The walk home felt different this time. It wasn’t about the dampness of my briefs or the fact that I had shared an extremely intimate moment with a new friend who just happened to be gay. It was different because there was something inside me that suggested… “Christ no, it couldn’t be,” I muttered to myself, but each time my mind returned to the same word, love.
The screen door slapped shut behind me. Bill's spatula froze mid-flip over the skillet, grease popping as he turned, slow, deliberate, to take in my damp briefs, my sunburnt shoulders, the way my hair curled wild from creek water. His nostrils flared like he could smell Cole on me. "Where you been, nephew?"
The floor squeaked under my bare feet as I shifted my weight. "Bumped into someone...at the creek," I said, "From the neighbouring farm."
"Oh, the Henderson's," Uncle Bill said. "Weird family...with... strange traditions. Probably too much inbreeding, if you ask me. Three generations, if I remember correctly. Good Christian family and regular church goers. Not our church, though. They're more...well, let's just say, traditional wrath of god type people, but..."
Bill stood thinking at the stove. "So, you met Cole. Great," he said, almost too loudly as he flipped the steaks with unnecessary force. "Great that you bumped into each other."
His question came out almost strangled. "He's a nice lad and... You two have fun?"
The question hung between us, as I decided to tell Uncle Bill, "He likes to skinny dip in the deeper rock pools along the creek."
Uncle Bill's spatula scraped against the cast-iron skillet with a sound like fingernails on slate. He didn't turn around when he said, "Yeah, I've seen him from time to time. Shaved as well…" his voice carefully neutral as he flipped a steak. "…and likes jerking off down there as well. "
I froze mid-step. "Wait, you knew about that?" my voice cracking like dry kindling. "About Cole's... personal grooming?"
"You think I don’t know every goddamn thing that happens in this valley?" Bill said, finally turning to face me, his eyes dark as the cast iron.
Uncle Bill’s knuckles gripped the spatula handle. "Highly inappropriate and a violation of boundaries if you ask me," he said, the words heavy like gravel under truck tyres. "But around here, societal norms don’t quite figure, and that includes the fact that Cole’s mother shaves him down there, even today. Has done since…Christ, I don’t remember, but certainly since maybe fourteen."
Pausing for a second, Bill scraped at an imaginary spot on the skillet. "Whole damn family’s comfortable naked as jaybirds. I don’t mind at all, and as I always say, each to their own. So, I assume Cole was naked when you bumped into him by the creek."
I swallowed hard, watching a bead of sweat roll down Uncle Bill's temple before disappearing into his beard. "He was wearing a pair of briefs and…I found out that Cole's gay," I blurted, the words tumbling out like rocks from a landslide.
Bill's spatula didn't even pause. "So, you finally met at last," as he flipped a steak with practised ease, the meat hitting the cast iron with a wet smack. "I told Cole, when I saw him just after your arrival, that every day after your exercises, you go to the creek to relax in the cold water, and that you might appreciate a friend."
My fingers dug into the kitchen counter's edge. The admission hung between us like creek mist, translucent, shifting and impossible to grasp. Bill had known? Had engineered this? The realisation hit me that Bill had hoped we might become friends.
"You..." I choked out, watching Bill scrape caramelised bits from the skillet. "You sent him there?"
"No, I didn't send him there." Bill declared. "That was his doing. I just mentioned he would find you, like you are now and...the rest would be between you two and from the look on your face, it looks like it went well."
"Fucking hell, Uncle. How can you tell?"
“Language, boy and…call it an old queers intuition. Now, let's eat, and you can tell me the sordid details if you fancy. I haven't held cock in so long, I've forgotten what it feels like."
Bill's fork clattered onto his plate as he laughed, his beard catching a stray glob of mashed potatoes. "Jesus Christ, kid," he wheezed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "You whipped it out and showed him the ol' spinal accordion trick?"
I stabbed at my green beans, my face blushing. "Not...whipped it out exactly. More like demonstrated."
Uncle Bill's laughter cut off abruptly as he leaned forward, elbows on the table, his eyes sharp beneath his bushy brows. "Wait, you mean you actually...?" his fingers made a crude gesture in the air between us.
The beans turned to sawdust in my mouth. "Yeah," I muttered, pushing my plate away. "The full monty, you might say."
Bill breathed long and slow through his nose, like a bull deciding not to charge. "Well, I'll be damned," he murmured, rubbing his beard. "Not surprised, though. Always figured you might," as his fingers drummed the tablecloth in a staccato rhythm. "Been dead envious of that talent of yours, even if it does come at a price. So, what happens now? Do you like him?"
"I like him lots, and he's gorgeous, Bill, but his parents don't know he's gay. Also, I don't.... I’ve never been with a guy before."
Bill's fork paused mid-air, a chunk of steak dripping onto his plate. "Well," he said, dragging the word out slowly, "You're with a guy now, ain't you?"
His eyes crinkled at the corners when I didn't answer, the silence stretching taut between us. "Listen," Bill said, scratching at a gravy stain on his flannel, "Cole's folks might be bible-bashers, but that boy's been sneaking glances at the farmhands since he could walk."
I traced the grain of the oak table with my finger, remembering how Cole's calloused hands had trembled against my skin. "He told me his mom shaves him, but you knew that already."
Pausing for effect, I watched Bill's eyebrows climb toward his receding hairline. "Bet you didn’t know, she stands him on the kitchen table and shaves him, and she doesn't even suspect he’s gay."
Bill chuckled at the revelation. "Around here, fucking anything goes, and so, she won't suspect that he wants to fuck guys. Perhaps, maybe, why don't you shave him or let him shave you?"
"Uncle? I exclaimed in shock.
"Fucks sake, Steve. Letting your friend shave your groin is an intimate experience that requires high levels of trust, communication, and a good sense of humour, but it can also be a highly bonding and sensual ritual that deepens emotional connection and trust in... a relationship. Think about it. That’s all. I would love my lover to shave me. By the way, I take it you didn’t…you know.”
“Fuck’s sake, Uncle. No, we didn’t, and we’ve only just met for Christ's sake. We just, well… we just admired each other.”
Bill smiled. “Good. Now, let’s clear the table and watch some TV.”
