by Peter Styles
“I know, I know—I am well aware.”
“What happened?”
I ran a fingernail over the wood grain of the table. “I might have… sucked—”
“Never mind,” he cut. “Don’t want that mental image in my head.” I heard him sigh. “Listen, Quinn, I love my tío, right, but honestly? He’s boring as fuck. And I’m not just saying this ‘cause he’s my uncle, but you’re gonna have to find your daddy dick elsewhere. Comprende?”
I rolled my eyes. “Boring isn’t… so bad. And, I mean, damn, like, those eyes—”
“I don’t wanna hear you wax poetic about my fuckin’ tío’s eyes, man,” he said, laughing a little.
Sitting myself up a little taller, I shrugged, not that he’d see it. “Other than that, your precious tío is doing fine. He met everyone this morning at breakfast, and they all seem to like him well enough. Especially James. They got off on a good foot. Had some beers last night, so I think he’s in good hands.”
“Yeah,” Nico said, “well, I’m really thankful, man. For you taking him in. On short notice, too.”
“Trust me,” I sighed, dutifully ignoring the pile of mail and invoices stacked on the counter. “I could definitely use the help.”
I looked up at the clock on the wall, pulling myself up suddenly. “Shit, I almost forgot.”
“What?”
“I’m meeting up with Parker’s brother later today, I almost forgot. What’s his name, uh—?”
“Sawyer.”
“Right, Sawyer. He’s met with Mama a few times now, she likes him.” I blew out a breath and tried to imagine a day when this place was turned around and I could afford to get her the treatment she needed. “Thanks for the recommendation, Nico, really. Something’s gotta give here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he tutted. “Just make sure to stay out of Sawyer’s pants, all right?”
I laughed; what a dick. “No promises.”
“Seriously, man.” He sounded crossed between exasperated and awful fond of me. I guess friendship would do that to you. “Get your ass on Grindr like everyone else, okay?”
“Goodbye.”
“Hasta luego, daddy-lover.”
I hung up, chuckling. I kept my cell upstairs in my bedroom, charging most of the day. Thinking about it, though, maybe it would be useful to get on Grindr; I wondered how many older men in Worthington were secretly looking for someone to bend over on their….
And, by some kind of streak of bad karma, like a movie or something, I caught a glimpse of two riders, galloping by the kitchen window on horseback: James and Oliver, who had shed his overshirt already, the tight shirt underneath leaving little to the imagination. Prison really did a number on his pecs.
Resigned to making lunch and an afternoon meeting, I unstoppered the sink, watching the two of them ride out towards the east fields for a day of hard work and alone time.
The sink gurgled as it emptied. I sighed.
Sometimes life just wasn’t fair.
7
Oliver
“Lookin’ good down there?” I asked.
From around the rusting hood of the tractor, I saw James reappear, patting it with his gloved hand.
“Looks like it,” he confirmed. “Go on and start ‘er up.”
I turned the ignition and we both held our breath as the engine sputtered, slowly trying to bring itself back to life until finally, with an ugly noise, as loud as a shotgun, something clicked under the hood, and it burst back into a state of living.
James hollered, stepping back from it. I felt it rattling underneath me, and took it as a good sign.
“Shit, shut ‘er off,” he laughed from the floor of the barn.
I did, sliding outta the high-up seat to join him in admiring the work we’d just done. It had taken some time, salvaging all the parts and getting them in proper working condition, and even longer to get them all arranged under the hood, but clearly it had paid off.
“And, two of two tractors are officially fixed,” he said, pulling his gloves off. “For now, anyway.”
It was the second of the day; I wiped the sweat from my forehead. It had kept us plenty busy, but it was cathartic in a way. It had been a long time since I’d gotten to do an honest day’s work; it sure as hell beat sitting in a cell all day.
“Good job,” I told him, and he gave a shrug and a smile.
“Yeah. Long as they keep long enough to clear the hayfields and get it all bailed up.” He adjusted the hat on his head. “How long these salvaged bits are gonna last is anyone’s guess, though.”
