Fine as Frog Hair

by Sean Michael

  “You feel so good, Yankee. Hot and hard for me.”

  He shuddered as Trey's voice added to his pleasure. “Don't think I'm gonna last long, Trey.”

  “Okay. Dinner's cooking anyway. Just want to see you come. Need it, I think.” Those dark eyes were lovely.

  He could understand that. It was what he needed, too, to know that he still could, that Trey could make him come, that he could make Trey come like he had a couple of weeks ago. “Feels amazing, Trey, almost like I'm fourteen again when it was all new.”

  Trey chuckled, leaning close to kiss him. “Bet my hand feels better than yours did.”

  “Oh yeah. So does not worrying about whether or not my mom's gonna come in and catch me.” He laughed, the sound breathless and breaking into a moan. Oh, God. Trey's laughter was sweet, husky, happy, making this all feel right. He gasped as pleasure shot down his spine and out his cock. “Trey!”

  Trey moaned, cock sliding in his loose grip. “That ... oh, God. That was so fine. So fine.”

  “Fine as frog hair?” he asked, hand finding a rhythm on Trey's cock, needing to return the favor, to make Trey come, too.

  “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Finer. Fuck. Fuck, Russ. So good.”

  “Yeah. Missed this. Missed you.” He tugged harder on Trey's prick. Trey leaned back, hips snapping into his touch, belly rippling. It didn't take long before Trey was shooting, heat splashing against his fingers. “Oh, yeah, Trey. Oh, that's good, isn't it?”

  He leaned into Trey, wrapping his arms around his Cowboy. “I love you.”

  “Love you. Oh, man. Russ. Felt so damned good.” Trey held on tight, stroking his hair.

  He nodded, cheek sliding along Trey's skin. “Yeah. Oh, yeah.”

  He laughed again, the pure happiness of being able to do something so simple but pleasurable together was overwhelming.

  “You did it, Yankee. You made it. I'm so proud of you.”

  “I couldn't have done it without you.”

  “Sure you could, but I'm glad I could be here, with you.”

  He shook his head but didn't argue. Life was too short. Instead he kissed Trey again and then pushed him into the full spray of the water. “Come on, supper's gonna get cold and I'm actually hungry tonight.”

  “Woohoo! I get to watch my old man eat!”

  He pinched Trey's ass. “Don't be cheeky.”

  Trey snorted, took a hard kiss. “Come on, Yankee. Food.”

  “Yes, boss.” He hightailed it out of the shower to avoid a pinch of his own, feeling easy in his skin for the first time in over a month. It was going to be okay. Now he could really believe it.

  Chapter 18

  They'd decided to take it easy for Thanksgiving, so Trey had done the “buy Thanksgiving in a box at the grocery store” thing. It wasn't bad—turkey and dressing and the trimmings, plus a pumpkin pie for thirty bucks. Nice and pre-cooked and simple. Martha Stewart he wasn't.

  They'd been picking on and off all day, lazing around. It felt pretty good, actually—lazing, resting, letting it all go. He didn't think about Pud or the money or the ranch or the last few weeks or anything. He just chilled out.

  Russ looked great, sleep and no longer getting radiated working wonders and things were almost back to normal. They were watching the football and Russ was teasing him, fingers sliding along his arm and his thigh and then disappearing again. He was just going to stay like this forever. Maybe longer.

  At half time, the touches stopped teasing, started getting serious, Russ petting his belly and sliding between his legs.

  “What're you doing, Yankee?” He grinned and stretched, letting a low moan slip out.

  Russ snorted. “Oh, it's been too long if you don't know what I'm doing.”

  He chuckled, spread a little. “'s been a long time...”

  “Yeah, too long.” Russ shifted, straddling his thighs. “You think we could try for something a little more energetic today? A little more ... penetrating?”

  Oh. Oh, happy Thanksgiving. “You sure you're up to that, Russ? We don't have to...”

  Of course, he really, really, really wanted to...

  “Oh man, Trey, I'm sure. I want you. I want you to fuck me. Look if it gets to be ... too much we can just finish up sucking or something, okay? But I want you. Please.” Russ interspersed his words with kisses.

  “Oh. Oh, God. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay. Want you. Want inside...” His head was spinning with the kisses, toes curling.

  “Oh, thank God. I was afraid you were gonna say it was too soon.” Russ’ mouth fused to his, hands working on his shirt.

  His tongue pushed deep, hips rocking up, gone from warm to interested to too hard for a cat to scratch just like that. Russ moaned into his mouth and rubbed their hips together, hands getting clumsy, pulling and ripping and pushing his shirt from his shoulders. He helped, pushing and tugging and searching for skin, letting Russ know he needed too. Soon they were rubbing together, skin against skin, urgency and need coloring their movements and kisses.

  “Lube, Yankee. Need to slick us up. Want in.” He grinned at Russ’ low moan, at the flash in the pretty eyes.