The television's glow painted patterns across Uncle Bill's beard as he clicked through channels looking for something to watch. I sprawled beside him in nothing but my nightshirt, my head resting in his lap as he played with my hair. The nightshirt had been Bill's suggestion. He told me that for hypermobility, letting large cotton blends stretch where I needed them to stretch would be better, and so far, he hadn’t been wrong, especially in bed and when relaxing on the couch.
Bill paused on a rerun of *Golden Girls*, his thumb hovering over the remote. "Your spine okay?" he asked without turning, his gaze fixed on Blanche's antics like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
"Not really," I said, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. "I tripped on a tree root on the way back from the creek and dislocated a couple of discs, I think."
"Outside onto the porch, boy," Bill said, pressing pause on the remote. "I want to see you on the bench so we can click them back in, if we can."
The screen door slapped shut behind us. Bill jerked his chin towards the exercise bench under the eaves of the veranda. "Shirt off," he grunted, rolling up his sleeves like a butcher preparing to carve.
The nightshirt pooled at my feet as I stood naked in front of Bill as he knelt behind me, his fingers running across each vertebrae in my spine.
With recently learned professionalism, he found the offending knotted ridge of misaligned vertebrae. His breath hissed between his teeth, that particular sound he made when assessing damage, “L3, 4 and 5 this time, Steve,” Bill declared just as Cole's bare feet scuffed gravel at the edge of the porch light's glow.
Cole froze like startled deer, silhouetted against the firefly-studded darkness, his arms loaded with what looked like his mother's peach cobbler, wearing nothing but dew-damp briefs that clung to his thighs and a t-shirt.
His eyes locked onto where Bill knelt behind me, his fingers splayed across the small of my back, my bare ass inches from his beard, while Cole had the full-frontal view of my entire body.
"Sorry," Cole croaked, juggling the still-warm dish, his voice cracking like dry kindling. "I didn't realise..." his gaze darting between Bill's hands on my spine and my full-frontal nudity as he explained, "I just fancied popping 'round to say hi and brought some..."
Bill stood slowly, his knees showing their age. "Hell, Cole," he said, "Twice in one day you've seen my nephew naked. This time, though..." his fingers skimming my vertebrae with practised precision, pressing until I hissed. "…let me show you what Steve suffers from, and perhaps if you guys are going to be friends, you should learn about his body and how to help him."
Cole set the cobbler down with trembling hands on the porch table, peach juice sloshing over the rim as he stepped closer.
I heard Cole’s breath pause when Bill guided his fingers down the knotted ridge of my spine, his fingertips catching on each uneven bump. "See..." Bill murmured, pressing Cole's hand flat against the worst protrusion. "That one, lad, that one. L3. That’s L for lumbar and the third vertebrae, hence L3."
Cole's fingers twitched against my skin like startled minnows. "Jesus," he breathed, tracing the misaligned disc with horrified fascination. His thumb brushed the adjacent dimple where muscle had spasmed tight, his touch unexpectedly gentle for a farmhand's rough hands. "Does it always...?"
"Steve, on the bench and turn to your side," Bill ordered, nudging me toward the exercise bench with his knee.
The wood, although smooth, bit into my bare skin as I flopped down, legs dangling awkwardly off the edge. Cole hovered like a nervous shadow, his fingers twitching toward my hips but pulling back each time they got too close.
Bill grabbed Cole's wrist with the same matter-of-fact grip he used to bridle horses. "Watch," he said, pressing Cole's hand flat against my spine, facing the wall of the house, lying there in a foetal position.
"When he arches like this..." as my body bowed involuntarily as Bill's thumb found the misaligned disc, sending white-hot wires of pain down my left leg.
"Now swing his legs," Bill instructed, guiding Cole's hands under my knees. The calluses on Cole's hands scraped against my thighs as he swung them towards my chest, his breath coming in short bursts against my shins. "Slow now," Bill murmured, his fingers walking up my vertebrae like a pianist finding the right keys. "You'll feel when it's ready."
Bill positioned his thumbs on either side of my spine. His gaze kept flicking between my face and where our bodies connected, my bare ass against Bill's jeans, his own hands cradling my legs like something fragile.
Cole's blush spread like spilt wine across his cheeks when our eyes met, me sprawled bare-assed on the bench, him bending over my body, his right arms on my spine, while his left arm was deployed, stretching my legs and knees towards my chest, horizontal to my body, in a classic foetal position.
His fingers flexed against my knee as Bill's thumbs pressed deeper into the knotted ridge of my spine. "Easy now," Bill murmured, shifting his weight until his belt buckle dug into my hip. Cole's breath hitched when my spine gave that telltale groan of protesting cartilage.
The pop came as suddenly as a cork from a bottle, a wet, muffled click that vibrated through my ribs. Cole jerked back like he'd been shocked, his wide eyes darting between Bill's satisfied
grunt and the way my whole body went slack against the bench. "Holy shit," he breathed, fingertips hovering over the now-aligned vertebrae. "Did it just...?"
"Like a damn shotgun shell," Bill confirmed, wiping his hands on his jeans before nodding at Cole's death grip on my calves. "You can let go now, son. Unless you're planning to take him home like a wheelbarrow."
I managed to sit up, wincing as the realigned vertebrae settled into place. Cole hovered awkwardly before Bill clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks for the cobbler, son," Bill said, already heading for the screen door. "Gonna put on some decaf. You boys want any?"
Cole shook his head absently, his gaze fixed on the fading red marks where Bill's thumbs had pressed into my spine. He sank onto the bench beside me, the wood creaking under our combined weight. His hand landing on my thigh with unexpected warmth, "Jesus," he breathed, his fingers flexing and tracing against my skin. "Didn't know it could get that bad."
I shrugged, rolling my shoulders experimentally. "It's not so bad," I lied. "Sometimes Uncle Bill gives me a massage after. Loosens everything up."
Cole's fingers twitched against my thigh before he pulled them away like my skin had burned him. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, staring at my bare back where sweat still glistened in the porch light.
"Can I...?" his voice cracking slightly. "…Can I give you a massage?"
The question hung between us, fragile as the spiderwebs strung between the veranda beams. I watched a moth flutter against the bug zapper, its wings casting frantic shadows across Cole's face as I thought how to respond.