I hummed. “Yeah. Hope so.”
“It’s too expensive to buy feed” he said, “so we’ve always grown our own here. We’re good at self-sustaining.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Yeah. The field’s mostly recovered, but….” We wandered to the edge of the barn as we talked, looking out at the expanse of the Dyers’ land, where it stretched on out before the blue, faraway mountains. “Without working machines, well, you know. We can’t always harvest as much as we need to. Best we usually manage is two, maybe three, harvests a season.”
His words were echoed from the prior night’s conversation: “A tough few years, right?”
James shot me a wry look. “You got it, partner.”
“It’s some pretty shit luck.”
“You’re tellin’ me. And God knows if we let the cattle just roam free and graze themselves, half the field would be inedible by the time they got around to it, and the rest would be bitten right down to the root. Totally demolished. Those fuckers can eat.”
With an unexpected laugh: “I can relate.”
As if on cue, my stomach growled loud enough for the both of us to hear.
James slapped me on the back. “Right, well, we farmhands gotta eat as much as the cows do, don’t we? C’mon, lunch oughta be ready by the time we get back.”
He whistled at the horses. Sundance and Dallas were trained well enough to keep near us while we worked, never wandering off too far. I saddled in with more ease this time, though I felt the stretch in my thighs when I swung a leg over, and James seemed impressed as he rode up alongside me.
“Looks like we got ourselves a natural-born rider.”
I shook my head, taking hold of the reins. “Just a quick learner.”
Lunch was quicker than breakfast. Most of the farmhands who’d swung by for a bite were on their way out, having been working closer to the homestead than James and I. They nodded and greeted me as we passed one another. One even asked how it was going with the tractors, and seemed impressed to hear from James that we got two up and running.
It felt good. Normal: fitting in, like I didn’t have my own past riddled with bad luck.
Eventually, it was just James and me, and Quinn, who had just finished cleaning up from making lunch: simple sandwiches with some fresh-washed apples and another round of coffee if we wanted some. I gladly took a mug, preparing for whatever was about to take up the last half of the day, only for James to wave his hand at me.
“Slow down there, Oliver,” he laughed, noticing me chugging it. “I’m gonna be heading out to the scrapyard to search for parts.”
“All right.”
“Usually, I’d invite you along, or just ask you to go yourself, but the job’s awful—really, just shit. So, I’m gonna have you stick around here and degrease the combine parts out at the north barn.” He polished off his sandwich and shined his apple on his chest. “Sound good to you?”
“Whatever you need help with, yeah.”
“Great,” he said, before his words turned my lunch a little sour. “Quinn knows where they’re at. Have him go out and show ‘em to you.”
I looked over at the cowboy in question, sitting on the counter and eating an apple, just listening to the conversation. He looked right back.
“Sure,” Quinn said, sucking a bit of apple juice off his finger.
I looked back at James. “Yeah. Yeah, sounds good.”
&nb
sp; James was the first out, since Quinn had to finish up a few things around the kitchen, and he did it with lightning speed, shrugging an overshirt on as we headed out. It was sweet of James to keep the horses here for us while he took off for his truck, needing more than a horse to lug whatever parts he’d find back to the ranch.
He apologized earlier, I reminded myself, while Quinn talked about the ride up to the barn.
I nodded, admittedly not really listening as we saddled up. One side of his overshirt was starting to slip down his shoulder. I told myself not to look at it.
We already straightened this out. Literally. We’re good now.
At least, Quinn was acting like it was all normal.
The sun was blazing hot as we rode out, high in the afternoon sky, without a cloud to give off a shred of shade. Sweat beaded on the back of my neck and under my shirt less than a minute out, and trickled down my back. By the time we reached the north barn, both of us were visibly soaked in it.
We paused after dismounting, and Quinn was the first to laugh. I followed soon after.
He plucked at his damp shirt. “It’s a little hot out.”
