by Sean Michael
“Mmm ... good ... ‘s the way it oughta be.” He stroked along Russ’ thighs, petting gently as he moved to take the tip of Russ’ cock into his mouth. Russ gasped, body jerking and then settling again as a small whimper left Russ. “Just relax. Just want to love on you.” He found a comfortable spot and settled in, cheek on Russ’ belly as he bobbed his head and sucked.
“Oh man. I love you, Trey.” Russ’ hand slid to his shoulder, holding on, soft moans continuing to color the air. He hummed, sinking into the scent and feeling of his lover, one hand on his own cock, pulling steadily. Russ’ prick seemed to get harder and harder, his Yankee's hips starting to move as Russ got close. “Trey...”
He hummed louder, nodding, wanting to drive Russ over the edge.
“Oh!” Russ cried out, hips bucking. The cock in his mouth throbbed and splashed salty heat down his throat. He swallowed, drinking Russ down, moaning at the flavor, licking lazily at the tip of Russ’ cock. Russ moaned, hand sliding slowly over his head as a shudder shook his Yankee's body. Trey nuzzled in, resting against Russ, hand stroking. “Mmm ... oh, you do make me feel good, Cowboy.”
“It's what I'm here for, Yankee.” He kissed one nipple.
“Yeah? Here I thought it was to feed those evil nanny goats.”
He snorted, nipping Russ playfully. “I'm just waiting for you to learn to deal with them.”
“And then what?”
“Uh ... We'll graduate you to the cattle.”
Russ laughed. “I already help feed the cattle, cowboy—they aren't half as scary as those goats. Oh shit. You mean milk, don't you?”
He started laughing, face buried in Russ’ belly. “God, no. This isn't dairy country. Not at all.”
“Oh, thank God!” Russ started laughing, too, fingers searching out his ribs.
He laughed, writhing and grinning. “You're missing your cartoons, Yankee. You'd best be good.”
“My cartoons have nothing on you, Cowboy.”
That made him blush, made him grin wider. “Yeah, well ... You're biased.”
“Maybe just a little.” Russ tugged him up so their lips were together. “You got something that needs taking care of?”
“If you're willing...” He rubbed against Russ’ leg, tongue sliding out to taste.
“If I'm...” Russ whacked him again. “When have I not been willing? Of course I'm willing, cowboy!”
“Damn, you're getting free with that beating me thing!” He chuckled, winking, still rubbing.
Russ laughed. “You like it? Maybe we're getting kinky in our old age.”
He snorted. “Well ... We do play ride ‘em cowboy...”
“Yeah, in a bed, even.” Russ was giggling away again, just plain happy, warm hands sliding over him and down into his sweatpants.
“I know. We're edgy folks, we are.”
Russ’ hand wrapped around his cock, his Yankee's usually smooth strokes made jerky by the laughter that shook them both.
“Oh! Good!” He arched, pushing into the touch.
“I know. Love it when you do me.” Russ’ strokes got firmer, more even, sliding along his cock. He groaned, spreading and moving faster, eyes rolling. Russ’ thumb brushed across the tip of his cock, gathering the drops and making the strokes even more slippery and smooth.
“Yeah...” He arched, burying his face in Russ’ shoulder.
“Love you, Trey,” Russ whispered, hand working him hard.
“Love ... Oh!” He gasped, balls drawing up as he came, shooting into Russ’ hand.
“Oh, yeah, that's what I like.” Russ kissed him, hand sliding gently along his cock.
He moaned, humming low. “So good...” Russ brought his come-covered hand up and started licking, grinning at him. Oh. Oh, fuck, that was hot. “You ... Wow.”
“Oh yeah, we're piling on the kink now.” Russ kissed him hard and then went back to licking his own hand clean. He snorted and cuddled in, kissing hard as soon as Russ moved his hand. Russ’ arms wrapped around him, kissing back eagerly. He could taste himself on Russ’ lips. It felt good, to have them, together. Warm and stretched and wanting. Russ rubbed their noses together as the kiss ended. “I do love you, cowboy.”
“Yeah, Yankee. Same here.” He settled in, relaxed and happy and easy in his bones.
