, a fresh glass of water in his hand, watching with thoughtful eyes as we rode.
4
Quinn
“Dyer Ranch,” I pressed the phone between my ear and shoulder as I moved through the ranch. “This is Quinn.”
“So, how’s my precious tío doing?”
I rolled my eyes: Nico.
“Don’t worry so much,” I mumbled, stopping in the hall to adjust a crooked picture. “He’s a fucking natural-born optimist, though he did struggle a bit when I had him try to loosen his saddle.”
“Oh?” Nico sounded amused. “Is he there now?”
“He’s out with James, helping install some replacement parts on the baler,” I informed.
Nico hummed on the other end of the line. It was funny that he had called to check in on his uncle; sweet, even. I hadn’t known they were so close.
“How’s your mom doing? I wanted to ask sooner but….” The phone made a noise as it was adjusted. “Not in front of Oliver, y’know?”
“She’s gonna die of stubbornness.” I snorted and glanced at the hallway where her room was.
“Surprising no one,” Nico said.
I sighed. “Yeah.” Nico had known my mom since we were both younger. Had been over several times, had heard all the dumb stories, knew her stubbornness firsthand. “I don’t know. I’m not really sure how to make her see sense. We’ve been arguing about it a little.”
Nico made a noise, a sign he was listening. A sign for me to keep going.
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “The ranch is down to maybe only… fifteen people, but they’ve all been here forever. I can’t just… shut this place down or sell it, but.”
A moment passed in silence. “I don’t know either, man,” Nico said.
“Wow, thanks.”
“I don’t know how you do it, though.”
I didn’t have a smart response for that, because it was genuinely nice.
“There’s a lot for you and her to think about,” He went on. “And, talk about.”
“Yeah, getting her to talk about it is the problem,” I said, but before I could start to feel sorry about it, the backdoor was swinging open, the squeaky hinges like the world’s best security system, always letting me know when someone was coming or going.
I poked my head around the corner. James’s cowboy hat was ducking its way into the kitchen.
“Shit, speak of the devil—”
“What?”
“Your hot uncle just walked back in,” I loudly whispered into the phone.
“Wait, let me talk to him quick.”
My smile turned a touch dark. “No, sorry, I can’t. They just invited me to have some hot cowboy threesome out in the field, I have to go.”
“Quinn—!”
“Oh, shit, they’re getting naked, I really gotta go.”
“What—”
I hung up, laughing to myself; letting Nico sweat it out a little wouldn’t kill him. He’d realize I was joking. Eventually.
I strode back into the kitchen to set the phone back on its holster on the wall, glad for a reason to come back in.
“How’d it go?” I asked, looking from James to Oliver—trying not to laugh at the sight of him. He looked kind of rough, his legs stiff and tentative as he walked into the kitchen, probably knotted up tight from his first day in the saddle. He stopped short, seeming to catch the little twinkle of amusement on my face. “Long day?”
The corner of his mouth pulled up a little.
James laughed. “Man, you’ll get used to it. We all had to at some point.”
“I’ve felt worse,” Oliver said, and while I believed it, it was still pretty funny.
“Oh, you’ll feel it more tomorrow,” I told him.
“Great.”
“You oughta find him some of that tiger balm stuff.” James plucked his keys off a little hook on the wall and pointed to Oliver. “I’m gonna get going, wash some of this grease off and get a beer. Oliver, you’re more than welcome to swing by after.”
Oliver followed me and James into the living room. “I just might take you up on that.”
Ever a true blue cowboy, James tipped his cowboy hat at us both before leaving, shutting the front door up tightly behind him.
Oliver exhaled a long, tense breath. “Is it all right if I—?”
I chuckled and waved at the couch. “Go ahead.”
Oliver needed little more than that, sitting down on the couch with a poorly concealed groan. It was deep, long, and I could imagine it matched up with… other experiences. It went straight to my dick. I tried not to think about it.
“I didn’t know riding a horse was so hard on the legs,” he admitted.
I swallowed, grinning a little. “Yeah, I’m familiar.”
“I’ll bet.”
Rounding the back of the couch, I made for the staircase. “I’ll be right back. I think I’ve got something for that.”
Oliver turned to me over the back of the couch. “What’s up there?”
I stopped halfway up the staircase, eyes narrowing just a little. “My room.”
Walking away, it felt like a pretty smooth exit, and while it took some rooting around, I found what I was looking for: a little tin can of menthol cream. I hadn’t needed it in some time, but I figured it was still good, and plenty enough to get Oliver through his first week of adjusting to ranch life.
When I went back down, Oliver was still on the couch, his knees spread in some attempt to ease the soreness out of them.
I tried not to think about that either. He’s off-limits, I reminded myself.
Not that that had ever really stopped me before.
“Here.” I rounded the couch, holding the can out to him as I sat down on the coffee table opposite him. My mother would probably holler at me if she saw me sitting on it, but, hey, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
“What is it?”