I scoffed, brows raising, voice turning sarcastic. “Yeah, just a little.”
His overshirt was stripped away quickly, tied around his waist, which I had anticipated—it’d be asking for heatstroke to wear layers in this weather—but what made me pause was his shirt following closely behind, leaving him bare from the waist up.
“I’ve got a few hours till my meeting,” he said, patting Dallas’s hindquarters. “So I don’t mind giving you a hand with this.”
“Yeah.” My gaze swept over his chest before our eyes met. “Thanks.”
The corner of his mouth turned up.
Stop looking at it.
“No problem.” Quinn shrugged one shoulder. “It’ll get done faster with the both of us anyhow.”
It was logical; better than sitting inside the stuffy homestead all day, doing nothing. “Right.”
I grabbed the hem of my shirt, tugging it fluidly over my head, and letting it drape over the back of Sundance’s saddle. Already, without the cotton trapping the heat against my skin, I felt cooler.
Chuckling at my side, Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey.”
I looked at him.
“I’m not checking you out.” He said it jokingly; it was normal to joke about shit like this, right?
A bit nervously, I chuckled, putting on an air of higher confidence. “You couldn’t help it,” I said with a sideways look. “Plus, I don’t really mind.”
Quinn made a face. It was bright, like he was just shy of laughing. “Look but don’t touch, right?”
I shook my head, pushing down on a grin. “Right.”
He pursed his lips, assessed me and then shrugged a shoulder. “Hm, I can live with that.”
We should have gone in the barn then. Should have sat down and gotten to work. This shit wasn’t going to degrease itself.
Instead, I let out some words I probably should have kept inside. “Before—what, uh… what happened wasn’t….”
He was looking at me now, square, his hand drifting off of Sundance as the horses trotted off to wait in the fields for us to finish. Shit.
I looked after them. It was easier than looking at Quinn. “It wasn’t bad or anything. Just… unexpected.”
Was he smiling? Or would he be pissed when I looked over at him again. Was it confusing for me to say? I felt confused, honestly, so I guess it wouldn’t have been strange for him to….
“I just haven’t been touched in a long time,” I went on. Maybe it was too much information, but this conversation was happening already, so it was better to be honest. Maybe. “I know I’ve got a history. What with the trial and everything. There’s a, uh, a stigma associated with me, even though I didn’t actually kill anyone.”
It felt weird saying out loud, outside of prison. Kill. I didn’t kill anyone. I’d said it a million times, and so few people had believed me. Didn’t matter if I’d whisper or scream it.
“I didn’t think that at all.”
I looked at him quickly, my eyes finding his without hesitation. He was coming closer.
Quinn’s mouth was set; he seemed serious. It was a good look on him. “I always thought you were innocent, y’know. Didn’t believe that shit for a second.”
I swallowed, nodding. “Thanks.” How often had I heard that since being released? I could have probably counted the number of times on one hand, and still have fingers left to spare. “That really… that means a lot, Quinn.”
A warm breeze swept through the field. You could see it coming, rippling over the top of the crops. It felt nice when it finally touched us.
The silence felt nice, too.
When Quinn spoke again, I could hear the coquettish smile in his voice. “So… it was good then?”
We looked at each other in the corners of our eyes. I broke it first, laughing a little.
“Yeah. It, uh… it was really good.” He made a pleased noise. “Like a blow your mind, make you kind of confused type of good.”
“Shit.” He laughed, running a hand through the back of his hair, ruffling it a bit. “Guess I’m glad to hear it. I had a good time myself, y’know.”
I could feel the warmth crawling under my skin. It had been a long time since I’d been touched, yeah, but just as long since I’d talked like this with someone. There was a different kind of warmth aside from the one that came from being excited and flirtatious; I guess I was nervous, too. A bit embarrassed. There was maybe a shame in there, long buried, but it was overwhelmed by Quinn and our back-and-forth.