"If you want to grope my body for legitimate reasons, who am I to argue?" I replied, smiling as I moved my head towards Cole's lips. Sensing no reluctance, I kissed him gently, my first kiss, and he tasted lovely.
I watched Cole’s tongue run over the place where our lips had touched as if he were tasting me like I had just tasted him. The moment was special and not to be wasted, but I assumed the position, stomach-down on the exercise bench, as Cole's oil-slicked hands started to knead the dimples above my ass.
Neither of us said a single word, and I was sure he was still absorbing what had just happened. As for me, I wanted to kiss him again, as my body responded to his touch, but my arousal remained hidden as I lay stomach down as his hands travelled over my body.
"Jesus wept," Bill muttered, setting the mugs down with deliberate care on the porch rail. "You boys want me to fetch the chiropractor or a wedding license?"
Cole's hands stilled mid-stroke, his fingertips leaving shiny trails where the massage oil caught the light. "Sir, I..." then getting the joke.
Cole's fingers dug deeper into my thighs, his thumbs pressing against the tension-knotted muscles with a precision that made my breath hitch. The porch light buzzed overhead, throwing our elongated shadows across the warped floorboards as Bill cleared his throat pointedly.
"Steve," Uncle Bill said, rubbing his beard. "You remember what I told you about trust?" his eyes flicked to Cole's oil-slicked hands, now frozen against my skin. "And boundaries?"
Cole swallowed hard, the scent of peppermint oil mixing with summer sweat as his fingers flexed uncertainly against my back. "I...we weren't..."
"That's the point, son," Uncle Bill declared. "Trust and boundaries need to be explored and shared."
Cole's hands stilled against my skin, his fingers twitching like he'd touched a live wire. "Wait," he breathed, the word barely audible over the crickets ' drone. "You mean..." as his oil-slicked thumb traced an idle circle above my hipbone, the motion hesitant, almost questioning.
I rolled onto my back with a wince, the bench's wood warm against my spine, and caught Cole's wrist before he could pull away. "I trust you, Cole," I said, guiding his hand up my stomach, watching his eyes flare with excitement as his fingers grazed my ribs. "Perhaps you should massage my chest...and thighs."
Cole could see me, all of me, as his breath gasped, a sharp, startled sound, as understanding dawned. The porch light caught the flush creeping up his neck when his fingers encountered my nipple, already pebbled from the evening air. His touch stuttered, then firmed, circling the sensitive peak with an experimental pressure that made my hips jerk involuntarily.
"Jesus," Cole whispered, his free hand hovering over my thigh like he wasn't sure where to land. His fingers flexed once, twice, before settling high on my inner leg, his calluses catching on the soft skin there. The oil smelled faintly of peppermint, cooling where his thumb pressed against the tendon at the top of my thigh, deliberately avoiding contact with my fully erect cock.
From inside the house, Uncle Bill's tuneless whistling filtered through the screen door, punctuated by the clatter of dishes. Cole's gaze darted toward the sound, his fingers tightening reflexively on my thigh. "He's not angry, is he?"
"Not at all, Cole. In fact, I think he wants us to explore trusting each other. By the way, you didn't tell me, my uncle told you I go to the creek every afternoon."
Cole blushed again as he ran his hands in long strokes over my stomach and chest. "I forgot to mention it," Cole declared. "Sorry and...but do you...trust me, Steve?"
"I'm letting you massage me. Doesn't that count?" Chuckling a bit more, I continued. "I might trust you even more if...you're like me."
Cole's hands stilled on my chest, his fingers twitching against my ribs like he'd touched a live wire. His gaze travelled down my body, lingering where my cock lay hard against my stomach, glistening with a thin sheen of peppermint oil. "Jesus," he breathed, his voice cracking. "I want to see you naked, like me," as his thumb brushed my hipbone, hesitant. "Well, you don't have much to remove, do you?"
Cole's laugh came out strangled. He flexed his fingers against my thigh, his calluses catching on sensitive skin. "Guess not."
Cole's throat was working overtime as he swallowed hard. "But you...fuck, Steve." his hand hovering over my cock, close enough I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Can I...?"
The screen door squeaked. Uncle Bill's shadow stretched long across the porch floorboards. "Boys," he said, voice drier than August hay. "I'm getting considerably older here. You planning to christen that bench or admire each other all night?"
Cole jerked back like he'd been burned. His elbow knocked the mason jar of massage oil off the bench; it shattered against the porch steps, glass skittering across the wood. "Shit, sorry, sir, I..."
"You'll be really apologising to me if you don't do something, son," Bill declared. I'm going to bed and...you two: trust and boundaries. Take your time. Listen to each other and go with your feelings."
The screen door slapped shut behind Uncle Bill with finality, leaving Cole and me in a pool of yellow porch light, the silence between us suddenly deafening. Cole's hands hovered over my bare chest like he was afraid I might shatter, his fingers twitching with nervous energy. His knees bracketed my hips where he straddled the bench, his damp briefs clinging obscenely to every curve and contour.
"Fuck," Cole breathed, staring down at me like I was some alien creature. His thumbs traced the hollow of my throat, calluses catching on the sensitive skin. "I don't...how do you even..."
His voice cracked as his gaze dropped to where my cock lay hard against my stomach.
I reached up, catching his wrist before he could pull away. "You're thinking too much," I murmured, as I pulled his t-shirt up and over his head. "Uncle Bill said to trust our feelings, right?"
Cole breathed sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing against my ribs. "Yeah, but..."
"No buts now," as I pulled the waistband of his tighty whities, asking, "Do you really need these?"
Cole fell forward onto me with a gasp, his lips crashing against mine in a clumsy, eager kiss that tasted of peach cobbler and coffee. His hips jerked as my hands shoved his briefs down over his hips, the damp cotton catching briefly on his erection before finally sliding free. My fingers dug into the firm swell of his ass, sun-warmed and slightly sticky from sweat, as he ground against me with the rough desperation of someone who'd imagined this moment for years.
The bench groaned beneath us as Cole's knee slipped between my thighs, his calloused hands framing my face like I was something sacred. His breath hitched when I arched up against him, our cocks sliding together in a slick, dizzying friction that had him biting my lower lip hard enough to sting.