  “There still stuff in the couch cushions? Or did we clean it up before my folks showed?” Russ didn't wait for his answer, was already feeling under the couch cushions.

  “Still there. Late night jerk-offs to porn, you know?” He was tired, not dead.

  Russ looked hurt for a half second before the look was buried beneath the need. “Got it!”

  He cupped Russ’ chin. “Love you. Needed you. Needed to let you sleep.”

  Russ nuzzled into his palm. “I could have helped. Would have wanted to.”

  “And I would have felt like a bastard, waking my sick lover up for a hand job.”

  Russ sighed. “Fair enough. It's past now anyway, isn't it?” Russ handed him the lube.

  “Uh-huh.” He slicked his fingers, sliding down to circle Russ’ sac and caress before sliding back to nudge the tight little hole.

  A long shiver went through Russ, the small hole spasming. “Oh God, Trey.”

  “Yeah. So tight.” He slid two fingers in, stretching carefully, cock jumping at the feel.

  “Oh man.” Russ moaned, hands settling on his shoulders, holding on tight.

  “You tell me if you need me to stop.” Oh, God. He was going to die if Russ asked him to stop.

  “Don't stop, Trey. Please, don't stop.”

  “Oh, thank God.” He pushed deeper, curling to find Russ’ gland. “Want you.”

  Russ cried out, body tightening around his fingers. “Again, Trey. Do it again.” He did—again and again and again, damned near shooting at the pleasure on his Yankee's face. “Oh God, in me, Trey. Hurry. Gonna make me come.”

  Russ licked his lips, panting. He nodded, pulling his fingers away and Russ down onto his cock in one motion. “Russ!”

  “Oh. Oh, Trey.” Russ whimpered, shuddered, body rippling around his cock.

  “Uh-huh. Need. Russ. Please.” His hands landed on Russ’ hips, squeezing tight. “Feel so good to me.”

  Russ started moving, slowly rising and falling on his cock, blue eyes glued to his, soft sounds pushing from Russ’ mouth. They just moved and purred and made love and it felt good. Right. Just like it was supposed to. Russ dropped a hand to his prick, tugging himself off.

  “So fine.” He tangled his hand with Russ', pulling hard.

  “Frog hair,” Russ muttered just before his face went slack and he shot over their hands. Russ’ body milked his cock hard. He laughed as he came, hips pushing up into Russ, head pushed back. Russ collapsed against him, lips hot, sliding along his neck. Trey held Russ to him, humming, blinking over as a commercial on the TV got loud. Russ giggled. “You playing with the remote with your ass, Cowboy?”

  He reached out, pinching Russ’ ass, chuckling. “Smartass.”

  Russ jerked against him. “Hey!”

  Chuckling, his Yankee pressed close, arms wrapping around his middle.

  “Mmm ... H
appy Thanksgiving, Russ.” He kissed Russ’ temple. “Glad you're home, healthy.”

  “Me, too, Trey.” Russ tilted his head and kissed him softly. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Chapter 19

  Russ knocked on the door to Mr. Gonzales’ office, a frown on his face, a knot in his belly. “Sir? Do you have a moment?”

  Mr. Gonzales looked up, nodded. “Sure, Russell. Come on in. How're you feeling?”

  “About back to normal, sir, thank you.” He cleared his throat and handed over the ledger. “I had a question. About this expenditure.”

  The dark eyebrow raised and the boss nodded. “Yes? I'm aware of it.”

  “I know I wasn't that with it there for awhile, but I think I'd have noticed a new horse, especially a pregnant one...” That knot in his belly was getting tighter.

  Those eyebrows rose even higher. “Brandon sold me Pud and her baby. I'm surprised he didn't mention it. He's been busy, though. I wouldn't worry about it.”

  He nodded his head. “How much to buy her back, sir?”

  “I'm really not interested in selling her—she's a purebred, she's a winner, her baby's going to be worth a pretty penny.” Mr. Gonzales gave him a smile. “If someone made me a great offer, I'd consider it, but right now, she was a great investment.”

  He nodded again. “What about just her, sir? Just the mare—you keep the colt. That's a hell of a deal for your money, sir.”

  “If you want to pay me what I paid for her, after she's foaled, we'll discuss it.” Mr. Gonzales stood, shook his head. “For that money, you could buy three more colts—Brandon's not riding the rodeo anymore and he's welcome to take Pud out whenever he needs to.”

  “He loves that horse, sir, taking her out's just not the same thing as owning her. Thank you, sir.”

  Mr. Gonzales held his hand out. “Well, if he gets the cash together, he's welcome to come talk to me. I'm glad you're feeling better.”

  “Thank you.” He shook Mr. Gonzales’ hand and headed back to the house to drop off the books before he went looking for Trey. He was going to kick his cowboy's ass.

  Trey was in the barn, whistling as he fixed something in one of the stalls, laughing at the goats as they nibbled his jeans. He stopped, blinking back tears. How could Trey just sell Pud and her foal like that? No. How could he do it and not say anything?