Yeah, life was good.
Chapter 14
Russ drove the truck out behind the barn and unloaded the feed by rote. He couldn't remember the drive home. Hell, he couldn't even remember stopping at the feed store, but he must have as the bed was loaded down with about three times what they usually bought. Trey was going to kill him.
He heard the happy whistling about a second before Trey appeared around the side of the barn. “Hey, Yankee. What'd the doc say? Hell, d'we get a deal on sweet feed?”
“No, I screwed up. I'll take it out of my pay until we need it and the ranch can pay me back.” He kept unloading the damned stuff. Maybe if it took a really long time the day just wouldn't end and he'd just do this for the rest of his life. He could probably live with that.
Trey moved to help him unload, muscles bunching as the bags were moved. “Don't fret it, it'll get eat up. What did the doc say?”
“You sure about the feed? It was my screw up.”
“Yeah. Course I am.” Trey kept working, frown deepening. “I got spaghetti for supper.”
“Okay, cool.” He didn't look at Trey, just kept unloading. Fuck, they were almost done. He didn't think he was ready for them to be done yet.
Trey got the last bundle, tossing it up to the top of the pile and locking the feedlot. “You got something to tell me, Yankee?”
“Look, I said I was sorry about the feed and if you want me to pay for it, I will.”
“And I said I'm not worried about the fucking feed. It'll get eat up.” Trey pushed his hat back, dark eyes focused. Trey was wearing a blue flannel shirt, a little streak of mud on one side. “Shit, you're touchy. You okay? You got a burr under your saddle?”
“Yeah. Maybe I do, all right?” He pushed past Trey heading for the house. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not ever.
It took Trey about ten seconds after he hit the door to follow, warm hands falling on his shoulders. “No, Yankee. It's not all right. Not at all. What's wrong?”
He stopped moving and took a deep breath, letting himself lean back into Trey. “I might have cancer.”
There. It was out. Fucking real. Fucking cancer. In his goddamned balls. Trey went stock-still, not even breathing, just holding him, letting him lean.
“They won't know for sure until they test it though.” He barked out a laugh. “You wanna know what the booby prize is, Trey?”
“No, but I reckon I oughta.”
“They have to take the ball to test the mass. It doesn't matter if I have fucking cancer or not—I'm losing it.” He could still hear the doctor, talking about taking his ball, excuse him, his testicle, as if it was a walk in the park.
“Did he say when? And what happens next?” Trey's voice was low, quiet, steady as a fucking stone.
“Soon as possible. If it's not malignant I get to pretend it never happened. I'll never get the ball back, but that'll be it. If it is cancer there's radiation therapy. Doc says there's a real good chance at recovery. He says this kind of cancer's almost never fatal.” It was easier to repeat the words with Trey behind him, not having to look into his lover's eyes.
“Okay. Did you make an appointment? Are they wanting to do it in San Antonio?”
“Yeah. Yeah, next week. The Doc said sooner the better.” He sighed and pulled away, started pacing. “I don't know what I'm going to do if it's cancer, Trey. Hell, I don't know what I'm going to do even if it isn't. I mean, they're taking my ball. They aren't giving it back. And between the initial procedure, the tests and the follow up, it'll take all my savings and then some. I'm gonna owe them for a couple of years. If I need the radiation treatment...” God, what was he going to do?
“You don't worry about
that. You worry about staying well.” Trey kissed the side of his neck, so gentle. “You don't fret on the money part.”
He stopped pacing and found Trey's hand, holding on. “You sure you want to make a commitment like that to a guy who pretty soon isn't going to be a whole man?”
“I'd make that commitment to you if they were taking the whole package. As it is? Lots of guys only got one. Hell, lots are born that way. Lance Armstrong has kids now and everything.” Trey was pale—a dead, grey pale that didn't look natural—but those eyes were sure and steady. “But I've thrown my lot with yours. We'll see it through.”
He nodded, holding on as tight as he could. He needed Trey, more than ever now. Needed. “Fuck, Trey. I'm scared.”
