The man smelled like saddle soap and stale sweat. His denim shirt strained across shoulders that had spent decades wrestling calves, and his knuckles were permanently scarred from barbed wire. He stood at the bar of the Last Chance Saloon, thumbing a worn silver dollar. Dust motes danced in the shafts of afternoon light cutting through the grimy windows. He didn't order a drink, just stared at the amber bottles lined up behind the barkeep.
"Seen Cole?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
The barkeep wiped a glass with a rag that probably hadn't been clean since the Carter administration. "Rode out early. Said somethin' 'bout checkin' that busted fence line near Dry Creek."
The big man nodded once, pocketed the coin, and pushed away from the bar. His boots echoed on the warped floorboards as he headed for the door.
Outside, the Arizona heat hit him like a physical blow. He squinted against the glare, scanning the empty street. His horse, a rangy bay gelding, waited patiently at the hitching post. The man ran a calloused hand down the animal's sweaty neck. "Guess it's just you and me, Sam," he murmured. He swung into the saddle with a grunt, the leather creaking under his weight.
He nudged Sam into a walk, heading northwest out of town. The trail climbed steadily into the foothills, scrub oak giving way to scattered pines. The air smelled of hot earth and pine resin. After an hour, he spotted a lone rider descending a rocky draw ahead.
Cole's paint horse was unmistakable. The man reined in Sam beneath the sparse shade of a pinon tree and waited. Cole saw him and altered course, a faint frown creasing his weathered face as he approached. He dismounted stiffly, wiping sweat from his brow with a faded bandana.
"What brings you out here, Ben?" he asked, his tone wary. Ben dismounted too, his movements deliberate. He didn't answer immediately, just looked Cole over, taking in the dust clinging to his shirt, the tired lines around his eyes. The silence stretched, thick and heavy in the desert stillness. Cole shifted his weight, his hand drifting unconsciously towards the butt of his revolver.
Ben finally spoke, his voice quiet but carrying clearly in the thin air. "Had a thought."
Cole's hand froze near his gunbelt, his frown deepening. "A thought worth chasin' me halfway to Dry Creek?"
"Seemed like it." Ben stepped closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing. Cole could smell the saddle soap again, mixed with the sharp tang of dried sweat and sun-baked leather. Ben's gaze held Cole's, unwavering. "That fence ain't broke, Cole."
Cole blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"The Dry Creek fence. Ain't broke." Ben reached out, not for his own gun, but slowly, deliberately. His rough, scarred fingers brushed the worn fabric of Cole's shirt collar, just below his Adam's apple. Cole flinched, a tremor running through him. "Been thinkin' … maybe somethin' else is."
Cole swallowed hard, the sound loud in the silence. Ben's touch lingered, tracing the line of Cole's collarbone through the thin cotton. Decades of unspoken tension crackled between them – shared campfires under vast skies, lean years scraping by, the unacknowledged weight of glances held too long. Ben's hand slid down, rough palm pressing flat against Cole's chest. He could feel the frantic thud of Cole's heart beneath calloused skin and worn fabric.
Cole didn't pull away. His breath came shallow and fast. "Ben …" It was half protest, half plea, lost in the desert stillness. Ben leaned in, his forehead resting against Cole's temple. The heat radiating off both men was intense, primal. Cole shuddered, his own hand lifting, trembling, to grip Ben's thick forearm. His fingers dug into the solid muscle beneath the rolled sleeve.
A low groan escaped Ben's lips, a sound Cole had never heard before – raw, hungry. He turned his head slightly, his stubble scraping Cole's cheek. Their lips met, not gentle, but desperate.
Decades of restraint shattered in an instant. The kiss was bruising, tasting of dust and salt and something fiercely alive. Cole's fingers tangled in Ben's sweat-damp hair, pulling him closer, surrendering to the pull that had always been there, buried deep beneath the grit and denial. The desert wind sighed around them, carrying away everything but the heat of two bodies finally closing the vast, lonely distance.
Ben broke the kiss, breathing ragged. He pressed his forehead back against Cole’s temple, his voice a rough scrape against the quiet. "Been waitin' … Christ, Cole. Years." His hand slid lower, past Cole's belt buckle, palm grinding against the thick ridge straining behind worn denim.