"Christ," he panted against my mouth, his hips stuttering in erratic thrusts. "Never thought..." his words dissolving into a groan as I tightened my grip on his ass, pulling him harder against me.
From inside the house, Uncle Bill's footsteps creaked across the floorboards upstairs, followed by the muffled thump of a bedroom door closing. Cole froze above me, his whole body tense as a bowstring. His cock twitched against my stomach, leaving a sticky trail across my skin. "He's not...watching, is he?" Cole whispered, his eyes darting toward the darkened upstairs window.
I laughed, a breathless, giddy sound and rolled my hips up, watching Cole's pupils widen. "Uncle Bill's got better things to do than spy on teenagers," I murmured, dragging my thumb through the sweat beading at the small of Cole's back. "Unless you want him to?"
Cole made a sound like a dying engine, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as his hips jerked involuntarily. "Fuck no," he choked out, then shuddered when I scraped my nails lightly down his spine. "Just...never done this where someone might walk in."
I chuckled. "You've never done this before...period. Now shut up and fucking kiss me.
Cole's mouth moved against mine with the nervous energy of a first-time jumper stepping off a cliff, hesitant at the edge, then plunging into the freefall. His lips trembled against my own, dry at first from nerves, then softening as I licked into him, tasting the phantom sweetness of his mother's peach cobbler still lingering on his tongue. His hands roamed my chest with the tentative curiosity of someone mapping unfamiliar terrain, fingertips skating over my ribs before settling against my hips, anchoring himself like he feared I might dissolve beneath him.
The bench groaned beneath us as Cole adjusted his weight, his knees slipping between my thighs. His cock rubbed against mine in a slick, clumsy rhythm, the motion drawing a startled gasp from him that vibrated against my lips.
"Fuck," Cole breathed, breaking the kiss to stare down at where we were sort of joined, his fingers flexing against my hips, blunt nails biting into skin as he rocked forward experimentally, the motion sending a jolt of pleasure up my spine that made my toes curl against the bench's edge. "That's...oh God..."
I arched beneath him, chasing the same sensation, and Cole moaned, low and wrecked, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. His breath came in hot, damp bursts against my collarbone as he moved again, this time with more purpose, his hips rolling in an unsteady rhythm that had the bench's wooden slats creaking in protest.
"Tell me," he begged against my throat, his teeth scraping the tendon there. "Tell me what you like."
The words tangled in my throat. How could I explain when every nerve felt electrified?
Cole sat up suddenly, straddling my thighs with the kind of rough grace that came from years of hauling hay bales. The porch light caught the sheen of peppermint oil still slick across his hands as he wrapped one hand around my cock, not tentative now as his other hand slid up my chest, fingers spreading the oil in slow, deliberate circles that made my ribs expand involuntarily beneath his touch.
"You're staring," Cole murmured, his thumb brushing the head of my cock in a way that sent a jolt down to my toes. His own erection bobbed between us, glistening where precum smeared across his stomach. The oil made everything slide, his hand on me, his hand on my chest, the way our skin moved and pulled apart with every shift of his weight.
I opened my mouth to retort, but all that came out was a choked noise when Cole leaned down to drag his teeth along my collarbone. His hips jerked forward instinctively, his cock leaving a wet trail across my thigh as he worked me with strokes that started uncoordinated but quickly found a rhythm.
"Fuck, you're...beautiful," Cole's breath hitched when I arched beneath him, my cock slipping through his hand with a slick sound that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet night. His fingers dug into my shaft, massaging in a way that wasn't quite clinical anymore, kneading the flesh like he wanted to memorise every inch of it.
The bench creaked ominously as Cole adjusted his knees, his thighs squeezing mine tight. He let go of my chest just long enough to adjust his weight; the renewed glide had my hips bucking off the bench. “I’m going to watch you cum,” he whispered.
Cole's hands worked me with beautiful tenderness, long, efficient strokes that left me gasping against the bench's splintered wood. His thighs clamped tighter around my hips as my breathing became more ragged, trapping me in a vice of sweat-slick skin and trembling muscle. The porch light flickered overhead, casting erratic shadows across his face as he watched me unravel beneath him, his look something between awe and hunger.
"Look at me, Steve," he demanded, his voice roughened by exertion. When my eyelids fluttered shut, he pinched my nipple hard enough to make them fly open again. "I want to see it happen."
His thumb swiped over my cockhead on the next upstroke, smearing precum down the shaft in a way that had my toes curling against the bench's edge. The scent of peppermint oil mixed with the musk of our bodies, clinging to the humid air between us. Cole's rhythm stuttered when I arched up into his grip, his own hips jerking forward instinctively.
I climaxed with a sound ripped from somewhere primal, back bowing off the bench as stripes of cum painted my stomach. Cole's hand never slowed, milking more spurts of cum from me until I batted weakly at his wrist, oversensitive and shaking. He finally released me only to swipe two fingers through the mess on my abdomen, bringing them to his mouth with a hesitant curiosity that made my spent cock twitch.
"Salty," Cole murmured, licking his lips. His hips rocked forward unconsciously, his neglected cock bobbing between us, flushed and leaking. The sight of him hovering over me, all taut muscle and trembling restraint, sent a fresh curl of heat through my gut despite my spent state.
Cole's fingers trembled where they hovered over my spent cock, his own erection bobbing between us with desperate urgency. The porch light caught the sweat sheening his forehead as he swallowed hard, "Can I...?" his voice cracking, fingers twitching toward himself before freezing mid-air.
I reached up, catching his wrist, his breath hitching when my fingers wrapped around him, his cock hot and slick in my grip. "I want to do this, I want to watch you cum as you sit on my thighs, shooting your cum along my body," I murmured, squeezing gently until his hips jerked forward with a choked-off moan.
Cole's thighs clamped tighter around my hips when my fingers first closed around him, his breath stuttering out in a ragged exhale that warmed my collarbone. His cock pulsed in my grip, hot and slick with precum, the skin like velvet over steel. The porch light flickered overhead, throwing our shadows into lewd relief against the side of the house as I stroked him with slow, experimental twists of my wrist.
