Archive of Our Own

The Texas sun crept over the horizon, casting golden light across the ranch. The land was quiet but alive, the wind rustling through the long grasses and the low moo from the cattle grazing in the pastures. The barn smelled like hay and wood, the grounding mix Alex had grown up with, as familiar to him as the beat of his own heart.

Alex worked with a steady rhythm. His boots scuffed the dirt as he drove the pitchfork into a fresh bale of hay, tossing it into the pen. His shirt clung to his back, damp from sweat even in the cool morning air, his forearms streaked with dirt. 

He was halfway through the bale when he heard footsteps crunch on gravel outside. Alex frowned, straightened up, and leaned his forearm on the handle of the pitchfork, watching as Nora strode in like she owned the place. She had her curls tied back in a messy ponytail, her ever-present smirk firmly in place. 

And right behind her, trailing slightly, was someone Alex had never seen before.

He didn’t belong here. That much was obvious. His hair, neat as a magazine spread, shined golden. Clean clothes, like he had a brunch date after this. Pale face, soft mouth. Probably never sweated a day in his life.

Alex squinted. Great. Some city boy come to buy the land out from under them, or pitch another bullshit offer on turning the barn into a bed and breakfast.

But it was the way he carried himself that really got to Alex.  Chin up. Back straight. He could smell the preppy school from a mile away. His eyes flicked from him to Nora, waiting for her to explain why a stranger with arms that probably hadn’t lifted more than a teacup was invading his barn.

 “And who’s this?”

The stranger stepped forward, extending a hand. “Henry Fox. I’m looking for a job.”

Alex blinked, his grip tightening on the pitchfork. He had an accent, the vowels curling like honey in hot tea.

The guy didn’t smile. Just stood there, chin tilted with some kind of soft defiance that made Alex’s stomach twist in a way he refused to name.

Nora started to explain, but Alex didn’t let her.

He stalked forward, boots thudding against the ground, eyes locked on the stranger—Henry. He didn’t flinch. Just watched him with those ridiculous blue eyes, wide and steady, like he wasn’t afraid of a damn thing.

Alex stopped in front of him. No words. Just reached out and grabbed his hands.

Henry blinked, clearly startled, but didn’t pull away. His palms were pink, fingers long and soft. Alex’s calloused thumbs brushed across smooth skin. No rope burn. No scars. No grit under the nails.

“You don’t have a single callus,” Alex muttered, almost to himself. “Jesus.”

Henry flushed, pink blooming at the base of his throat.

He let Henry’s hands drop. As he took a step back, he caught a faint whiff of a scent. Not sweat or dust, but something gentler. Grass and breeze-dried linen.

“We don’t need another stray dog,” Alex said, tossing a look at Nora.

“That what we’re calling cute British guys now?” she asked, smug as hell.

Alex didn’t bite. He gestured vaguely toward Henry. “First it was Liam, then Spencer, and now this one?”

“You’re forgetting yourself, old dog,” Nora said, raising an eyebrow.

Alex bristled. “Excuse me? This is my ranch. I was born here.”

“And I’ve been here just as long, so let’s not get territorial,” she said

“We don’t need more workers. We don’t have the budget.” 

“You work yourself to the bone,” Nora pressed. “You could use another pair of hands.”

Before Alex could bark out something defensive, Henry spoke.

“I’m stronger than I look.”

Alex looked him over again—clean lines, crisp shirt, soft skin. And yet, there was a steadiness to him, something that refused to bend. Alex’s stomach gave a little twist, sharp and annoying.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, low. 

Nora grinned, triumphant. Why the hell was this so hard? All he had to do was say no. Easy. Clean.

“You could train him,” she said, too sweet.

Alex let out a dry laugh, tossing his hands in the air. “Why do you act like you run this place?”

“Because I’m the only one who can keep you from running yourself into the ground.”

He turned to glare at her but the fight was already slipping. She knew it. He knew it.

He turned back to Henry—who had the audacity to look vaguely amused. Lips curved into something half-smirking, half-knowing. Alex wanted to wipe it off his face. Or kiss it off. Hard to say.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you. Paycheck’s at the end of the month.”

“Good,” Henry said. “Thank you.”

The words came out like velvet rope. Alex muttered a curse under his breath, he was already regretting this.

Wasn’t sure if it was the voice, the hands, or the way Henry stood there like he wasn’t afraid to look him in the eye. But the guy was already under his skin, and Alex hated that.

He leaned the pitchfork against the barn wall, arms crossed tight over his chest.

“So,” he said. “What do you know how to do?”

Henry hesitated. His gaze flicked to Nora, then back. Then he squared his shoulders. “Not much,” he said honestly. “But I learn fast.”

Alex snorted. “The ranch doesn’t care if you’re tired, sick, or whatever. It keeps going. You think you can keep up with that?”

Henry didn’t flinch. “I’ll manage.”

“You’ll have to prove it,” Alex said, pushing off the wall. “Clear the south pen. It’s hot, it’s heavy.. Welcome to the job.”

Henry followed him toward the pen, where a pitchfork leaned lazy against the gate. The smell of hay and manure hung heavy in the air, and Henry’s face betrayed him as he wrinkled his nose slightly. Still, he grabbed the pitchfork without hesitation and got to work.

It didn’t take long for the struggle to show. The pitchfork was heavier than he’d probably expected, and every movement looked like guesswork—too shallow, then too hard, hay flying in every direction.

Sweat carved a line down his temple and his forehead, darkening the mess of his hair. His baby-blue shirt—crisp and smug when he showed up—was already stained with grime and sweat, dark patches blooming under his arms and down his back.

Alex leaned against the gate, arms crossed, watching the whole damn show with a smirk he didn’t bother to hide.

Henry looked like a newborn calf. All limbs. No balance.

When he paused to readjust his grip, Alex called out, deadpan, “You’re supposed to lift the hay, not fight it.”

Henry shot him a glare but didn’t stop.  He grabbed a bale and hauled it up, arms shaking under the weight, teeth clenched.

Alex saw it before it happened—the wobble in his knees, the shift in his balance, the pitchfork slipping fast.

He moved without thinking. His hand shot out, catching Henry by the wrist. Hard. Fast. Instinct.

The contact froze them both.

Alex’s fingers wrapped tight around the fine bones of Henry’s wrist. He felt the smooth, pale skin under his calloused grip. Henry’s pulse, was fluttering wild like a trapped bird. 

Henry was panting, sweat glistening across his flushed face. Pink climbed his cheeks, his throat, all the way to the delicate dip of his collarbone. His lips parted slightly, and sweat beaded right at the curve of his cupid’s bow.

Alex stared. Just for a second.

He wanted—God, he wanted to lean forward and— Nope. No. Absolutely the fuck not.

He jerked his hand away like it burned.

“Careful,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he expected.

Henry didn’t reply. He just gave a sharp nod and went back to work, shoulders tense.

Alex stepped back, running a hand over the back of his neck, trying to scrub the thought from his brain. But Henry was a mess now—sweat-slick, shirt ruined, hair sticking to his forehead. Yet he didn’t complain, not once. 

He forced himself to walk away, he had a lot of work to do. Helped Liam with the tractor. Checked on a calf with Nora. Came and went, but always with one eye drifting back to the pen. And every time, Henry was still there—still working, still struggling, still stubborn as hell.

“Keep your back straight,” Alex called once as he passed. Henry didn’t answer. Just adjusted and kept going.

By the time the last bale hit the pile, Henry looked half-dead. His hands were red and raw, split open with fresh blisters. Alex winced just looking at them. That kind of pain bit deep—Alex had his share of busted palms over the years. 