“Menthol cream. It’s gonna help with your….” My eyes flicked down his thighs, “…problem.”
Oliver smiled, and it was friendly and sort of private. Just between the two of us. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Silence settled in. I could hear the old wood shifting. My mother was upstairs, tucked away and probably sleeping. Everyone else was out working, and would be for the next couple of hours.
“I have a trick for helping with the soreness,” I told him. I looked at his thighs again, and this time, he definitely noticed. “I can show you.”
Oliver didn’t say anything. Only nodded after a minute of thought.
Standing from the coffee table, I gestured to him. “You’re gonna have to lie back.”
He did so quietly, toeing his shoes off so he wouldn’t be putting them on the sofa and getting it dirty, which was kind of gentlemanly. He breathed out, hands folded on his chest.
“All right,” he said, doing a good job at sounding casual. “What’s next?”
I didn’t feel so casual. “Here. Bend your leg.”
He bent his right leg, the one closest to the back of the couch. I touched his shin, carefully pushing on it, leaning my weight into it as I guided it sideways. He seemed a little strained by the motion, but when I touched my fingers to his thigh, he hissed a little. “Shit.”
What the fuck, why is his voice that hot? I was either losing color or blushing. The blood in my body wasn’t sure which direction to go.
“Hurts?” I asked.
He nodded once. “It’s definitely stretching it.”
I let up a little, and I could see his face ease out. Once I let go, he straightened his leg and exhaled.
“Good?”
“Actually, yeah.” He grinned up at me. “It does feel better.”
“Good.
” I didn’t sound it, but I felt fucking winded, especially when he bent his other leg without being asked to.
I touched it, pushing a little more gingerly before guiding his leg open. The move was easier on this leg, with more space for him to stretch without the couch cushions getting in the way. Oliver shut his eyes against it and let himself focus on his muscles, I guess, when my fingers pushed into them.
His eyes closed meant mine got to wander. They traced down his chest, and jumped to where my fingers held at his thigh, following the grain of his jeans lower, the bulge in his pants very noticeable in this position. It looked just as big as the rest of him.
One hand kept at the side of his leg, keeping it propped up in this position, but the fingers of the other wandered, massaging lightly inside his thigh.
It was easy to pass off as a helping hand.
The lower I went, though, the easier it was to interpret as sexual.
I swallowed, my hand passing over the line between professional and intimate. Oliver’s eyes opened, though they were lidded as he looked at me, a question in the brown of them.
My lips parted, fingers crossing that line completely, brushing over his cock in his jeans.
I waited to be rebuffed; for a simple instruction to stop, or maybe even something angrier. An insistence that he wasn’t gay.
But, nothing came.
Fingers turning upside down, I felt bolder as I cupped him through the fabric, palming in earnest. He took a shaky breath underneath me, pupils dilating a little. I could hear his breathing now. I was sure he could hear mine.
I pushed down with a bit more pressure.
Oliver’s eyes fluttered shut, and when he exhaled, I could hear some of his voice in it. Just the beginnings of a groan.
My mouth was watering. I thought about putting it to good use.
Lightening up on the pressure, I unbuttoned his jeans with one hand, the zipper sliding audibly down in the quiet living room. There was the possibility, I knew, of getting caught, and I was only blithely aware of it as I pushed his legs open wider.
He propped himself up in time to watch me sink to my knees on the rough carpet, eyes clouded with lust.
I touched him again, and, fuck. “You’re hard.”
Getting his cock out of his pants was quick work, pulling the fabric a safe enough distance down over his hips. He was as big as I thought (and hoped) he would be, and with very practiced movements, not wasting any time, I took hold of his bare cock and brought my lips to the tip.
His thighs twitched on either side of my head. They were thick; I wondered if he could crush my head with them, which was fucked up, but also kind of hot. It wasn’t really a secret in Worthington where Oliver Suarez had spent the past few years. I wondered how long it had been since someone had touched him like this.
Was I the first?
“Just relax,” I told him, my only words before I tongued the head of his cock, the taste of him salty and heady. When was the last time I had sucked someone off?
Whatever. It didn’t really matter when I had someone’s dick in my mouth.
He seemed to be most sensitive on the underside, along the ridge, and as soon as I made that discovery, I exploited it; with every deepening bob of my head, I made sure to suck, my tongue running up the underside of his blushing cock with a special kind of attention, over the ridge.
I watched his fingers form fists on the couch. I wanted them in my hair, pulling.
I’m sure he could manhandle me easily.
The thought made my own cock strain with interest.
Oliver was doing a good job of keeping quiet; I wondered if the thought of being walked in on was exciting to him. Would it make him come faster if I pointed it out?
Turns out I didn’t need to mention it.
All the warning I had was a single, tight-lipped grunt, not even audible past the walls of the living room, and a twitch of his hips, as if he were looking for more purchase; if he wanted to fuck my mouth, though, I certainly wouldn’t say no.