"Jesus," Cole choked out, his hips jerking forward into my hand like he couldn't stop himself. His fingers dug into my shoulders, blunt nails biting crescents into my skin as he fought to keep his rhythm steady. The scent of peppermint oil mixed with something muskier now, clinging to the humid air between us.
I watched his face, really watched it, as I thumbed over his slit, the way his lips parted on a silent gasp, how his eyelashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks. His hips stuttered when I tightened my grip slightly on the upstroke, his cock twitching against my hand like a live wire.
"Faster," Cole begged, his voice cracking. His knees dug into the bench on either side of my hips, the wood groaning beneath us. Sweat made his chest glisten where it pressed against mine, his heartbeat thundering against my ribs.
I obeyed, twisting my wrist just how I liked it on myself, watching Cole unravel above me. His breathing turned ragged, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his climax. The porch light caught the sheen of sweat along his throat when he threw his head back, tendons standing in sharp relief as he gasped for air.
Cole's hips bucked forward in a stuttering rhythm as my hand tightened around him, his breath coming in ragged bursts against my neck. His thighs trembled where they bracketed my hips, the bench creaking dangerously beneath us with each desperate thrust.
"Fuck, Steve..." his voice cracking mid-syllable when I twisted my wrist just right on the upstroke, his cock pulsing hot against my hand. His fingers scrabbled at my shoulders, blunt nails digging half-moons into my skin as his hips lost all semblance of rhythm. The porch light flickered overhead, casting erratic shadows across his face, the furrow between his brows, the way his lips parted around silent gasps, the sweat beading along his hairline.
I watched, mesmerised, as his body tensed like a bowstring, every muscle locking tight before...
Cole came with a sound ripped from somewhere deep in his chest, his back arching as stripes of cum painted my face first in hot spurts. I managed to force more release from him, ropes of creamy seed landing on my chest and stomach. I took him all the way to the borderlands of oversensitivity, as I milked him through it, my fingers stroking until he protested weakly, “Fuck, stop, Steve. Please stop.”
For a long moment, the only sounds were our ragged breathing and the distant chirp of crickets in the tall grass. Cole slumped forward, his forehead pressing against my collarbone, his sweat-damp chest rising and falling against mine. His fingers traced idle patterns through the mess on my stomach, his touch feather-light where moments ago it had been bruising.
Cole's weight pressed into me like warm sunlight, solid, comforting, yet trembling at the edges. His breath hitched against my collarbone when I tightened my arms around him, our sweat-slick skin sticking in places that should've felt uncomfortable but didn't. The porch light flickered above us, casting long shadows that made the drying streaks on my stomach shimmer when Cole traced them with reverent fingers.
Cole's fingers stilled on my stomach, his thumb brushing a particularly thick stripe of cum near my navel. "Never thought it'd feel like this," he murmured, almost to himself. “We shared something, didn’t we?” as his breath warmed the patch of skin just below my jawbone.
I chuckled, the motion making his damp hair tickle my chin. "We did, and I really liked watching you cum on me. You closed your eyes; do you know that?"
Cole smiled before replying. "I liked it too."
I lay on the bench, supporting Cole’s body as he lay on top of me, his fingers played with my chest hair. I was dying to ask a question that might change everything between us. It was about sex or suchlike, but something simple and basic and for me, even beautiful. Then I decided, fuck it. I will ask him. I will ask.
"Cole, I know we've only just sort of met…well, today, but I'm wondering if you would like to sleep with me tonight. Nothing naughty, just to sleep together? Christ, I just want to cuddle up against you."
Cole's fingers stilled against my ribs, his thumb pressing into the hollow beneath my collarbone where my pulse still hammered. The porch light flickered overhead, throwing his expression into shadow when he lifted his head to look at me, for the first time since we'd started. His eyelashes cast spiked shadows across his cheekbones, damp with something that wasn't just sweat.
"Sleep?" he echoed, his voice rough as gravel. "Like...just sleep?"
"And cuddling..." I responded.
His fingers flexed against my ribs, "Cuddling," he repeated, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. "In your bed?"
"Where else?" I chuckled.
Cole breathed through his nose, his breath warm against my collarbone where his forehead had been resting. The porch light buzzed louder as the bulb flickered, casting his face in alternating shadows. "Your uncle won't..." he trailed off, his fingers twitching against my chest.
"Nope," I answered, smoothing a hand down Cole's sweat-damp back where his muscles still trembled. "He won't mind at all," as the porch light flickered again, catching the uncertainty in Cole's eyes as he searched my face. "He didn't mind this, did he?"
Cole swallowed hard as his fingers traced idle circles on my chest, sticky with drying sweat and cum. "Guess not," he murmured, but his shoulders stayed tense where they bracketed mine. "I've never slept with anyone before."
"Neither have I, Cole, but if you're unsure or worried, then I'm happy to walk you home."
Cole's fingers stilled against my ribs, his thumb pressing into the hollow beneath my collarbone where my pulse still hammered. The porch light flickered overhead, throwing his expression into shadow when he lifted his head to look at me.
"Walk me home?" Cole repeated, voice cracking like dry cornstalks. His hips shifted against mine, our cooling mess sticking uncomfortably between us. "After...this?" as his hand slid up my chest, leaving a shiny trail where sweat and oil mingled. The motion seemed unconscious, like his hands had developed their own vocabulary for my skin.
Cole's breath hitched when I brushed a thumb over his lower lip, feeling his pulse jump beneath my fingertips. The porch light buzzed like an angry hornet, flickering just long enough to catch the flush creeping down his chest.
"You're shaking," I murmured, gripping his hips where they bracketed mine. The wood groaned beneath us as Cole shifted, our combined mess tacky between our stomachs.
"I'm shaking because I don't want to go home. I want to stay and sleep with you, but... this is all so new and...at least your uncle knows. My parents have no idea and..."
Cole's words trailed off into the humid night air, his fingers tightening on my shoulders like he was afraid I'd vanish if he let go. The porch light flickered again, stretching our shadows across the warped floorboards in grotesque shapes that seemed to pulse with each erratic buzz of the dying bulb.