Alex leaned back against the gate, watching as Henry wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, streaking dirt across his cheek. His whole body was flushed, and Alex shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing away before his thoughts could get any more stupid.

“You’ll need gloves,” he said gruffly, already turning to go. “Blisters are a bitch. And you’re gonna get more of them.”

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Alex led Henry back toward the main house, the sun bleeding out across the sky in shades of violet. The air was cooling, thick with the scent of cut grass, dust, and the low hum of crickets coming alive.

They’d barely reached the porch when something small and scrappy came tearing through the dusk—ears flopping, tail wagging. A scruffy dog with mismatched ears bounded up to them. Alex crouched slightly to greet him with a rough pat on the head.

“This is David,” Alex said without ceremony. 

David sniffed at Henry, curious but cautious, tail still wagging but slower now, as if he was waiting. Henry crouched to meet him halfway, offering a hand. David gave it a good sniff, a tentative lick, then leaned into his palm.

“Hello, friend,” Henry murmured, scratching behind one ear.

Alex snorted but didn’t comment. Instead, he pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly, and motioned for Henry to follow. 

“Come on.”

The house smelled like old wood, coffee, and leather.

“Workers usually bunk in the south quarters,” Alex said as they walked. “But we’re full. You’ll stay here. Upstairs.”

They moved through a narrow hallway lined with crooked family photos, faces caught in sun-faded smiles. The stairs creaked with every step.

At the top, Alex stopped, jerking his chin toward a plain door.

“Your room’s there,” he said. “Next to mine.”

Henry opened it. The room was small—just a twin bed with a worn quilt, a scuffed dresser, and a narrow window looking out over the fields. The last pinks of daylight spilled through the glass, brushing everything in soft gold.

“Sheets are clean,” Alex said. “They changed them this morning. Dinner’s in the kitchen. Heat it up if it’s cold. We’re not fancy here. Eat what you need, but don’t be greedy.”

Henry set his bag on the bed, fingers brushing over the faded fabric. It used to be Alex’s room, before he moved to the master bedroom. He remembered the creak that bed made when you sat on the edge. The way the wind whistled through the window when the storms rolled in. It felt strange watching Henry there.

Alex disappeared for a moment, then came back with a bundle in his arms. He dropped it on the mattress.

A flannel shirt. Worn jeans. Gloves, boots with cracked soles. On top: a tin of balm and a small roll of bandages.

“For your hands,” Alex muttered, not looking at him. “You’ll need ‘em.”

Henry’s lips twitched, the start of a smile breaking through the exhaustion in his face. “Thank you.”

Alex shifted, uncomfortable. He didn’t know what the hell to do with moments like this. He was better with broken things—tractors, fences, horses that bucked too hard. This felt trickier. 

Alex cleared his throat, already halfway out the room before he remembered what he actually needed to say.

“Oh—and the shower’s down the hall. Use it.”

Henry blinked at him.

A beat. And then—because he was tired, and pissed off, and apparently possessed by a demon—he added,“Seriously. You stink.”

Henry’s eyebrows lifted, amused. “Charming.”

“Use whatever you find. Soap. Towels. Don’t break anything.”

Alex turned to go, then hesitated in the doorway, hand on the frame. Henry was sitting there—mud-stained, blistered, looking like hell. But his spine was straight, and there was something in the set of his jaw that made Alex’s throat tight. Alex didn’t look at his hands. Or his throat. Or anything at all.

“Get some sleep,” he muttered. “You’ll need it.”

Then he was gone—down the hall, around the corner, one breath away from banging his head into the nearest wall.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and fried eggs. Alex leaned against the counter, cradling his mug in one hand, the other stabbing lazily at his plate. He’d already been up for hours—fed the horses, checked the irrigation, cursed at the busted latch on the chicken coop.

He liked how the ranch slowly came to life before sunrise fully stuck. 

The stairs creaked and he looked up, mid-chew. Henry stepped into the kitchen, and Alex immediately regretted having eyes.

Henry stepped into the kitchen, and—Jesus Christ. He was wearing the clothes Alex had left him: worn jeans and a soft flannel, sleeves rolled to the elbow, gloves hanging loose from a belt loop like he belonged here. Which he didn’t. But they looked good. 

The jeans clung in all the right places, low on his hips but snug across his thighs. The shirt stretched a little too well across his chest, sleeves cuffed just enough to show a flash of forearm. His hand neatly bandaged where yesterday’s work had split the skin.

“Morning,” Henry said, voice low and still rough from sleep.

Alex grunted and took a long sip of coffee to buy himself time. “Hungry?”

Henry nodded, eyes drifting toward the pot of coffee on the stove.

Alex didn’t look up. “Coffee?”

Henry hesitated, glancing at the pot. "I’ll have a tea, if that’s alright."

Alex set his mug down with a clink, leveling him with a look. “Tea?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

Alex rolled his eyes and pointed, his tone flat. “Kettle’s over there. Teabags in the cabinet to the left. Knock yourself out, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, moving to fill the kettle. 

He moved carefully, like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet. But he was doing a shit job of it—his presence bent the space around him. 

Alex stabbed at his eggs, watching him from the corner of his eye. It was weirdly domestic. And it felt incredibly stupid to be put on edge by this guy—who probably thought eggs came from the damn grocery store, not the chickens out back.

“Hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked again today,” Alex said, just to say something. 

Henry glanced over, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was hoping for a gentle start. Maybe a poetry reading. Some light gardening.”

Alex snorted, caught off guard. His mouth twitched. So the guy was funny, too. Great.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

By midmorning, they were out in the west pasture, sweat already slicking the back of Alex’s neck. The dirt was dry enough to crack under their boots, and the stretch of sagging fence looked about as done with the world as Alex felt. He knelt beside the post, hammer in hand. 

“Pull it tighter,” he said, voice clipped. “If it’s loose, it’s useless.”

Henry, crouched beside him, nodded and adjusted his grip on the wire. His gloves brushed against Alex’s fingers, and Alex had to fight the urge to jerk his hand away.

 “Like this?” Henry asked, looking up at him.

His expression was open, eyebrows lifted in that way that made him look boyish. Jesus, he was too close. 

Alex cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s better.”

They worked in silence, the only sound the rhythmic clink of metal, the groan of the fence, and the distant lowing of cattle. Every so often, Alex caught himself watching the line of Henry’s jaw, the sweat at his temple, the way he bit his bottom lip when the wire fought back.

A few minutes later, the sound of hooves crunching against the dirt made them both turn. Alex stood as Liam rode up, horseback and easy grin, reins loose in one hand. His hat shaded his eyes, but not the smirk spreading across his face when he spotted them.

“Buenos días, jefe,” Liam called, tipping his hat. Then his gaze slid to Henry. “And who’s this? New recruit?”

Henry stood, brushing dust from his gloves. “Henry,” he said, extending a hand.

Liam took it, smiling slow like molasses. “Henry,” he repeated, tasting the name. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Bienvenido al rancho. I’m Liam.”

Alex’s jaw ticked.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he snapped, standing and brushing his jeans.

“Just being friendly, jefe.” He tipped his hat again, this time squarely at Henry. “Catch you later, sweetheart.”

Alex muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like idiot as Liam rode off.

Henry turned to him, brow lifted. “Was that—?”

Alex grabbed the next length of wire and didn’t look at him. “Liam flirts with anything that moves.”