“I wouldn’t mind it,” I said, pushing myself as the want flared stronger than the shame. “A repeat performance, I mean. Sometime.”
We turned to each other in unison, and the look in Quinn’s eye radiated mischief. He was a troublemaker still, that much I could tell.
“Is that so?” He came closer, and I stood my ground, my hands tucked into my pockets while his wandered, just a few fingers brushing down my damp chest and spreading tingles out to the rest of me. “We’re alone now, y’know.”
I could feel my cock in my jeans warm with interest. This place was even more open than the homestead sofa had been. “I’m real sweaty at the moment.”
Quinn smirked. “Oh, I’m well aware.”
He pressed his nose to my collarbone, lips barely ghosting over the warm skin there; tilting his head, he looked at me with dark eyes, and I could feel the air in my lungs like they were suddenly burning me from the inside out.
“You smell good after a hard day’s work,” he told me, one hand guiding mine own out of my pockets.
I didn’t need to be told twice, or even once. His touch was enough.
My hands settled on his hips, the air around us bright and tense. They traveled over his belt, his jeans, shyly over his ass, and I could feel him suck in a short breath against my chest. He liked being touched by me. The idea was surreal.
Quinn’s touch was braver.
He’d done this before, if that wasn’t already clear. The fingers on my chest scratched teasingly down my front, and a shiver ran up my spine in response despite the heat. It was clear the direction he was heading, down over my jeans, his hand flattened, palming at my half-hard cock like he’d remembered the shape of it, and knew just where to press.
“You like that?” he asked, hearing my breathing change, my cock twitch in answer.
I nodded, my hands firm on his hips, bringing us closer.
The hand at my cock slid upwards again, so he could hook a finger in the band of my jeans and tug, drawing the fabric lower, just a sliver of what he could do.
“Want more?” Quinn’s breath was hot on my neck.
The both of us standing in the tall grass, he made quick work of my fly and when he pulled my cock from where it pressed painfully hard in my jeans, he licked the corner of his mouth as if he’d had a taste and wanted more.
; “Quinn,” I breathed. Maybe it was my attempt at a warning; it was probably dangerous to do this out in the open, with farmhands wandering around.
He was breathing harder too when he looked up at me. We watched each other—or maybe it was just he was watching me, waiting to see the face I’d make—as he wrapped a hand around my cock in full, and pumped languidly as that sly grin spread over his face.
It drew a groan from me, my eyes fluttering against it a little. My knees shook, and I tensed to keep from losing my balance.
“Relax,” he murmured, another hand pressing gently at my chest. “I’ll take care of you.”
The hand on my cock was practiced; teasing and sure at the same time, like he knew what to do to work me up quickly. I remembered the feel of his mouth taking me deeper, and when my eyes opened again, he was sinking to his knees.
He leaned close, eyes locked on mine as I stared down at him, and grazed just the tip of his nose across my damp balls. He inhaled, slow and deep, and exhaled with a quiet moan. “You smell like a man, Oliver. Makes me thirsty…”
He inhaled again and closed his eyes, then brushed his lips along the length of my bouncing cock, filled with my racing pulse. When he reached the tip he opened his eyes again and watched me watching with wide eyes and a slack jaw as he opened up and closed in on me. The feel of his tongue, wet and heavy with spit, followed and swirled around the thick head.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I could only watch that tongue flicker out to tease me, those thick lips spreading slick spit and sucking gently the little drop of precum I’d leaked. Those smoldering eyes that smiled up at me, sparking with amusement and heat. “F-fuck….”
As my hand threaded into his hair, the strands long enough for me to grip, Quinn sank down another inch or so and deposited a thick coat of saliva on me. Disappointment tugged at my gut when he pulled off, and stood. It didn’t last. He gripped me tight, as he moved closer to me, so that I could feel the heat of his body on mine. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes searched mine as his strong fingers twisted over my cock, running through the spit and spreading it down over me. The slickness drew my breath out in stuttering huffs, and a graveled moan I couldn’t contain.