Cole gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Ben —" The name choked off into a groan as Ben’s other hand fumbled urgently at Cole’s buttons. Calloused fingers pushed fabric aside, finding hot skin, coarse hair, the thick, heavy weight of Cole’s cock springing free into the desert air. Ben’s grip tightened, a slow, deliberate stroke that made Cole’s knees buckle.
Cole shoved Ben’s shirt open, buttons popping, revealing the dense mat of dark hair on his chest, the powerful slabs of muscle beneath. He dragged Ben’s head down, biting at his neck, tasting sweat, desperation.
"Here?" Cole rasped, the word ragged against Ben’s throat. "Now?" Ben answered by kicking Cole’s legs apart, shoving his own jeans down past his hips. His cock jutted thick and flushed, pressing urgently against Cole’s belly.
"Now," Ben growled, spitting into his palm. The slick sound cut through the stillness. He gripped himself, then Cole, guiding his aching length against Cole’s entrance. Cole braced against Ben’s shoulders, a raw cry tearing loose as Ben pushed in, slow and relentless, stretching him impossibly wide.
The world narrowed to the searing pressure, the scrape of stubble on skin, the frantic drumming of Cole’s own pulse in his ears. Ben moved, deep, deliberate thrusts that drove the breath from Cole’s lungs. He wrapped his legs around Ben’s waist, anchoring himself against the relentless drive, each stroke hitting a core of white-hot need he’d never acknowledged.
Ben buried his face in Cole’s neck, teeth scraping skin, his rhythm faltering as the tension coiled impossibly tight. Cole clawed at Ben’s back, urging him deeper, faster, chasing the cliff edge.
A choked sob escaped Ben, his body locking rigid. Heat flooded Cole’s insides, pulsing thick and wet. The sensation tipped Cole over. His own release ripped through him, a silent shout against Ben’s shoulder, spilling hot stripes onto the dust-streaked skin between them. They clung together, trembling, slick with sweat and spent desire, the desert silence rushing back in, heavy and irrevocably changed.
Ben slowly eased out, the separation feeling like losing a limb. He stayed close, forehead pressed to Cole’s, his breathing ragged. Neither spoke. Cole’s legs trembled violently as Ben lowered him gently, his boots finding purchase on the rocky ground. Ben’s hands stayed on Cole’s hips, steadying him.
Cole fumbled, clumsy fingers pulling his jeans back up, the rough denim abrasive against oversensitive skin. Ben watched, his own pants hanging low, his spent cock glistening briefly before he tucked it away, buttoning his ruined shirt as best he could. The popped buttons lay scattered like fallen stars in the dirt.
Cole finally met Ben’s gaze. The raw hunger was gone, replaced by a profound exhaustion and something else – a cautious, fragile vulnerability. Ben cleared his throat, the sound unnaturally loud. "Dry Creek fence," he rasped, his voice thick. "It’s fine. Been fine."
Cole nodded, swallowing hard. The lie felt insignificant now. "Yeah. Knew it was." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tasting salt and Ben. "So … what now?" The question hung between them, vast as the desert sky.
Ben looked away, scanning the empty hills. His jaw tightened.
"Now?" He turned back, a flicker of that earlier determination in his eyes, tempered now by an unexpected softness. "Now we ride back." He paused, then added, low and deliberate, "Together."
He bent down, picked up Cole’s discarded hat, dusted it off, and held it out. Their fingers brushed as Cole took it. Ben didn’t let go immediately. "And tonight … we talk." It wasn’t a question.
Cole nodded again, the movement small, decisive. He jammed the hat back on his head. Ben turned towards the horses, his stride purposeful. Cole followed, the ache in his body a welcome reminder, the future suddenly wide open and terrifyingly bright.
They mounted up without ceremony. Ben didn't head directly back towards town. Instead, he angled Sam northwest, towards a high ridge Cole knew overlooked a hidden spring. It was a detour, a buffer zone before facing the world. Cole nudged his paint to follow, the silence comfortable now, charged with possibility instead of tension. Sweat cooled on their skin, replaced by the gentle breeze lifting off the higher slopes.
"Talk," Ben finally said, his voice rough but calm. He kept his eyes on the trail ahead. "Ain't much good at it. But … that fence ain't the only thing been broke a long time." He glanced sideways at Cole. "Me."