Henry didn’t reply, but Alex could feel his eyes on him as they returned to work. He was so mad that Liam was right, Henry was a sight.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

The ranch was old. Most days, Alex felt like he was just keeping it from completely falling apart. Today, he’d planned to tackle the most urgent repairs—the fence first, then the roof of one of the barns, which had developed a stubborn leak that threatened to ruin everything inside.

Alex started up the ladder, hammer hooked at his belt, the rungs creaking under his boots. 

Behind him, he could hear Henry climbing slower, extremely catious. The ladder shifted slightly with his weight, metal groaning under every movement.

“You good?” Alex called down, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Yes,” Henry replied quickly. The wobble in his voice didn’t match the word.

“Sure about that?”

“Completely,” Henry lied, knuckles white against the ladder.

Alex smirked to himself and kept climbing, pulling himself onto the roof with a fluid motion. He straddled the ridge like he’d been born on rooftops, boots planted firm, the sun glinting off the sweat at his collar.

He turned back just as Henry made it to the top.

Henry’s hands didn’t leave the ladder for a full ten seconds, fingers still clutching the top rung like the roof might vanish under him. His eyes scanned the slope like it was a threat. Finally, cautiously, he swung a leg over and perched himself on the tiles.

“You can relax, you know,” Alex said, setting his tools down. “It’s not like you’re gonna fall off.”

Henry shot him a glare, brushing invisible dust off his borrowed jeans. “That’s easy to say.”

Alex smirked and reached for the nails. “Here. Don’t drop ‘em. I’m not climbing back down.”

Henry took them carefully, his palm open, cradling them like they might bite. His fingers were still bandaged, knuckles pink where the blisters were healing. Pretty hands. Stupid thought.

They worked mostly in silence. Alex moved across the roof like a breeze, hammer in hand.  Every sharp, rhythmic blow echoed in the stillness.

Henry stayed still, planted near the ridge like a wary cat. He was firmly focused on not dying, his knees pressed into the hot tiles, body rigid with tension.

“You ever been on a roof before?” Alex asked, voice lazy.

Henry shook his head.

Alex leaned back a little, stretching out an ache in his shoulder. “Figures. You don’t strike me as the climbing type.”

“Because I’m not,” Henry said. “I grew up in a house where the roof was decorative.”

Alex barked a laugh. He could picture it too clearly—some polished English estate with ivy crawling up the stone, hedges trimmed within an inch of their lives, and gravel paths that never knew mud. Lawn games. Garden parties. Girls in silk dresses twirling in the sun, groomed to marry well. He felt a sharp twist behind his ribs. 

“Yeah, well. Welcome to ranch life.”

Henry glanced at him, squinting against the sun. “Do you always do this kind of thing alone?”

Alex paused, hand hovering mid-reach. “Yeah. It’s easier that way. People just slow you down.”

Henry hummed, but didn’t argue. Alex went back to hammering, metal biting into wood.

Henry shifted beside him and adjusted his seat slightly, his thigh brushing against Alex’s for half a second. Alex just kept his eyes on the work and prayed the hammer didn’t slip and take a chunk out of the roof. 

An hour later, Alex sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his shirt. The sun was starting its slow descent, dragging long golden lines across the fields.

Henry crouched beside him, still wary of the roof but hanging in there. His cheeks were flushed, a streak of dirt on one cheekbone, hair sticking to his temples. Alex couldn’t look too long. It’d fry something in his brain.

He cleared his throat and reached for a fresh nail just to give his hands something to do.

He cleared his throat, picked up a nail just to do something with his hands. Then—because it had been eating at him all damn day—he asked, “So. You gonna tell me what you’re really doing here?”

Henry didn’t miss a beat. “You made me climb because the roof leaks.”

Alex snorted. Deflection. Amateur move. He’d invented that one.

“I mean here. Texas. This ranch.”

That did it. Alex caught the flicker—just a flash behind Henry’s eyes, like a thought forming and then slipping away. He’s gonna lie, Alex thought.

But then Henry just said, quiet and simple, “Needed a change.”

Alex let that sit for a second. Then he nodded toward the fields. “Well. Hell of a change. This life ain’t easy.”

Henry’s gaze followed his. “But you’re here.”

Alex huffed out a breath, leaning back on his hands. His eyes scanned the land with fondness. 

“Didn’t really have a choice,” he said. “My dad’s retired now. My sister, June—she took off. She’s a journalist. Always had one foot out the door. I knew it’d be me in the end.”

Henry looked at him, brow furrowed just slightly. “Why you?”

“I was shit in school. Couldn’t sit still. Didn’t care. But this—” He gestured toward the fields, the fencing, the barn in the distance. “This, I get. Stuff breaks, you fix it. Animals need feeding, you feed them. It’s all there, plain as day.”

Henry nodded slowly. “It suits you.”

Alex didn’t know what to do with that, so he didn’t.

A beat passed. Then Henry spoke again. “What about Nora?”

Alex’s head turned. He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “What about her?”

“She’s here too.”

Alex smiled. “Yeah. Nora’s... she’s been around forever. Long-time friend. One of the only ones left, really. She studied some vet stuff—helps with the livestock. Bosses everyone around. Especially me.”

Henry tilted his head, squinting a little. “Not your girlfriend, then?”

Alex laughed. “No. Nora’s not my type.” 

Henry hummed. “Then what’s your type?”

Alex turned back to the shingles, face tightening slightly as he picked up the hammer again. 

“Finish the damn roof.”

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

By the time they climbed down from the roof, the sun was melting into the horizon. The light caught golden on Henry’s hair, damp and curling slightly at the ends.

Inside, the house was warm with the smell of cornbread and leftover stew. It wrapped around them like a blanket. Alex kicked off his boots at the door and jerked his chin toward the table.

“Sit,” he muttered. “I’ll grab plates.”

Henry obeyed without a word, lowering himself slowly into a chair. His hands flexed in his lap, still stiff and bandaged, red where the new blisters had formed.

"I don’t usually sit down for dinner with anyone," Alex said, setting the plates down. "Not even Nora. But... let’s make an exception."

Henry looked up at him, startled for a moment before it softened into something like gratitude. Or maybe just hunger. 

That’s when Alex noticed the flush across Henry’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Pink, bordering on red. Too much sun. 

"Christ, Henry," Alex muttered, with a frown. "You're burned to hell already."

Henry reached up and touched his face, wincing slightly. “It’s just the sun.”

“Yeah, well, the sun doesn’t really mess around here.”

He disappeared down the hall and into the mudroom, flipping on the dim overhead light. Dug through the old hooks and worn-out gear until he found what he was looking for: a wide-brimmed hat, soft canvas, sun-bleached at the crown, the edge of the brim fraying. He hadn’t worn it in years, but it should do. 

It had been his for most of his life. Sweated through his first solo cattle run in it. Pulled it low over his eyes the morning his dad handed him the deed to the ranch. He should’ve tossed it years ago, but something about it stuck. 

He stood there for a second, turning it over in his hands, and then headed back to the kitchen. 

He didn’t say anything as he dropped the hat onto the table in front of Henry. 

Alex shrugged and sat back down. “Hat. You need one. That one’s not terrible.”

“You sure?” Henry asked, his fingers brushing the brim.

“Wear it or don’t” Alex said, “But I rather not send you out there looking like a damn lobster every day.”

Henry picked up the hat slowly and turned it over in his hands, mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. The sight made Alex’s ears feel hot.

Alex digged into his plate of stew without looking up. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ll start to pill tomorrow.”