"Then stay," I said, simpler than breathing. My hand slid up his sweat-slick spine, feeling the tension coiled there like a spring. "Nobody has to know anything. Uncle Bill will be fine. He'll confirm it was just a sleepover between mates."
Cole smiled, that slow, lopsided grin that made his dimple appear like a thumbprint in wet clay. "We're a little messy," he murmured, glancing down at the sticky mess between us with a look that hovered between embarrassment and pride. His thumb brushed a streak of cum near my hipbone, smearing it further across my skin like he was committing the moment to memory.
I reached for his hand, our fingers tangling together with a slickness that had nothing to do with sweat anymore. "Come on, let's go to bed."
The stairs creaked under our weight as we climbed, Cole's fingers laced through mine with a tentative grip that tightened whenever I glanced back at him. At the bedroom door, I turned, catching his wrist when he hesitated; his knuckles brushed my hipbone, sending a shiver up my spine despite the summer heat clinging to our skin.
Cole breathed sharply through his nose when I pulled him into the room, our bare feet whispering against the worn floorboards. The bedsprings groaned as I sat, tugging him down beside me, our knees knocking together with the clumsy eagerness of boys who'd crossed a line neither wanted to retreat from. His hand was warm against my cheek when I leaned in, our lips meeting in a kiss that tasted of peach cobbler and nervous laughter, softer now than the desperate clash on the veranda earlier.
I felt rather than heard Cole's breath catch when I rolled onto my side, the sheets cool against my flushed skin. His body curled around mine with the cautious precision of someone handling fragile goods, his chest pressing against my shoulder blades as his arm slid over my waist. Then, his fingertips grazed my hip, tracing downward with a touch so light it raised goosebumps before his hand settled over my hard cock with a quiet sigh of possession as we spooned for the first time.
Cole's breath hitched again when I shifted just slightly, not to pull away, but to press back against him more deliberately, enjoying the warmth of his body curled around mine wasn't just comforting; it was so calming.
Somewhere between the slow drag of his fingertips along my groin and the way his breath ruffled the hair on my neck, I realised I'd never been held like this before, not with this kind of quiet certainty, like we'd done it a hundred times instead of for the first trembling hour.
His hand rested heavily over my cock, not demanding movement, just ownership, and I let out a slow breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.
Behind me, Cole made a soft noise, half-sigh, half-contented hum and nosed at the space between my shoulder blades. His lips brushed my skin there, not quite a kiss, more like testing the texture of me as his arm wrapped around my waist, tightened just enough to pull me flush against him, and suddenly I understood why people wrote poems about this. No words, just the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, the occasional twitch of his fingers against my stomach like he was checking I was still there as we both drifted off to sleep.
Dawn light filtered through the curtains as I blinked awake, Cole's arm still draped heavily over my waist, his fingers twitching against my stomach even in sleep. His breath warmed my neck in slow, even puffs, his knees tucked behind mine in a perfect puzzle-piece fit. Careful not to wake him, I slid from beneath the sheet, the morning air raising goosebumps where Cole's body heat had been.
Downstairs, the scent of frying bacon and the rhythmic clatter of cast iron told me Bill was already at work in the kitchen. Bill stood at the stove, spatula in one hand and my discarded nightshirt dangling from the other. "Think you'll need this," Bill suggested.
Taking my nightshirt, slipping it over my body, I saw Cole's white briefs and wrinkled t-shirt lying neatly folded on the counter beside him, like some bizarre laundry shrine. He didn't turn when I entered, just flipped a strip of bacon with practised ease.
"Mornin, Uncle Bill."
"Mornin," Bill responded, nodding toward the pile of clothes. "Found those strewn across the veranda like a crime scene," as the bacon sizzled while he pressed it flat with the spatula. "You boys christen that bench or just use it for target practice?"
Heat crept up my neck as I reached for the coffee pot. "We talked."
Bill's laughter rumbled through the kitchen like distant thunder as he scraped bacon onto a chipped plate. "Talked," he repeated, the word dripping with amusement as his spatula pointed toward the coffee pot I was fumbling with. "That's why there's enough peppermint oil out there to drown a mule?"
"Okay, okay," I said. "Cole got to massage my body using the oil that you had already brought out when you clicked my back, back in... and... actually, seriously, do you really need to know?" I muttered into my coffee mug, watching the steam curl toward the water-stained ceiling.
Bill scraped the spatula across the cast iron with deliberate slowness, the sound like a dull blade over gravel while his shoulders moved in a shrug that wasn't nearly casual enough. "Need? No. Want? Different story."
Bill slid a plate of bacon toward me with the same deliberate care he used to administer spinal adjustments. The grease shimmered under the overhead bulb, catching golden streaks where the yolk from my eggs bled into the crisp edges. "Boy's still asleep, I take it?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
I nodded, wrapping both hands around the mug to hide their trembling. The coffee scalded my tongue, but I welcomed the distraction. Outside, a mockingbird launched into its morning repertoire, the notes sharp and clear through the screen door as Cole shuffled into the kitchen like a startled deer, his bare feet whispering against the floor.
"I can't find my clothes," he muttered, voice thick with sleep, his hands hovering awkwardly over his groin like they might provide some modesty. "Shit, I have to get home before Dad starts morning milking."
Bill didn't even glance up from flipping pancakes now, just twisting his spatula toward the folded clothes on the counter. "Your uniform's right there, soldier."
Cole froze mid-step, his toes curling against the cold floor. His gaze darted from his neatly folded t-shirt to Bill's broad back, then to me sitting at the table, clutching my coffee like a lifeline. A flush crept up his neck, turning his ears the colour of rhubarb stalks. "You, you folded them?"
"Correct, young man,” Bill declared. “And perhaps you need to wear them," Bill suggested with an element of sarcasm, his statement reminding Cole that he was naked.
Cole's hands twitched toward the folded clothes as if they might bite. "Thank you, sir," in a voice still rough with sleep.
Bill snorted, flipping a pancake with unnecessary force. "Don't 'sir' me when your dick's out, boy. Get decent before you scare the livestock."
The screen door squeaked as Cole snatched his clothes and bolted outside, his bare feet slapping against the porch steps. Through the window, I watched him yank the briefs up his thighs with frantic haste, the white cotton stretching tight across his ass as he bent to retrieve his shirt from where it had fallen.