“It'll work out, Russ. We just gotta do what we gotta do and get on with it.” Trey wrapped those warm arms around him, staying so strong, so steady. He grabbed Trey around the waist, burying his face in Trey's neck and just holding on, feeling better than he had since the Doc told him. Feeling almost normal. Trey didn't say a word, just stood and held, heart beating against him.
Okay, the feed unloading was over and that was okay, because this moment here? This was the one he wanted to last forever. And the way it was looking? Trey was okay with that idea. “You think we can just stay like this forever?”
“No. But we can stay like this for now.” Trey grinned, gave a little laugh. “Supper will burn.”
“Can't have that. You'll ruin your record.”
“And it's my famous spaghetti, even. Got garlic bread and everything.”
“Oh your garlic bread. That's a very different story. I love sucking you off after garlic.” He raised his face for a kiss. Man, no one but Trey could make this feel okay, normal. Trey took his lips, tongue pushing in, tasting him. He whimpered, opening wide, needing this, needing to know Trey still wanted him, still found him sexy.
“Gonna be okay, Yankee. It will.” Trey pulled his head back, kissing hard and deep, a soft cry muffled between them.
He wrapped his arms around Trey's neck and just held on, rubbing hard. One of Trey's hands cupped his ass, drawing him close, Trey shivering against him, cock hard and hot in the tight jeans. “Screw the garlic bread, Trey. Fuck me.”
“You sure?” Trey pushed them towards the sofa, fingers hard on his hip.
“Never more sure in my life. Need you.” He pulled off his shirt and started in on Trey's as his knees hit the back of the couch.
“Anything you want.” Trey started unbuckling the plain belt, hat going winging across the room.
“I want you.” His own pants were off in short order and he lay back on the couch, watching his lover, watching that sexy bod.
“I'm yours.” Trey got naked and leaned down over him, bringing their lips back together. Russ slid his hands along Trey's sides and to his ass, tugging him down as they kissed, hard and deep. Trey moaned, hand sliding behind his back and drawing him close. Whimpering, he wrapped one leg around Trey, rubbing up against him. “Easy, Yankee. Easy. We got time.”
“Need you. So bad, Trey. Want you.”
“'m right here. Where's the lube?” Trey fumbled in the basket on the floor. He reached out under the cushions, finding the tube and thrusting it into Trey's hands. It took just a second for Trey to slick those callused fingers, two sliding deep inside him. His eyes closed as he concentrated on the feeling of those fingers inside him. So good. So real. So hot and right. “Love you. Gonna make you feel good, Yankee. Gonna make you come.”
“Always do, Cowboy.” He shouted as Trey's fingers found his gland. Oh yeah, this was it, this was what he wanted and needed and lived for. Trey groaned and kept pegging it again and again, making him fly. “Oh God. Trey. You, please. I want it to be you.”
“It is me.” Still Trey shifted, cock nudging against his hole before pushing in deep. He cried out, legs wrapping around Trey, pulling him in deeper. Trey kissed him, moaning into his lips, hips pumping into him, slamming them together.
He screamed each time they came together, reveling in it, wanting it, wanting more, more. To know he was alive.
“Love you. Love you. Not letting you go, Russ. Not ever.” Trey's words were broken, gasped against his skin.
He held on with arms and legs, meeting each thrust, he wasn't letting go, wasn't going to lose this. “Not letting go,” he whispered back, coming hard.
He faintly felt Trey's heat fill him, felt the weight of his lover on him. He held on as tight as he could. He wasn't ever letting go.
* * * *
Trey walked into the big house, hat in hand. He'd called Marty first thing this morning, a quick quiet conversation that started with ‘no way, fuck’ and ended with ‘I'm sorry, man'. Marty'd said that Mr. Gonzales wouldn't fire Russ, might even keep paying some if Trey managed to get all their work done. Then he'd called Mr. Gonzales and asked for a meeting. He reckoned Marty'd called ahead, because Mr. G. just said, “Come on then, now is good.” So he'd left Russ to the packing of bags and arranging of times and calling of kin and he'd gone.
Cancer. Fuck. Just didn't seem right, seem real. The last two days had been wrong.