They ate in silence for a while. Not awkward. Not quite comfortable either. Just quiet. Outside, the cicadas had started up. 

“You handled yourself better today,” Alex said eventually, eyes still on his food.

Henry smiled, and it reached his eyes. His cheeks turned pinker, definitely not from the sun.

“High praise, coming from you.”

Alex snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t get used to it. Tomorrow’s worse.”

Henry just nodded, his gaze lingering on Alex a moment too long before returning to his plate.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

After a few days on the ranch, Henry was starting to get the hang of it. Sort of. He was slower than the others, too careful by half, and he moved like every joint ached—which, honestly, it probably did. Henry’s hands were still wrecked. Red and raw, the skin across his knuckles split in places. 

But he showed up. Worked through it. Didn’t bitch or whine. He had that particular kind of stubbornness Alex recognized too well—tight-jawed, quiet, and mule-strong.

Alex kept an eye on him. Half because someone had to. Half because… well. He didn’t care to name the other half.

That morning, they were out by the chicken coop. Dew still clung to the grass, but the sun was already warming the tin roof of the barn. The air smelled like grain and dust and whatever the hell chickens rolled in.

Alex moved on autopilot—scatter feed, gather eggs, nudge hens out of the way with his boot. 

Henry crouched a few feet away, checking the nesting boxes one by one. Every now and then, a hen clucked at him, and he flinched like it might go for his throat.

“They look like bloody dinosaurs.” 

Alex glanced over, half amused, half irritated. “They are,” he said. “Feathered velociraptors. And you’re making them nervous.”

Henry side-eyed a hen. “They started it.”

Alex snorted and turned back to his own box, but kept watching out of the corner of his eye. Henry’s fingers moved slowly, gently, the pads of them brushing against straw and shell. Guy moved like he was handling fine china. At least, he hadn’t dropped a single egg. 

“Quit petting the eggs,” Alex said. “They’re not gonna break if you look at them wrong.”

“They look fragile.”

“They’re not.” Alex stood, then crouched beside him again, their shoulders nearly touching. The hen blinked at them, unimpressed. “Move over. You’re crowding her.”

Henry shifted slightly, and Alex reached in—smooth, practiced—and lifted an egg out with quick fingers.

“See?” he said, holding it up. “Slide under and lift.”

Henry leaned closer to watch, his breath brushing Alex’s arm. “Okay,” he said. 

Alex set the egg aside and gestured toward the box. “Your turn.”

Henry hesitated, then reached forward. His hand brushed Alex’s as he moved under the straw. Their fingers overlapped—palm to skin, heat against calluses. Henry bit back a gasp, sharp and audible in the stillness.

“Go easy,” Alex said. “They can pick up your tension.”

It landed like a joke, but it didn’t feel like one.

Before Henry could say anything, the moment shattered by the crunch of boots on gravel. Alex looked up, squinting into the sun, just in time to see Nora making her way across the yard. Her arms were crossed, her smile full of shit.

“Well, don’t you two look domestic,” she called out, loud enough to carry.

Alex exhaled through his nose, sharp and annoyed. “Goddamn it.”

He stood up fast, brushing straw from his jeans, and stepped away from Henry. He felt like he’d been caught doing something bad. Which, to be fair, kind of felt true.

 “What do you want, Nora?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she went on, leaning against the fence.  “Just came to check on my favorite rancher. And to ask if it’s true what Liam said—about you being a little possessive with Henry?”

A few feet away, Henry froze. He crouched lower over the feed bucket, suddenly very invested in chicken pellets. But Alex saw the tilt of his head, the way he was straining not to miss a word. Subtle as a neon sign.

Alex groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Liam runs his mouth more than he runs fence line. He’s full of shit.”

Nora raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because he seemed pretty convinced. Said you looked ready to deck him.”

Alex’s jaw ticked. “Lies. Slander.”

“Uh-huh.” Nora tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I think you like the guy.”

Alex snorted. “He’s like a duckling. Just out of the egg. Doesn’t know shit about ranching or the world in general.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt it—that hitch in the air. He glanced toward Henry.

He was bent over, arms flexing slightly as he lifted a bucket. His shirt stuck to his back, dusty and damp with sweat. Probably heard every damn word.

Alex looked away.

“I mean—” he started, then stopped himself. “—He learns fast. I said that.”

“Aww,” she said softly, dragging the syllable. “You’re giving him compliments. And here I thought you were emotionally constipated.”

“Fuck off.”

“At least he hasn’t quit yet,” she added.

“He’s doing fine,” Alex said. “Now, unless you’ve got something important—”

“Oh, I do,” Nora’s smile faded. “I was doing the rounds with the cows. Two are missing.”

Alex froze, the words landing like a gut punch. His jaw clenched tight. “Fuck me,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Not this week. We’ve already got more work than we can handle. Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Nora said. “Checked twice. They’re gone.”

“Shit.” He turned away, pacing a few steps “Call Liam. We’ll need to pack up and go find them. They’ve probably gone up into the mountains.”

“Liam’s downtown for supplies, remember?” Nora replied.

“Jesus Christ.” Alex groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And what the hell am I supposed to do? We need to get them back as fast as possible. I’m not risking losing stock—not with things already as tight as they are.”

Nora didn’t say anything. She just looked at him. Then tilted her head—just slightly—and nodded toward Henry. Alex followed her gaze.

“No,” Alex said immediately. “I’ll go alone.”

“It’s at least a two-day trek,” she said. “You’ll need—”

“He’s not ready,” Alex snapped.

But Henry had already heard. He straightened up slowly, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he stepped closer.

“I can go.”

Alex turned to him. “No. You’re already barely keeping up here.”

“I’m not useless, Alex. I can help.”

Alex rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he turned back to Nora. “Christ.”

She smirked, leaning closer. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a volunteer.” 

Alex sighed, dragging a hand through his curls, his whole body stiff with irritation he didn’t quite know where to put.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you slow me down, I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Henry smiled faintly, his chin lifting. “Understood.”

Alex looked at Nora. “Get us the maps. We leave in an hour.”

Nora gave him a mock salute and sauntered off, leaving Alex to glance back at Henry.

Alex shook his head and started toward the house. “Get your boots,” he said. “And pack light, cowboy. This isn’t a damn camping trip.”

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Alex tightened the straps on his saddle, giving Solo, a firm pat on the neck. The horse snorted in response,shifting his weight with the easy confidence of a horse that had done this many times before.

A few feet away, Henry stood beside the gray mare Alex had picked out for him—Amy. Gentle, calm, not easily spooked. The kind of horse you gave to beginners. Alex stroked her neck once, then turned to Henry.

“She’s steady,” Alex said. “Won’t give you trouble. Just try to relax, and she’ll take care of you.”

Henry nodded, eyes on the saddle, adjusting the stirrups with a quiet focus. “Amy and I will get along just fine, I’m sure.”

Alex smirked, already bracing himself for the comedy of errors that was about to unfold. He swung up onto Solo in one clean motion, boots finding the stirrups without thought.

He turned just in time to see Henry mount. And— huh .

Henry stepped up to the stirrup, one hand on the saddle horn, the other steady on Amy’s withers. No hesitation. No awkward shifting or second-guessing. He swung his leg over in a smooth motion and his thigh brushed the saddle as he settled in, spine straight. Amy responded without resistance, settling under him like she already knew.

Alex stared. His smirk faltered. Well, shit.

“You good?” he asked, pulling his hat low against the sun.

“As I’ll ever be,” Henry said. 