"Boy runs like a spooked colt," Bill muttered, sliding a perfect golden pancake onto my plate.
I traced a finger through the syrup pooling on my plate, watching it swirl into the butter, looking at Uncle Bill. "Bill, you're not...?"
Bill's spatula clattered against the stove as he turned fully toward me, his flour-dusted apron catching the morning light. "Not what? Angry?"
"Well?" I demanded. “I get the hint that something’s not quite right.”
Bill's spatula clattered against the stove as he turned fully toward me, his flour-dusted apron catching the morning light. "Not at all," he replied, rubbing his beard with the back of his hand. The pancake bubbled forgotten behind him. "Just...well, okay, if you must know. I felt frustrated that you didn't really allow your hormones to take over."
"Bill, we were scared," I admitted, watching the steam curl off my coffee in slow spirals. The confession hung between us like the scent of scorched bacon clinging to the kitchen air. "All we did was share some… okay, okay, we jerked each other off if you really want to know, and then we went to bed and fell asleep in each other's arms. Happy?"
Cole suddenly reappeared in the doorway, clutching his crumpled shirt like a shield, his hair sticking up in sleep-mussed tufts that made him look younger than his years.
Cole stood frozen in the doorway, his fingers clamping around the crumpled fabric of his shirt, clearly ripped, as the morning sunlight streamed through the screen door, catching the sharp angles of his face and making the shadows under his eyes look deeper.
"What happened?" I asked, setting my coffee mug down with a clatter that seemed too loud in the sudden quietness.
Cole's throat worked silently before words finally came out in a rush, cracked like drought-stricken earth. "Walked into the house..." his voice dropping to a whisper, his gaze darting toward Bill's back at the stove. "Didn't notice my briefs were inside out until Da called me a..." his breath hitching, his fingers tightening around his shirt.
The spatula stilled in Bill's hand. The kitchen clock ticked three deafening seconds before Cole finished in a voice barely above a whisper: "...he called me a queer cunt. Grabbed me, tearing my t-shirt and threw me out, saying, you shagged that old queer cunt didn’t you?"
"He got that wrong on multiple levels," Bill said, looking at Cole, understanding the seriousness of the situation. "I'll go and talk to him later. Better leave him for the moment, me thinks?"
Cole's fingers trembled where they clutched his torn shirt, the fabric crumpling tighter as he spoke. "Don't bother, Sir," his voice cracking like dry corn husks underfoot. "I told him I hadn’t shagged you. Told him, I don’t find you attractive, and when I'm ready, I want to shag your nephew, instead.”
“O….kay,” I said very cautiously, looking at Cole and then Bill. “What else did you say?”
Cole’s gaze dropped to the floorboards, tracing a long crack in the wood before continuing. "It all came pouring out then. I told him, my Da, and my mom, I told them both, I'm gay. Fuck, what have I done?"
The words hung in the kitchen air, mingling with the scent of burning bacon. "Mom cried. Total clusterfuck. Da walked out for the morning milking."
Bill moved then, not toward the door as expected, but to the stove, turning off the burner with deliberate calm. The silence stretched until the last sizzle of grease faded. When he turned back, his hands were steady as he reached for the percolator. "Coffee?" he asked Cole, as if nothing more pressing existed than the state of their caffeine levels.
“What have I done, Steve?” as he burst into tears, his knees buckling so suddenly I barely caught him, his body folding into mine with the weight of a harvested wheat sack. His tears soaked through my nightshirt, hot against my collarbone where his face pressed tight. "I don't know what to do," he gasped between shuddering breaths, fingers twisting in the fabric at my back like he was drowning in dry land.
Bill moved with the quiet efficiency of a man who'd spent decades calming spooked livestock. He nudged the kitchen door shut with his hip, the click of the latch sounding absurdly final. "First thing," he said, pouring coffee into Cole's shaking hands, "you drink this while it's hot."
The mug trembled against Cole's lips, leaving a wet streak on his chin that he didn't seem to notice.
"I can't go back," Cole whispered into my shoulder, his words muffled by cotton. "He'll..." the sentence fracturing into another sob.
My chair legs scraped against the floor as Cole folded into my lap, his hands still clutching my nightshirt like a lifeline as I sat there holding him as Bill rummaged through the junk drawer, verbally itemising each item, “emergency candles, loose screws, a half-empty tube of Neosporin,” before emerging with a crumpled packet of tissues which he tossed towards Cole, who caught it against his chest with trembling fingers.
"Wipe your face and tears, Cole," Bill said, settling into the chair opposite us with a groan that had more to do with decades of farm labour than his age.
"Your old man always was a hothead. Remember when he tried to brawl with the tractor dealership over a faulty gearbox?" Bill reminded us both.
Cole sniffed, the napkin crumpling in his fist. "Tractor won," he muttered, swiping at his nose. A hesitant half-smile flickered at the corner of his mouth when Bill chuckled, the first break in the storm since he'd stumbled through the door.
Bill continued. "It's all a shock for them and you. They'll come round, and until then, this home is your home, and if you want to be Steve's boyfriend, I won't be unhappy. You're perfect for each other…even though you are…still fucking…"
“Virgins,” I finished saying as Cole's laugh hitched wetly against my shoulder, the sound equal parts disbelief and tentative relief.
Cole’s fingers unclenched slowly from my nightshirt, leaving damp wrinkles in the fabric as he leaned back just far enough to see Bill's face. "You mean..." he swallowed hard, "You're not...disgusted?"
Bill laughed, pushing the coffee mug closer to Cole's trembling hands. "Boy, I've been fucking guys all my life. Since I was twelve. I’m the original queer cunt parents warn their sons about. My only disappointment is…. what you two didn’t get up to last night."
Then Bill became serious for a second, his facial features changing as he jabbed the pancake spatula towards Cole's chest. "But the tighty whities…that’s totally criminal. You look like a god damn inside-out banana peel. No wonder your old man couldn’t ignore the situation."
The absurdity punched another wet chuckle out of Cole, his shoulders loosening incrementally as he glanced down at himself. The waistband of his briefs curled awkwardly where the tag pressed against his hipbone, the stitching visibly inverted as he realised his briefs were still inside out.