Empty.
Like a play on a stage when he was in high school—all lights and saying the right things and timing and waiting for the audience's applause.
Mr. G. met him at the office door. “Martin called. Is it the cancer?”
“They think so, sir.” Trey swallowed hard. “They won't know, not ‘til they go and take it out and look at it.”
“Is he going to quit?”
“No, sir. He's having it out in the morning, then they'll start radiation the next day, if they have to.” And then they do it and do it until he's fixed and then, please God, Trey could bring him home for good.
Mr. G. nodded. “What can I do?”
“Keep him on. He'll be off his feet a couple weeks and slow for a couple months. I'll keep things going, keep things up and running. You know me, sir, I won't let y'all down.” He was holding his hat hard enough his hands were shaking.
“No. No, of course you won't. The payroll will stay the same, so long as the income does.” The tall man went to sit behind the heavy desk, sighing softly. “How's he reckon to pay for things? This shit's not cheap.”
He shook his head. “No, sir. His folks are coming with a little help, he's got a bit and I...” He swallowed hard. “I reckon I'll help with the rest.”
He got a long, slow look. “You be careful, Brandon. You've worked your ass off and lived low on the ladder for a long damned time. You don't have to save very lost calf that wanders into your paddock.”
He nodded. He'd gotten the same advice from his daddy. Still, a man had to follow his heart. “I've been praying on it, sir, and I'm doing as I'm called to.”
His boss shook his head. “I'll not fire him. He can take the time he needs and I'll have some of the church ladies bring some food for a week or two. That'll ease things some.”
Trey nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I...”
His throat closed up, head just pounding.
Mr. G. tilted his head, “You got something to say, Brandon?”
He nodded. “Pud's gonna foal in the spring. I won't be able to cover the vet bills for her, the good feed. I'm thinking of finding her a buyer. Reckoned I'd ask you first, see if you wanted her for your stable. She's a good nag. Her foal'll bring a good price.” It broke his heart to ask, it did, but he didn't see a way around it. Mamma'd done some calling for him—his Aunt Barbara was a nurse over at Brackenridge in Austin—and this was gonna take everything he had plus some and that wasn't covering gas into San Antonio over and over or medicine or complications. If Mr. G.'d buy her, he'd at least get to see the foal. Get to pet it.
“What're you asking for her?”
“$2700 and I've got a guaranteed live foal.”
“Done. I'll leave you a check in the morning.”
Trey nodded. “I'm going to drive Russ in to San Antonio tomorrow, pick up his folks at the airpor
t, but I'll be home for evening feeding.”
“Get one of the hands at Johnson's to come do it for a few days. You keep me informed of what's up.”
He nodded, throat tight. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“You're a good man, Brandon. Tell Russell we're praying for him.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned and high-tailed it out of the house, managing to hold back his tears until he made it to Pud's stall.
He wasn't a good man. He wasn't. A good man wouldn't be mourning his dreams. His ranch. His horse. Everything he ever wanted. A good man wouldn't be so angry, wouldn't be hurting so bad.
He was just...
Just a man.
* * * *
Russ held on tight to Trey, watching as the rising sun slowly lit up the ceiling of their bedroom. This was it. This was the day. They were going to take his ball. And if it had cancer they'd be starting the radiation therapy tomorrow. The first day of the rest of his life. Even if it was cancer, the Doc said the odds were good. Damned good. Hell, he probably had better odds beating this than not getting into an accident on the road. Still this was cancer. Fucking cancer.
Or not. No need to think the worst, right.
He'd been over and over everything the doc had said. He'd worked out the cash thing in his head over and over again, trying to find some way to make it work without Trey giving up every damn thing he'd worked for. If it was cancer though ... it would use it all up. Every last penny the man had and then some. And there'd never been any question in Trey's mind that he'd help.
Russ wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve Trey, but he wasn't going to let go. He would fight with everything he had to keep this man and his love. He just wished he wasn't so scared.
Round and round his thoughts went, just like they had all night. He had a tight knot in his belly, making it ache.
Trey kissed his shoulder, fingers moving over his skin. “It's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine.”