They started out at a steady pace, side by side across the open pasture. The early light stretched long shadows across the grass. The air was warm, thick with dust and the scent of earth. Solo’s hooves thudded softly beneath them, a rhythm Alex had known all his life.

He glanced sideways. Henry was riding like he knew what he was doing. His hands loose on the reins, body moving fluidly with Amy’s gait.

“Keep your heels down,” he called.

Henry looked over. “I know.”

Alex blinked again. “You know?”

“I played polo,” Henry said. “Back in England.”

Alex turned forward again. Of course he did. 

“Sorry to disappoint you by not falling off,” Henry added.

Alex didn’t answer. Mostly because he didn’t trust his mouth not to say something wildly inappropriate. He adjusted his reins, jaw tight. “This is gonna be a long fucking ride,” he muttered.

As the land began to slope upward, they rode in silence. They scanned the rolling hills and scattered tree lines for any sign of the missing cattle. Alex’s eyes flicked across the terrain, already running through the possibilities—gullies, shade pockets, watering spots. 

Henry rode just ahead of him now, Amy moving at a steady pace.

And Alex was trying very hard not to look. But it was impossible not to notice how he rode. 

His shirt clung to his spine, damp with sweat, fabric sticking to the slope of his shoulders. His thighs held tight to the horse’s sides, solid and strong, the muscles in his legs flexing with every turn. His ass moved in rhythm with the saddle, perfectly synced with the gait of the mare beneath him.

Alex gritted his teeth. Jesus Christ.

After a while, Henry spoke, his voice steady. “You’ve done this before, I assume.”

Alex glanced over, grateful for something else to think about. “Since I was a kid,” he said. “We used to lose cattle all the time when I was learning. My dad would drag me out to track them down. Said it was the best way to learn responsibility.”

Henry looked at him, thoughtful. “And now it’s your responsibility entirely.”

“Yeah. It is.”

He didn’t say how heavy that felt sometimes.

They kept riding, quiet again, the hills getting steeper, brush thicker as they moved into the foothills. Alex slowed Solo to a stop at the ridge, standing a little in the stirrups to scan the horizon. Nothing yet—just more land, more trees, more hills.

He sighed and pointed toward the tree line below. “We’ll split up here,” he said. “I’ll take the higher ridge. You stick to the lower trail. Keep an eye out for hoofprints or broken branches. Any sign they came through.”

Henry pulled up beside him, frowning slightly. “And if I find them?”

“Don’t play cowboy,” Alex said. “Mark the spot and come find me. Got it?”

Henry nodded, his expression serious. “Got it.”

Alex hesitated for a moment, studying him. “Be careful. If anything feels off, turn back. Or shout. I’ll hear you.”

Henry gave a faint smile. “I’ll be fine.”

Alex nodded once. Tight. Then he clicked his tongue and nudged Solo forward, heading uphill. He didn’t look back right away—but after a few paces, he couldn’t help it.

Henry was guiding Amy toward the lower trail, posture easy, hands steady, the curve of his back confident. 

Alex exhaled through his nose. Still—something twisted in his gut. Some flicker of doubt. Something that felt too much like worry.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he muttered, turning back to the ridge.

And then he rode on.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

As Alex rode higher into the hills, the light started to shift. The sun dipped lower, painting the ridge in deep golds and burnt amber, shadows stretching long over the trail. Solo’s hooves crunched steady against the dry earth, the only sound in a world that had gone too quiet.

It should’ve felt peaceful. But Alex’s mind was anything but.

His eyes scanned the tree line, the rocky dips, every inch of terrain that might hide two stray cows. But every few seconds, his focus slipped—dragged back down the slope to where Henry had ridden off alone.

There was this tight pull in his chest, like a rope tied too short. Not panic. Not quite.

Alex cared. Sure. He cared about the ranch. About Nora. About the hands who worked hard and didn’t screw around. He was used to being responsible. Used to being the one people leaned on.

But this felt different. It wasn’t duty. Wasn’t just watching out for someone green. Henry was in his head in a way that made no goddamn sense. Like a thought he couldn’t stop picking at.  

His hands clenched tighter on the reins. Solo flicked an ear back, picking up on the tension.

Alex forced himself to loosen up, exhaled slow, and urged the horse forward. He needed to think about the ridge, about the cattle, about literally anything else—

“Alex!”

The shout cut through the quiet like a gunshot. He froze, heart punching into his throat.

For a second, he thought maybe it was the wind playing tricks on him. Then it came again, louder.“Alex!”

Henry.

Panic hit him square in the chest. Real and cold and immediate. Alex didn’t hesitate, he kicked Solo into a gallop, charging up the ridge as loose earth scattered beneath the horse’s hooves. He didn’t care. Didn’t think. Every instinct in his body screamed one thing: Get to him.

His mind raced through worst-case scenarios—an injury, a fall, a fucking snake bite. Something broken. Something bleeding.

The sun had gone low, casting the world in strange, golden light that bathed everything in a surreal glow. 

He found Henry near a small stand of trees, Amy tied loosely to a low branch. The mare stood calm, ears twitching. Henry was on his feet, flushed, breathing hard.

“There,” Henry said, pointing toward the edge of the trees. “I found one.”

Alex followed his line of sight—sure enough, a lone cow stood just beyond the brush, half-hidden by shade. 

Relief slammed into him, but it twisted fast into something rougher. He swung off Solo and strode over.

“Are you okay?” he barked. Sharper than he meant to. His pulse still hadn’t come down.

Henry blinked at him, startled. “I—yeah. I’m fine. I just didn’t know what to do. It was stuck down in the ravine, but I got it to move—”

Alex scrubbed a hand down his face. “Alright. Good. You did good.” 

He looked at the cow again, then back at Henry. He was standing too close. His cheeks still pink, hair mussed from the ride, eyes bright with adrenaline. Alex’s chest tightened—something hot and awful and real. He swallowed it.

“You did the right thing calling me,” he said, quieter now.

Henry nodded, his breath steadying.

Alex made himself look away. The sun was dipping fast. Shadows creeping in.

“Let’s check it out,” he said, already turning toward the ravine.

The steer was wedged awkwardly between the rocks—half-slid into a narrow cut in the earth, legs kicking in a frantic rhythm, body twisted at a bad angle. It bellowed low and desperate, dirt sliding beneath it with every thrash.

“Shit,” Alex muttered. The walls were steep, the slope unstable. If the animal panicked harder, it could break a leg—or its neck.

Henry stepped up beside him, eyes wide, brows pulled tight. “What can we do?”

“We’ve got to calm it first,” Alex said, his mind was already moving through the steps. “Grab the rope from my saddle.”

Henry didn’t wait a second, and jogged back to retrieve it. He handed it off, their hands brushing briefly, and then they were moving in sync—unspoken understanding passing between them like breath.

Alex climbed down first, voice steady as he approached the steer. “Easy now,” he murmured, as he tied the rope beneath the belly, anchoring it smooth and tight.

Henry stayed above, keeping the rope taut, adjusting as needed, his boots braced hard against the slope. Alex moved with practiced ease, body pressed close to the steer, muscles straining as he guided its weight just right.

The steer let out another groan, legs kicking up dust. Henry shifted to keep the rope steady.

“I’ve got it,” he called.

Alex didn’t look up. “Keep the tension even. If it slips, we’re screwed.”

“Noted,” Henry said, breathless.

Together, they coaxed it free—inch by inch, muscle and rope and grit. Alex moved like this was all he knew: hands sure, voice calm, body low and strong. Henry didn’t flinch, didn’t fumble. He matched Alex’s rhythm.