Cole shifted in his saddle, the worn leather creaking. The raw ache between his legs was a sharp counterpoint to the strange lightness in his chest. "You ain't the only one." He paused, then added, quieter, "Dry Creek fence was busted. Fixed it last week. Came out today 'cause … I needed air. Needed space." He met Ben's gaze. "Guess I was waitin' too."
Ben nodded slowly, a ghost of something like relief softening the hard lines around his mouth. They rode in silence for another mile, the horses picking their way through loose scree. The hidden spring came into view below, a shimmering patch of green in the ochre landscape. Ben dismounted first, leading Sam down the slope. Cole followed, the awkwardness fading with each step towards the cool promise of water.
At the spring's edge, Ben knelt, splashing water over his face and neck, the rivulets tracing paths through the dust and sweat on his skin. He drank deeply from his cupped hands. Cole watched the powerful muscles of Ben's back shift beneath his ruined shirt, the dark hair plastered wetly to his nape. He felt a fresh, different heat stir deep within him – not the frantic hunger of before, but a slow, possessive warmth. He knelt beside Ben, their shoulders brushing as he drank.
"Tonight," Ben stated, shaking water from his hands. He didn't elaborate, but the single word held the weight of a promise – of shared coffee, of awkward words fumbled in lamplight, of the terrifyingly bright future they'd just stepped into. He stood, offering Cole a hand up. Cole took it, Ben's grip strong and sure, pulling him effortlessly to his feet. He didn't let go immediately. Their eyes locked again, the desert silence thick with unspoken understanding.
Ben released Cole's hand and turned to gather Sam's reins. "Sun's gettin' low," he observed, his voice back to its usual low rumble, but softer now. He mounted smoothly. "Best get back." Cole swung onto his paint, the movement easier than before.
As they turned their horses towards town, Ben nudged Sam close enough that his knee bumped Cole's thigh. He didn't look over, just kept his gaze fixed on the trail ahead, but the deliberate contact sent a jolt of pure, simple reassurance through Cole. Together, they rode towards the setting sun, the vast emptiness around them feeling suddenly, impossibly full.
The Last Chance Saloon's porch lanterns glowed like distant fireflies as they approached. Ben reined in Sam short of the hitching post. "Stable 'em," he said, his voice low but firm. "Then … mine." Cole nodded, the unspoken plan settling between them. They dismounted stiffly, the pleasant ache a constant reminder.
Leading their horses towards the livery stable, Cole caught the curious stare of Old Man Henderson sweeping the boardwalk. He met the look squarely, tipping his hat with a deliberate calm he didn't entirely feel. Henderson blinked, looked away quickly. The silence felt charged, but not hostile.
Inside the dim, hay-scented stable, they worked side-by-side with practiced ease, unsaddling, brushing down, filling water troughs. Ben's hand brushed Cole's as they hung bridles on the same peg. Neither flinched. "Coffee's cold by now," Ben murmured, his eyes meeting Cole's in the gloom. "Got beans at my place. Bacon." It wasn't just sustenance; it was an invitation into his private space, a deliberate step.
Cole followed Ben out into the twilight, past the saloon's noisy warmth, down the dusty side street towards Ben's small, weathered cabin. Ben pushed the door open, the hinges protesting softly. Inside was sparse, clean, smelling of woodsmoke and leather oil. A single kerosene lamp cast a warm pool of light on the rough-hewn table.
Ben lit the stove without a word, filling a battered pot with water from a bucket. The domesticity of it – Ben moving in his own space, pouring coffee grounds, slicing bacon thickly – felt more intimate than their earlier frenzy. Cole leaned against the doorframe, watching, the knot of decades-long tension dissolving into a profound, quiet exhaustion.
Ben slid two steaming mugs onto the table, the rich aroma filling the small room. He gestured towards a chair. "Sit." Cole did, the worn wood creaking under his weight. Ben sat opposite, cradling his mug.
The silence stretched, comfortable now, filled only by the crackle of bacon in the skillet. Ben cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the steaming coffee. "Been ... carryin' that," he began, the words rough but deliberate. "Long time." He finally looked up, meeting Cole's eyes across the lamplit table. "Didn't know how to put it down."
Cole traced a knot in the worn wood with his thumb. "Same." He took a slow sip of coffee, the heat grounding him. "Always figured it was just … somethin' wrong with me. Wantin' what I couldn't have." He paused, the admission hanging heavy. "What I shouldn't want."