There were four or five spurts of the stuff, each one creamy and thick and a little tangy in a way that wasn’t unpleasant at all, each one quiet except for the sound of Oliver’s heaving breath. I swallowed quickly, licking a little string off the tip of his cock as I left, but when I backed off, the room felt… different. He wasn’t looking at me.
Oliver quickly tucked himself into his jeans, his expression unsure.
Shit.
Ignoring the erection in my own jeans, I stood quickly. He only looked at me again when I finally said something:
“Uh….”
The spell was broken. I didn’t think I was going to be getting anything in return, by the looks of it.
“I should….” Oliver cleared his throat quickly, buttoning his pants. “I should probably get going. My legs could really use the, uh… the cream.”
It was a lame excuse. We both knew it.
“Yeah, yeah.” I nodded, the motion disjointed. He picked the tin up and stood, making his way towards the front door. Before he could pull it open, though, I said, “Sorry.”
Oliver looked at me.
“That was probably a little impulsive.”
I expected him to grin. Maybe joke about how it was more than a little impulsive.
He didn’t do any of that.
“I got carried away,” I added. “I just… thought maybe you wanted it.”
I could have set myself on fire. There was definitely enough gasoline out back with the tractors.
“It’s fine.” Oliver let go of the doorknob, turning to me fully. “It’s fine. It felt good.”
It was a compliment. I nodded.
“I haven’t… had that in a long time, I just….” Oliver, who seemed to be a man of few words, could barely manage even that. “I don’t lean that… way.”
There it is, I thought. One orgasm too late. Not gay.
“Yeah. Yeah, I understand.” I cleared my throat, squaring my shoulders a little. This wasn’t my first rejection, obviously, and I’d be damned if Nico’s hot uncle was going to get the best of me. Seeming confident with my cock still painfully hard in my jeans was a little difficult, though. “It’s just fun, y’know, so….”
I glanced down at his cock one more time. I could still taste it in my mouth.
“Anytime you need to unload,” I told him, and forced myself not to wince.
The innuendo was not intended.
Oliver seemed wound tight, despite having come less than five minutes ago.
“Right,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m gonna get back to work, but… you’re free for the rest of the evening. We’ll pick up again.”
“Yeah. I’ll….” Oliver opened the door. “I’ll see you.”
I let him go without another word, not needing to dig this whole any deeper.
This hard-on wasn’t going to go away on its own, that much was clear.
What a fucking bust, I thought, rolling my eyes at myself.
This time: pun intended.
5
Oliver
My thighs did feel a little better, but my legs shook as I left the house, and the fog of afterglow clung to my brain as I tried to orient myself in the direction James had said his place was. My heart had slowed back down but not all the way. What had just happened?
Stupid question, I chided myself, you got your dick sucked.
Seemed like an obvious answer but…
His touch had just felt good, and it had been so long. Not that I didn’t get a couple of offers in prison but that sort of thing could come with strings attached and all I wanted was to keep my head down and get along in there. This had been different than all that.
It’s possible I was wrong but… Quinn really did seem like he just wanted to do it. And I hadn’t stopped him because, well…
Well, I didn’t know. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth? Or maybe the saying was, Don’t take your dick out of a cowboy’s mouth.
Eh, probably not. An
d then he’d been warm, and tight, and slow, and by that point it was just too late to do anything but close my eyes and drift on his tongue until he swallowed me.
Ay, I had to get that out of my head.
James’s place was just a little out of the way from the Dyers’ main house. It took a little wandering, but I made it there without any direction, so I figured that was success enough. It was a quaint little place, definitely built for one or two people and not much else, from what I gathered of the outside.
A light was on. I knocked on the door.
Inside, I could hear those clobbering footsteps before the door swung open, James grinning down at me from his raised doorway. He’d shed his jacket and boots and cowboy hat; out of uniform, I joked to myself.
“I see you made it out,” was all he said in the way of greeting, stepping aside to let me in.
“I did.”
I didn’t make a move to step inside right away, and his smile faltered a little. His brow twitched. “What’s going on?” he asked, voice keeping casual.
“I, uh….” I glanced over my shoulder.
The main house was beginning to light up, lamps in windows being turned on by—
“You seem a little spooked,” James said. The corner of his mouth turned up. “You look like you might have seen a coyote out there or something.”
I raised my brow. “There are coyotes out around here?”
“Sometimes, yeah.” James laughed. “You’d be surprised.”
I chuckled, taking the step up as he nodded towards the inside of his home. “No, no, I’m good. No coyotes out tonight.”
It wasn’t necessarily cold outside, but James’s home radiated warmth. It was a cozy kind of place.
“Good thing,” he said, moving into a side room—from what I could gather as I toed off my shoes, it looked to be a tiny kitchen—and returning with a nice cold beer. “Last time we had coyotes on the ranch, it was…” He made a face. “Let’s just say there was a bit of, uh, clean-up the next day. Here.”
I took the beer and nodded thanks.