When the steer finally scrambled free and found its footing, it let out a shaking breath and staggered forward, dazed but whole.

Alex let the rope fall from his hands, chest heaving. His shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat. He wiped his forehead on the back of his wrist.

“We did it,” Henry said, his voice quiet, almost surprised.

Alex looked at him.

Henry was flushed, dirt streaked across his cheek. His fingers still clutched the rope, trembling slightly. Alex’s mouth went dry.

“Yeah,” he said. “We did.”

The sun had vanished. The air cooled fast now, dry and sharp against sweat-damp skin.

“We’ll camp here,” Alex said finally. “Too late to head back. We’ll look for the other one tomorrow.”

They gathered firewood. Set up camp. Didn’t talk much.

Alex crouched near the firepit, coaxing a flame to life from dry twigs and kindling.  He focused on the crackle of the fire, the sharp scent of smoke and pine. Behind him, Henry unpacked supplies, he looked so tired.

When the tent was pitched and the fire held strong, they settled near it. Henry had taken off his hat, raking a hand through his hair, messing it all up. The firelight caught in the strands, turning them gold. He looked wrecked. Still beautiful. 

Fuck, Alex, weak, weak man.

He looked away fast, stared at his boots and tugged them tighter. It’s been a long time, he told himself. A long, dry stretch. Easy to mistake attention for attraction.

But then he remembered the sound of Henry’s voice earlier—the sharp edge of panic when he’d shouted Alex’s name. How fast Alex had moved. How fast his body had known to move.

You worried about him, his brain whispered. You didn’t even think. You just ran.

It should’ve pissed him off. Should’ve felt stupid. But it didn’t.

They ate in silence mostly, sharing what they’d packed. They ate quietly, sharing from the same tin containers. Jerky, canned beans, half-stale bread. Between bites, they exchanged a few low comments—about the steer, the trail, the weather. 

When they finished, Henry leaned back on his elbows, gaze lifting toward the sky. His face softened in the firelight. His collar had come loose—Alex could see the hollow of his throat, the line of muscle down his neck. 

“They’re beautiful out here,” Henry said quietly. “You can see every one of them.”

Alex followed his gaze. Above them, the stars stretched out, sharp and bright, like someone had poked holes in the dark.

Alex hummed in agreement. “Can you name any of ’em?”

“That’s Orion,” he said, lifting a hand. “The three stars in a row—that’s his belt. And there,” he shifted, pointing again, “that’s Taurus. The bull. Seems fitting for you.”

Alex squinted, following his finger. “If you say so.”

He wasn’t much for stars. Never had time. But the way Henry looked at them—like they meant something—kept him looking too.

“How do you know all this?” he asked.

“I used to do this all the time. My dad would take me out into the garden, point up, make me learn the names. Orion was his favorite. Said it was the easiest to find.”

There was a faint smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Alex didn’t speak. Just let the fire crackle and the breeze rustle through the grass.

He died when I was fourteen,” Henry added, after a beat.

It landed soft, but final.

Alex’s chest tightened. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Henry nodded. “It was a long time ago. But grief doesn’t care about that, does it? It just sort of... sits there. Stays quiet, and then suddenly…” He made a vague gesture toward his chest. 

Alex nodded. “Yeah. It’d be like that.”

The silence stretched between them again—but it wasn’t empty. It was full of the fire’s glow, the sound of wind in the trees, the kind of stillness that settles after something important has been said.

“Henry,” Alex said, breaking the quiet, “you come from money. You’re smart. You probably have a fancy degree in law or business or whatever else rich kids do. Why give it all up to come bust your back on a place like this?”

Henry didn’t answer right away. His thumb picked absently at the bandage on his hand, gaze drifting back up to the stars.

“Because I was drowning,” he said finally. “My family doesn’t care about people. Just performance. You’re a name. A shape in a suit. Smile right. Marry well. Know your place. And I—couldn’t do it.”

Alex watched him, his heart tightening. Henry looked younger like this, big, sad eyes turned up the sky. 

“After my dad died, they didn’t know what to do with me. I didn’t know what to do with them. I got out as soon as I could.”

“You ran away,” Alex said.

Henry nodded. “Yeah. I came to the States to write. I don’t have a fancy degree or anything. Just English Lit.”

“That’s fancy as hell.”

Henry gave a small, tired laugh. “Shut up.”

He picked at his bandage again. “I thought maybe, if I got far enough away, I could figure out who I was. Without them watching. Without... all of that. Turns out self-discovery doesn’t pay very well.”

Alex swallowed. The fire popped, the sound loud in the quiet.

“Well,” Alex said after a moment, “you’re definitely not perfect. Pretty terrible at ranch work, honestly.”

Henry let out a surprised laugh, the sound warm and full in the quiet night.

“But,” Alex added, quieter now, “you don’t quit. That counts for something.”

Henry turned toward him, the smile fading into something smaller. “Thanks, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes drifted to Henry’s hands again—bandages filthy, frayed, clinging to raw skin.

“You should let me take a look,” Alex said after a moment. “Those bandages look bad. Don’t want you getting an infection out here.”

Henry hesitated, then slowly extended his hands. Alex took Henry’s wrists gently, turning them palms up in his calloused grip. The bandages were damp with sweat and dirt.

Alex unwrapped them carefully, revealing raw, pink skin underneath—blisters half-healed, the edges cracked and tender. Then he reached for his canteen and twisted the cap off.

“This might sting,” Alex warned as he poured water over Henry’s hands. 

Henry sucked in a breath through his teeth, jaw tight as the cold hit the wounds. Alex looked up, saw the way his throat moved as he swallowed the pain.

“Almost done,” Alex said.

He moved slowly, wiping the dirt away with steady hands. His fingers brushed over Henry’s, the pads of his thumbs skimming bone. When he finished, he took clean gauze from his saddlebag, wrapping Henry’s hands back. 

Henry flexed his fingers when it was done, testing the wrap. “Thanks,” he said. 

Alex held up his hands without thinking—scarred, rough, thick with callouses earned the hard way. The skin across his knuckles was cracked, weathered, the creases deep from years of grip and grit.

“You’ll get these eventually,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Badge of honor.”

He meant it as a joke. But something about the way Henry looked at them—his hands—made the words stick in his throat.

Henry didn’t say anything. Just reached out.

His fingers brushed over Alex’s palm, light, reverent. He traced the ridges of old scarsHis thumb passed over the thick callus at the base of Alex’s index finger, over the crease in his palm where the skin never fully healed from the time a hammer slipped and tore it open. Alex knew they didn’t look pretty, but that’s who he was. Henry’s fingers lingered, soft and curious. 

Then it was gone. Henry pulled back, his face flushed even in the dim firelight.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean—”

Alex shook his head fast, cutting him off. “Don’t be.”

When the fire had burned down to little more than glowing embers, Alex stood and walked to the tent. He hesitated at the flap, then glanced back over his shoulder. Henry was still sitting by the fire, arms wrapped around himself, his eyes lost in the dying flames. 

“There’s only one bedroll,” Alex said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “We’ll have to share.”

Henry looked up. Shadows cut across his face, made his expression hard to read. His voice was quiet when it came.

“That’s fine.”

Inside, the tent felt even smaller than he remembered. Alex dropped onto the bedroll first, rolling to one side, spine stiff, eyes on the tent wall. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders and tried to take up as little space as possible. 

He heard Henry unzip the flap behind him. The soft sound of boots coming off. The whisper of fabric. Then the rustle of him crawling in.