Ben snorted softly, a flicker of dry amusement in his eyes. "Shouldn't?" He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "Says who? Preacher man? Town gossips?" He shook his head slowly. "Out there …" He gestured vaguely towards the door, towards the vast desert night. "… ain't no 'shouldn't'. Just 'is'. And what is …" He met Cole's gaze squarely. "… is you and me."
Cole felt a warmth bloom in his chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. The sheer simplicity of Ben's conviction washed away layers of ingrained fear. "Yeah," he breathed. "You and me."
Ben pushed his chair back with a scrape. He walked around the table, stopping beside Cole. His hand, rough and scarred, settled gently on Cole's shoulder. "Ain't gonna be easy," Ben murmured, his voice low and thick. "Folks talk."
Cole covered Ben's hand with his own, feeling the solid strength beneath. "Let 'em." He turned his head, pressing his lips against Ben's knuckles. "Got better things to worry 'bout."
Ben's other hand slid beneath Cole's chin, tilting his face up. The kiss this time wasn't desperate hunger, but a slow, deliberate claiming. Warmth, coffee, and the lingering scent of desert sage mingled. Ben broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Cole's. "Bed's warmer," he stated simply, a quiet promise echoing in the dim light.
Cole stood, the chair legs scraping softly. He followed Ben towards the small curtained alcove that served as a bedroom. The air shifted, charged with anticipation again, but softer now, deeper. Ben pulled the curtain aside, revealing a narrow cot covered by a thick wool blanket. He turned, his silhouette framed by the faint light from the main room. His ruined shirt hung open, revealing the dark hair and powerful chest beneath. He didn't speak, just held out his hand.
Cole took it. Ben's fingers closed around his, firm and sure. He drew Cole close, their bodies fitting together in the cramped space with a familiarity that felt ancient. Ben’s lips found Cole’s neck, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent shivers down Cole’s spine. His hands slid beneath Cole’s shirt, calloused palms mapping the planes of his back, pulling him tighter.
The frantic urgency of the desert was gone, replaced by a profound, aching tenderness. Ben guided Cole backwards until his knees hit the edge of the cot. He lowered him slowly, his eyes never leaving Cole's face, the lamplight catching the fierce, unwavering devotion in their depths. The curtain fell closed behind them, sealing them into their own small world, finally whole.
Ben knelt before Cole, his hands working the stubborn buttons of Cole's shirt with a patience he'd never shown barbed wire. Each brush of knuckle against skin was a promise. Cole lifted his arms, letting Ben peel the worn fabric away, baring his chest to the intimate glow filtering through the curtain. Ben leaned forward, pressing his lips to the center of Cole's chest, above the frantic beat of his heart. The kiss was slow, reverent, a silent oath spoken against warm skin.
Cole's fingers found the gaping ruin of Ben's own shirt, pushing it off broad shoulders. The dense mat of dark hair, the powerful muscles beneath – Cole traced them with trembling hands, committing every ridge and scar to memory. Ben groaned softly, leaning into the touch, his own hands sliding down Cole's sides to unfasten his jeans. He eased them down Cole's hips, the rough denim catching briefly before pooling around his boots. Cole kicked them off clumsily.
Ben stood, shedding his own jeans with swift efficiency. In the dimness, their naked bodies were sculpted planes of muscle and shadow. Ben joined Cole on the narrow cot, the frame groaning softly under their combined weight. He pulled Cole close, skin against skin, the heat radiating between them a comforting furnace. Ben buried his face in the curve of Cole's neck, inhaling deeply – sweat, desert dust, and something uniquely Cole.
"Been dreamin' of this," Ben murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Just holdin' you."
Cole wrapped his arms around Ben's solid frame, anchoring himself. "Me too," he breathed, the simple words carrying the weight of decades. "Feels … right."
The silence that followed was rich, filled only by their synchronized breathing and the distant chirp of crickets outside. Ben shifted slightly, his hand sliding down Cole's flank to rest possessively on his hip. His thumb traced slow circles on the sensitive skin there.
"Talkin' can wait," Ben whispered against Cole's temple. "Tonight … just this." He pressed another kiss, soft and lingering, to Cole's lips. Cole sighed, melting into the embrace, the exhaustion and elation washing over him. Ben settled beside him, pulling Cole's back firmly against his chest, his arm draped heavily, protectively, over Cole's waist. Their legs tangled together, seeking warmth and closeness.