Bill rose with a grunt, his chair scraping against the linoleum. "First order of business, proper clean briefs," disappearing into the hallway, returning moments later with a pair of my clean Fruit of the Looms dangling from one work-roughened finger. "These oughta fit close enough. Bathroom's down the hall if you wanna..." he waved vaguely at Cole's current state of disarray.
Cole stood frozen in the kitchen doorway towards the bathroom, Bill's borrowed briefs clutched in his grip. His gaze darted between the hallway and the stairs like he expected his father to come bursting through the walls at any moment.
"House rules," Bill announced. "First, we don't do inside-out banana peel situations in this household. Second, clothes are optional when it's just us. Steve here prefers his nightshirts, and they might suit you too, Cole," as he jabbed his finger against my shoulder, "but I'll be damned if I let you walk around looking like a laundry accident."
Cole's fingers twitched toward his waistband, then froze. "Seriously?" his voice cracking like dry kindling. "Just...naked?"
"Like Eve before the apple, if that’s your thing," Bill confirmed, pouring syrup into a smiley face on the next pancake. "Third rule... but serious. You'll have to learn about our babies. Steve and me have big babies that require serious tender loving care. Shire horses. Got six mares due to foal next month."
He slid the plate of food towards Cole with a wink. "Consider it your room and board payment."
The syrup smile dripped ominously as Cole stared at it, his shoulders tensing when the back door to the house, a traditional stable door, creaked open from the top half as a huge head blocked out the morning sunlight.
Bill didn't even glance up. "That'll be Buttercup wanting her morning apple. You can greet her properly now if you like."
Cole's knees locked as he turned toward the stable door, his borrowed briefs still in his hands, as Buttercup's massive head filled the top opening, her velvety nostrils flaring as she sniffed the pancake syrup and cotton briefs hanging in the air.
"Christ, she's huge," Cole breathed, never having realised that the door led directly outside to the paddocks. The mare's dark eyes studied him with the calm curiosity of an animal who outweighed him thirty times over.
Her apple-crunching jaws stilled when Cole took an involuntary step back, the movement making Buttercup's ears flick forward like radar dishes locking onto a signal. A glob of drool splattered the floorboards between them as she stretched her neck further inside, her whiskered muzzle questing toward Cole's trembling fingers still clutching Bill's briefs.
"Easy girl," Bill murmured, plucking an apple slice from the pancake plate and offering it flat on his hand. Buttercup lipped it up with surprising delicacy, her teeth never touching skin as she crunched loudly. Cole breathed sharply when her warm breath gusted across his bare stomach, the mare's attention now firmly on the food source rather than the panicking human.
Another velvety muzzle nudged into the doorway beside Buttercup, a younger mare with a crooked white blaze down her nose, and Cole laughed despite himself, the sound startled out of him like birds flushed from a hedgerow. The second horse lipped at his crumpled shirt and borrowed briefs still clutched in his hand with investigative curiosity, her whiskers tickling his knuckles.
I watched Cole's shoulders loosen incrementally as the mare's warm breath ghosted over his skin, his fingers unclenching from the death-grip on his clothes. The morning light caught the tear tracks drying on his cheeks, the way his eyelashes clumped together in damp spikes. The sight of him standing there, shirtless, vulnerable, with two thousand pounds of horseflesh sniffing at him like he might produce sugar cubes, made something tighten low in my belly.
Bill chuckled as Buttercup's nostrils flared wide, her whiskers twitching at the scent of peppermint oil clinging to Cole's skin. "She thinks you're a walking candy cane," he said, scratching behind the mare's ears. The second horse sneezed dramatically, shaking her head as if offended by the minty aroma.
"They can sense you're upset," I told Cole quietly, watching the way his pulse jumped in his throat when Buttercup licked at his bare shoulder. "And they can definitely smell us. We should shower; they don't like the massage oil."
I took Cole's hand, his fingers twitching against mine like a spooked colt's, and led him down the hallway.
The bathroom tiles were cold underfoot as I nudged the door shut with my hip, the click of the latch muffled by the rush of water already flowing from the shower head. Steam curled around us as I stepped in first, pulling Cole under the water as I wrapped my arms around him, clutching his ass with both my hands.
"So, you told your dad," I murmured against the back of his neck, "that you wanted to have sex with me," the words hanging in the humid air between us, mingling with the peppermint oil still clinging to our skin.
Cole breathed sharply as the water cascaded down our thighs, his hands coming up to rest against my chest. His fingers were cold against my skin despite the scalding water. "Yes," he whispered, as his shoulders tensed when I kissed him.
“I guess you find me wonderfully attractive then,” I teased.
The showerhead rained down on us, washing away last night's sweat and this morning's tears in equal measure. Cole turned in my arms, his back against my chest, as the back of his head dropped onto my shoulders. "I was happy when I told my Da that and, Steve... I think... last night was wonderful. I slept so well wrapped around your body."
My hands slid down his slick stomach, fingers curling around his hardening cock beneath the hot spray as I nuzzled his neck. "We should go riding today," I murmured against his damp skin, feeling him twitch in my grip.
Cole turned abruptly in the confined space, water sluicing down his chest as his wide-eyed reflection bounced between droplets on the shower tiles. "I don't know how to ride," he admitted, his voice catching when my thumb swiped over his tip.
The steam between us thickened as I crowded him back against the tiled wall, our bodies slotting together like two halves of a puzzle that finally clicked into place. "You teach me to swim," I said, trailing kisses along his collarbone, tasting chlorine beneath the soap, "and I'll teach you to ride."
Cole's laugh hitched into a gasp as my hand worked him steadily, his fingers scrabbling against wet tiles for purchase. "Christ, Steve," he panted, his thighs trembling where they pressed against mine.
The slap rang through the shower, a sharp, wet smack against Cole's ass that made him yelp and jump. Water droplets sprayed everywhere as he twisted around, soapy and pink-faced, rubbing his stinging cheek with wide-eyed indignation. "What the hell was that for?"
I grinned, reaching past him to turn off the water. "Telling your dad what you wanted before telling me and...horses wait for no man," I added, tossing him a towel that hit his chest with a damp thwap.
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