He felt Henry slide beside him, then the warmth of another body settling next to his. Their shoulders bumped. Knees knocked awkwardly.

Alex didn’t move, and then Henry went still too. 

This close Alex could smell him. Leather. Sun-warmed sweat. And somehow, impossibly, still that faint clean-linen scent. It made Alex want to bury his face in the curve of his neck and breathe it in.

He stared at the tent wall, counting breaths. Alex squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t move. Don’t think. Don’t want.

Henry’s breathing was steady. He wasn’t touching Alex exactly—but he wasn’t not touching him either. Silence stretched.

Then Henry’s voice, low, somewhere near the space between Alex’s shoulder and neck.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

Alex swallowed hard. His voice came out too soft. “Night.”

It was going to be a long fucking night.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Alex woke to the soft gray light of dawn filtering through the thin fabric of the tent. He blinked, groggy, and, for a second, he didn’t know where he was.

Then he felt the warmth. Solid and close, pressed along the entire length of his back. A heavy arm slung across his chest. A thigh tangled with his. Breath, slow and steady, right against his neck.

Henry.

Panic cracked through his chest like lightning. Henry was curled into him, fast asleep, their bodies wrapped together like they'd done this a hundred times.

Then he notice the other thing. The worse thing. He was hard. Not just a little, but full, aching, fucking alive , like his body was working against him on purpose.

He tried to shift, finding a position that felt more comfortable, and that’s how he realized Henry was also hard, now pressed flush against the back of Alex’s thigh.

Fuck .

Henry didn’t move. Still asleep, apparently. Still breathing soft against the nape of Alex’s neck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Henry wasn’t— Alex wasn’t. He didn’t know what they were, but this wasn’t it. 

Carefully, Alex began to untangle himself.

Each shift was a minefield: the rustle of the blanket, the brush of Henry’s thigh, the faint creak of the bedroll. Alex winced at every sound, every small motion that might wake him. Henry murmured something once and it scared the hell out of Alex. 

Finally, somehow, Alex slipped out. He crouched outside the tent, dragging in a breath like he’d just surfaced from underwater.

The cold hit him like a slap. Good. He needed the shock, the bite of morning air against his too-hot skin. He yanked his jacket around him, boots crunching softly as he crossed the clearing. The horses shifted but didn’t stir. The cow was grazing peacefully. 

Everything was quiet. Except him.

His blood was still racing. His cock still hard and heavy in his jeans, throbbing with every heartbeat. Alex muttered a curse and stalked toward the trees, deeper, past the first few trunks. He didn’t stop until the tent was out of sight. Until he was sure Henry wouldn’t hear.

His back hit a tree and he dragged his zipper down fast, fumbling, desperate. He wrapped a hand around himself, hot and hard and already leaking, and let out a ragged breath. His head tipped back, hitting bark.

His mind betrayed him immediately, conjuring images of Henry. Henry, mouth parted in sleep, all soft lips and mussed hair. Henry on horseback, thighs gripping the saddle, hips rolling with the movement.

“Fuck,” Alex hissed, stroking himself harder. his other hand gripping the trunk so hard the bark bit into his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

All he could see was Henry. Hard. Warm. Wanting?

He came with a low, bitten-off groan, his hips jerking once, twice. It was fast, stupid-fast, like his body had been holding it back all night. He leaned there, panting, forehead against his arm. His pulse finally slowing, but his chest still tight.

The release helped. Kind of. But it didn’t fix anything

Wiping his hand clean on a nearby patch of grass, Alex cursed himself again. “Fucking idiot.”

By the time he made it back to camp, he’d shoved the heat down deep. Forced himself into something like calm. He crouched by the fire, stoked the coals back to life, added more wood. He set the pot on to boil, hands moving automatically, eyes fixed on the flames.

A few minutes later, the tent rustled.

Henry stepped out, blinking against the early light. His hair was flattened on one side from sleep, his cheeks still flushed, and his shirt tugged half-wrinkle over one shoulder. He looked soft. Too damn tempting.

“Morning,” Henry murmured, offering a sleepy smile. 

Alex handed him a steaming mug of tea and a piece of bread without a word, his gaze fixed firmly on the fire.

“Thanks,” Henry said, settling across from him.

Alex grunted in response, taking a long sip of his coffee. Henry curled into himself on the other side of the fire, tucking his knees to his chest, hands wrapped around the mug. It was unbearable. 

Alex stood abruptly, brushing dirt from his jeans like it gave him something to do. “If we want to make it back tonight, we need to move.”

Henry nodded, finishing his tea in a few swallows before getting to his feet. 

They packed quickly. Saddled the horses. Checked the ropes on the rescued steer.

Alex mounted up first and took the lead. His posture was rigid, jaw clenched, eyes on the horizon.

They moved slower now with the cow in tow, but Alex didn’t mind.It gave him an excuse to keep scanning the terrain. Gave him something to do with his hands. 

Henry was quieter than usual. Alex could feel his presence like a hum at the base of his skull. Every hoofbeat echoed too loud in the silence between them. And every now and then, he could sense Henry looking at him.

They rode like that for a while—sun climbing slow over the hills, the air warming by degrees, the cow plodding dutifully behind.

It had been hours when Alex finally spotted movement near a stand of trees.

He sat up straighter in the saddle and spotted the second cow. It stood there, head down, chewing like she hadn’t wandered halfway across the goddamn county.

Alex exhaled, relief washing over him, and lifted a hand to signal Henry to slow down.

“There she is.”

Henry rode up beside him. “I don’t understand how they can get this far.”

Alex let out a dry laugh, already nudging Solo toward the cow. “They’re dumber than they look. Just follow the grass until they’re lost.”

This one wasn’t trapped, just lazy. With a little coaxing and patience, they guided her back to the first.

Alex tied her lead to his saddle, double-checked the knot, and exhaled. “Alright,” he muttered. “That’s the hard part done.”

Henry looked over, a faint smile teasing at his lips. “Now we just ride home?”

“Easy peasy,” Alex said.

On the ride back, Alex felt his mood even out, his muscles getting a little looser in the saddle, the weight in his chest a bit lighter. He let himself fall into the rhythm—hoofbeats, breeze, leather creak. Henry rode a few paces behind, posture relaxed, hat low over his brow.

By mid-afternoon, they stopped in a patch of shade where the land flattened out and the cows could rest. Alex unslung his canteen and tossed Henry a bottle of water. Watched the way he caught it one-handed and tipped it back, throat working as he drank.

 Alex turned quickly, pretending to check a saddle strap.

“We’ll be back before sunset at this rate,” he said.

Henry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded. “Good. I could use a proper meal and a bed that doesn’t feel like I’m sleeping on pebbles.”

Alex huffed a soft laugh, adjusting his hat. “You’re not built for the field.”

Henry raised an eyebrow at that—slow, amused—and then, without a word, mounted up again. Amy responded with ease, and then—He took off.

A light gallop, clean and smooth. Amy’s hooves kicked up dust. Henry did it like his was born to ride. His shirt pulled taut across his back, his legs hugging close, body rising and falling in perfect time.

Alex blinked, stunned. The cows behind him didn’t even flinch. 

 Henry, lit up and alive, laughing into the wind like nothing in the world had ever hurt him. His hair catching in the wind.

Jesus Christ.

Henry shouldn’t get to look like that and smile like that and make Alex feel like he’d just been shot clean through the chest.

He tried to shake it off, but Henry was circling back now, kicking up more dust, looping around with a grin that made him look boyish and wild. 