The desert's vast emptiness was outside. Inside Ben's cabin, within the circle of his arms, Cole found a completeness he'd never known existed. He closed his eyes, listening to the steady thump of Ben's heart against his back, a lullaby sweeter than any he'd ever heard. Sleep pulled them down together, tangled limbs and shared breath, into a profound peace neither had dared imagine.
Deep in the night, the insistent pressure in Cole's bladder nudged him awake. Ben stirred against him almost simultaneously, a low grumble escaping his lips. "Damn coffee," Ben muttered, his voice thick with sleep. They disentangled reluctantly, the cool air hitting sweat-damp skin as they stumbled towards the cabin's small back door leading to the privy yard.
Outside, the desert night was ink-black, pricked by icy stars. They stood side-by-side in the cool grass, the silence absolute except for their breathing.
A sudden, playful impulse seized Cole. Before Ben could start, Cole reached out, his fingers wrapping loosely around Ben's soft, thick cock. Ben stiffened in surprise, then chuckled low in his throat – a warm, rumbling sound in the cold air. He mirrored the gesture, his big, calloused hand closing gently around Cole's shaft.
"Cheeky bastard," Ben murmured, his thumb brushing Cole's sensitive tip.
They began to urinate together, streams arcing into the darkness, the warmth of their hands contrasting sharply with the chill night air. The simple act felt shockingly intimate, a shared vulnerability.
When the streams dwindled, neither let go. Instead, fingers tightened slightly, shifting from guiding to stroking. Soft skin grew taut and heavy in their grips. Ben leaned close, his lips brushing Cole's ear, his breath hot against Cole's neck.
"Wanna be inside you, Cole," he whispered, the words raw and thick with renewed desire. "Feel you."
"Yeah," Cole breathed instantly, the ache returning fierce and deep. "Yes."
They released each other, the sudden cold a shock, and hurried back inside, shutting the door firmly against the night. The cabin's warmth enveloped them, smelling of woodsmoke and their own mingled scents.
Cole didn't hesitate. He walked straight to the narrow cot, the wool blanket rough beneath his knees. He lay back, the springs groaning softly, and lifted his legs, spreading them wide. He hooked his hands behind his knees, pulling them back towards his chest, exposing himself completely to Ben's gaze in the faint light filtering through the curtain. His cock lay hard against his belly, his entrance open and waiting. His eyes met Ben's, dark pools of trust and anticipation.
"Now, Ben," he said, his voice steady. "Inside me. Now."
Ben dropped to his knees between Cole's spread legs like a man praying to his only altar. His broad hands gripped Cole's hips, thumbs digging into the hard muscle of his thighs. He leaned forward, burying his face between Cole's cheeks without hesitation. The first broad, wet swipe of Ben's tongue across Cole's exposed hole sent a jolt of pure electricity through Cole's spine.
"Christ, Ben!" Cole gasped, his hands tightening on the backs of his knees. "Yes! Like that!"
Ben growled low in his throat, the vibration humming against Cole's skin. He didn't tease. He pressed in firmly, his tongue flattening, then stiffening, pushing insistently against the tight ring of muscle. Cole gasped again, louder this time, pushing his hips down against Ben's face. "God, yes! Feels so damn good!"
Ben answered by driving his tongue deeper, spearing into Cole with rough, hungry strokes. He ate at Cole like a starving man, his nose pressed tight against Cole's perineum, his beard scraping sensitive skin. The slick, intimate sounds filled the small alcove – wet lapping, Ben's ragged breaths, Cole's choked moans. Ben's tongue worked Cole open relentlessly, probing, circling, thrusting deep. Cole felt the pressure building low in his belly, a familiar coil tightening far too quickly.
"Ben! Stop!" Cole cried out, his voice ragged. He tried to pull his hips away, but Ben's grip was iron. "Stop! Gonna … gonna cum if you keep doin' that!"
Ben lifted his head just enough to speak, his chin slick, his eyes blazing in the dimness. "Let it come," he rasped, his voice thick with lust. "Wanna taste you."
"No!" Cole gasped, desperation sharpening his tone. He shoved weakly at Ben's shoulders. "Fuck me! Need you inside me! Now! Before I blow!"