  “Why?” he finally asked, voice rough.

  Trey turned his head, eyes going wide. “Yankee? Yankee are you okay? Did the doctors call? Is something wrong?”

  “Why'd you sell Pud?”

  Trey paled, but didn't look away. “We needed the money.”

  “We could have found another way.”

  “I didn't have anything else worth that kind of money. She'll be well-taken care of.” Trey shrugged. “It was worth it. You're well now.”

  “No. No, it wasn't worth it. You've ... you've lost everything to pay for the treatments. Your dreams are gone and you don't even have that horse that you love more than just about anything left as consolation.” He hadn't asked for this, didn't want to be the reason Trey had given up everything.

  He got another shrug, Trey turning back to the stall. “I have you and you're well. That's enough.”

  “And you're fine with that? You don't care that she belongs to Mr. G. now?”

  “I've made my peace with it.” The back of Trey's neck was bright red.

  “Bullshit. Don't you start lying to me.”

  “Just drop it, Yankee. What's done is done.”

  “Just like that, just drop it. So you get to play the martyr—you get to look at her every single day and know you had to give her up for me. Damn it, Trey, you don't get to go through this alone.”

  “I'm not playing anything. I never said anything, never bitched or anything. You got a problem? It's yours. I did what needed doing. So did you.” Trey was looking out the stable window, spine still and stiff.

  He walked around so he could look Trey in the eye. “It should have been Chocolate.”

  “Chocolate's not worth what Pud is, and you know it. Pud's a purebred; she's a winner. She was the only thing we had.” Trey met his gaze, eyes so dark, almost black. “It was worth it.”

  “I've cost you everything, Trey. All your dreams. Pud. Everything.”

  “You're well. We'll build the savings back up.”

  “It's gonna take at least a year to pay the hospital off, probably two. And we're down to just Chocolate as stock.” He shook his head. “Aren't you angry?”

  “What good is it going to do?” Trey shook his head. “Hell, yeah. I'm angry. At the cancer, at God. The rest? I'm coping with. I'm not sorry.”

  “You're not angry at me? I keep waiting ... waiting for you to start to resent having to give it all up for me. Damn it, Trey—Pud was your baby.”

  “Yeah, and now she's not. Shit happens. We deal. We got you better.” Trey bent down for the tools. “I got work to do, Russ.”

  “Yeah. So do I.” He bit his lip and headed back for the house. If Trey wasn't gonna cry about it then neither was he.

  * * * *

  He didn't go in to the house until after the night feeding. He didn't know what to do, what to say. Was he mad? Hell, yes. Six years of working and saving and being careful and in five weeks it was gone. All of it. And they still owed some.

  But he wasn't mad at Russ. And he wasn't fixing to holler at some poor sick guy, either. Finally though, he just headed in, washing his hands at the sink and hanging his jacket up.

  “Supper'll be ready in five minutes.”

  “You going to be pissed at me all night?” He sighed, drying his hands on the dishtowel.

  “Not pissed at you.”

  “Cool. What do I need to do to help with supper?” Christ, he was pooped.

  “Sit and let me take care of you for a change, okay?”

  “Okay.” He went and sat, feeling a little awkward. “There's supposed to be a blue norther blowing in.”

  “Yeah? You think it's going to be a cold Christmas?” Russ set the table, stopping to caress his cheek and give him a soft smile.

  Oh. Oh, that left a warm, sweet melting in his belly. “Oh. Maybe. It'd be nice, huh?”

  “Anything that promotes close quarters is good, yeah.” Russ pulled a plate of roast, potatoes and carrots out of the oven and set it on the table. “I was expecting you a bit earlier than you were. Hopefully it's not too dry.”

  “I'm sorry. You should have hollered. I was...” He shrugged and met Russ’ eyes. “Being a stubborn cuss and pouting in the barn.”

  “I know. I figured tough meat was a just reward.” Russ winked at him and got the milk out of the fridge before sitting down in the chair next to him.

  He stuck his tongue out at Russ, then stole a bite of roast. “It's good.”

  “You gonna use that tongue, or just wave it around at me?”

  “I have to choose?” He smiled over, rubbing their legs together.

  “No. If I have my way you're never going to have to choose between things you want again.” Russ gave him a slow smile and then ducked his head and started eating.

  “Russ. There never was a choice. Not even for a second.” He put some potatoes and carrots on his plate.

  Russ nodded. “I just wish ... securing my health hadn't cost your future.”

  “You are my future.” There it was. Plain and simple. Ranches, horses, cattle—that was all empty shit. Love was...

  Well, some things a man had to protect.

  “Oh.” Russ looked up at him, eyes shining. “I love you, Brandon Latrie the third.”

  “Yeah, Yankee. I know.” He held one hand out, curled their fingers together. “Now we can start building our dreams together.”

  “Our dreams. I like the sound of that.”

  “Yeah, me too. Now, pass the rolls.”

  —End—

  * * *

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  Sean Michael, Fine as Frog Hair