Ben stared up at him for a heartbeat, the raw need in Cole's eyes undeniable. He surged up, grabbing the small jar of rendered bacon grease he'd set beside the cot earlier. He scooped a thick glob onto his fingers, slicking his cock with rough, hurried strokes. Cole kept his legs hooked high, watching, panting.
Ben positioned himself, the thick, slick head of his cock pressing firmly against Cole's loosened, wet entrance. He locked eyes with Cole. "Ready?"
"Now, Ben!" Cole demanded, pushing his hips down. "Do it!"
Ben drove forward in one powerful, relentless thrust. Cole cried out, a raw sound ripped from his throat as Ben filled him completely, stretching him deep. Ben held still for a moment, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the effort of restraint. He leaned down, capturing Cole's mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss that tasted of salt and Cole himself. Then he pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, before slamming home again. The rhythm was hard, deep, and perfect.
Cole met every thrust, his own cock bouncing against his stomach, leaking steadily. The frantic edge from the desert was gone, replaced by a deep, driving need that felt like coming home. Ben's thrusts were long and deliberate, burying himself deep with each stroke, his gaze locked on Cole's face, watching every flicker of pleasure.
The pressure built slowly, inexorably, coiling low in Cole’s belly like a spring wound tight. Ben’s rhythm grew ragged, his breath harsh grunts against Cole’s neck. He drove in deep and stayed, grinding his hips in tight circles. "Cole …" Ben gasped, his voice shredded. "Now … gonna fill you …"
That ragged plea snapped the last thread of Cole’s control. His climax hit like a flash flood, silent and overwhelming. His entire body arched violently off the cot, every muscle locking rigid. His cock pulsed hard against his stomach, thick ropes of hot sperm spurting out in rhythmic jets. The first stripe landed high on his own chest, near his collarbone. The second splashed warm across his ribs. The third, weaker pulse, pooled stickily in the hollow of his belly. A choked gasp escaped him, more sensation than sound, as his hips jerked uncontrollably with each pulse. Inside, his muscles clamped down fiercely on Ben's buried cock in involuntary, rhythmic spasms, milking him deep.
The intense clenching around him, the wet heat flooding Cole's belly beneath him, triggered Ben's own release instantly. A ragged roar tore from Ben’s throat, primal and guttural. He slammed deep one final time, grinding his hips hard against Cole’s ass as he pulsed powerfully inside him. Cole felt the thick, hot flood filling him, wave after wave pulsing against his sensitive inner walls with each forceful jet. Ben shuddered violently above him, his powerful frame trembling like a tree in a storm, his forehead pressed hard against Cole’s shoulder, teeth gritted. His hips jerked erratically, emptying himself completely into Cole’s clenching heat.
Ben collapsed forward, his weight pressing Cole deeper into the thin mattress, his spent cock still nestled deep inside. They lay tangled, slick with sweat and seed, Ben’s breathing harsh and uneven against Cole’s neck. Cole’s own breath came in shallow pants, his body humming with aftershocks, the deep ache inside him a welcome fullness. Ben shifted slightly, his softening cock slipping free with a soft, wet sound. A trickle of warm fluid escaped Cole’s entrance, tracing a path down his inner thigh.
Ben lifted his head, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark in the gloom. He wiped a smear of Cole’s release from his own chest with a calloused thumb, then brought it deliberately to his lips, tasting it slowly, his gaze never leaving Cole’s face. Cole watched, mesmerized, a fresh flutter stirring low in his belly despite his exhaustion. Ben leaned down, pressing a slow, salty kiss to Cole’s mouth, sharing the taste.
"Mine," Ben murmured against his lips, the word a low rumble vibrating through Cole’s chest. "All mine."
Cole traced Ben’s jawline, rough with stubble, feeling the tremor that ran through the bigger man’s frame. "Yeah," he breathed, the exhaustion settling deep into his bones, warm and heavy. "All yours. Forever." The promise, simple and absolute, hung in the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat and bacon grease.
Ben’s arm tightened around Cole’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer against the damp, solid heat of his body. Cole nestled his head beneath Ben’s chin, the steady thump of Ben’s heart a grounding rhythm against his ear. Neither moved to clean the cooling stickiness on Cole’s belly or the trickle escaping him; it was proof, visceral and undeniable, of what they’d claimed. The deep ache inside Cole was a welcome anchor.
Sleep pulled at them both, a soft, insistent tide washing over the raw edges of spent passion and profound relief.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Wattpad.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