“Show off,” Alex muttered, trying to sound annoyed.

He was still smiling.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

As they reached the ranch, the porch light glowed warm through the dusk. The sight of home settled something in Alex’s chest. He was bone-tired, but the kind that felt earned.

Nora was waiting, leaning against the porch railing like she’d been there for hours. Liam stood beside her, one boot propped on the step, already eyeing them as they rode in.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Nora called. “You boys look like hell.”

Alex rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile. 

“Cows are accounted for,” he said, swinging down from the saddle. His boots hit the dirt with a familiar thud. “They just wanted a little vacation.”

Henry huffed a quiet laugh, guiding Amy in beside Solo, dust curling around her hooves.

Liam stepped forward, grinning. “Hey, Henry. Long time no see.”

“Yes—it’s good to be back,” Henry said.

“Need a hand?” Liam offered, already reaching for the saddle. 

“I got it,” Alex said. 

He was there before he knew what he was doing, sliding between them without hesitation, his hand already on Henry’s waist before Henry could answer or Liam could get any closer. 

Henry didn’t flinch. He didn’t need the help—Alex knew that—but he didn’t pull away either. His hand settled lightly on Alex’s shoulder as he slid down from the saddle, controlled and easy. For a moment, their bodies brushed—chest to shoulder, hip to thigh—just for a second. And something in Alex went tight. 

Then it was over. Henry stepped back, and Alex let go. 

He turned fast, jaw clenched, moving to untie the cattle from Solo’s saddle, pretending that his hands weren’t shaking just slightly.

“I’ll take the cattle down to the field,” he said. “Get them settled before dark. You two take the horses to the barn.”

Henry gave a small nod. “Alright.”

“Okay, jefe,” Liam said. He let out a low whistle. “Come on, chica.”

Amy followed with an obedient flick of her ears. Alex didn’t look back, but he heard the quiet murmur of Liam’s voice. Heard Henry laugh—a real one, loose and warm— and it hit Alex in the sternum like a well-aimed kick.

From the porch, Nora made a sound like a scoff disguised as a sigh. She didn’t move, just crossed her arms and watched him.

She raised an eyebrow, and let a beat pass before she spoke. “Jesus, Alex. Possessive much?”

He adjusted his grip on the lead rope, jaw tight. “Not the time, Nora.”

She followed, boots crunching alongside his. “Didn’t say it was. Just calling it like I see it. You practically body-checked Liam off the horse. You were like a knight in shining armor. Or, you know, a cowboy in dirty boots, but same difference.”

“I didn’t—” He stopped. Took a breath. “It’s not like that.”

The cattle plodded along, slow and stupid. Alex stared straight ahead.

Nora grinned. “It’s cute. The growly thing you do.”

He shot her a look. “Can we just move the goddamn cows?”

“We are,” she said breezily. “I’m just multi-tasking.”

Alex didn’t answer. Just kept walking toward the field, shoulders stiff.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Alex threw himself into it harder than usual. Two days off-ranch had put everything behind. Fences needed reinforcing. A water line had burst behind the hay shed. The cattle show was fast approaching, and Liam was prepping stock for it, which meant Alex had to comb through the budget and figure out if they could even afford to go this year.

There was no time to babysit. 

So Alex started giving Henry solo tasks. It actually helped that he knew now Henry could ride a horse. So he gave Henry real tasks. Not just coop cleanup and barn sweeping, but things that actually moved the work forward. He sent Henry out across the land. Told him to check the creek levels near the north pasture. Count the heads on the east side. Take the fence route on horseback and mark anything that looked off.

And Henry seemed to like it. He didn’t say much—just took the list and got to it—but there was something about the way he sat in the saddle, the way he looked out over the land like he was learning it piece by piece.

One afternoon, Alex caught sight of him out in the south field, cutting diagonally across the pasture on Amy. Light in the reins, back straight, heels down. The wind picked up and Henry leaned into it just right, moving with the horse like they were part of the same thing.

Alex stood by the fence, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying like hell not to stare.

Liam rode up beside him, pulling his own horse to a lazy stop. He followed Alex’s gaze, then gave a low whistle. 

“Didn’t know your Brit could handle a mount like that.”

Alex shrugged, eyes still tracking the line of Henry’s spine as he turned Amy uphill. “Guess he can.”

“Thought he was just decorative.”

Alex huffed, noncommittal. Then came the crunch of tires on gravel, and Nora rolled in slow, the truck rattling like always. She leaned out the window, sunglasses slipping low on her nose, taking in the sight of them both lined up like idiots.

“You two gonna stand there drooling, or actually get something done today?” she called. “Jesus. At least wipe your mouths first.”

Alex flushed and looked away fast. Liam laughed, the bastard.

Still, he found excuses to check in. Still, Alex found excuses to check in. Just to make sure Henry hadn’t electrocuted himself fixing the coop light. Or left a gate open. Or tripped over his own damn feet and passed out in the fields.

“You’re hovering,” Nora said one afternoon. “It’s getting embarrassing.”

“I am not.”

“You are. He’s not a newborn foal. Let him fuck up. That’s how he learns.”

Alex tried. He really did. But then he’d see Henry across the yard—shirt sticking to his back, sleeves rolled, sweat glinting on his temple—and suddenly he was crossing the distance like gravity was pulling him there.

At the house, things settled into something that almost felt like comfort.

They didn’t cross paths much during the day—different jobs, different corners of the ranch—but most evenings, without meaning to, they found themselves at the kitchen table. It wasn’t planned. It just kept happening.

Alex wasn’t used to it.

He’d been alone a long time. A creature of routine. Most nights, he ate standing at the counter, still half in his work clothes, radio off, windows cracked to the hum of cicadas. He could go hours without speaking and never notice until Nora showed up and reminded him he had a mouth. She’d stopped asking to stay for dinner years ago.

But the first time he looked up from his stew and realized Henry had sat across from him—plate of toast and sliced fruit in front of him, hair damp from a shower—Alex didn’t say a word.

The second time, he set out two forks without thinking.

By the fifth time, Nora found them mid-meal and paused in the doorway with one arched eyebrow.

“Well,” she said. “I’ll try not to be jealous.”

Alex threw a dish towel at her face. She caught it one-handed and cackled on her way out. 

Dinner became a kind of ritual after that. They moved around each other in the kitchen like they’d been doing it for years. Henry would brush past him to reach a cabinet, fingers grazing Alex’s lower back in apology

Then Alex sat at one end of the table, Henry barefoot across from him, sneaking scraps to David under the table, asking absurd questions between bites of stew—like what year Alex bought the tractor, or if it was true cows couldn’t walk downstairs.

Alex nearly choked on his beer at that one. “Why the hell would a cow need to go downstairs?”

Alex didn’t know what to call this. Whatever it was, it filled the house in ways he hadn’t realized it’d been empty.

Henry moved like he didn’t want to take up space—like he was waiting for someone to tell him he didn’t belong. But he was in everything. In the second mug Alex poured without thinking. In the boots by the door that didn’t fit anyone else.

Alex started noticing the details without meaning to. The way Henry leaned against the kitchen sink in the evening, spine loose, fingers pink and raw from rope burn and sun.

The curve of his back when he bent to untie his boots, careful not to track dust inside.

The low, absent hum he made sometimes when he thought no one was listening, tuneless and soft.

And it wasn’t bad . It didn’t twist into anything ugly. It wasn’t shameful or bitter. It was just—too much.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

It was Sunday, and the ranch was quiet. The kind of quiet that only came once a week, when most of the crew took off for town or slept in. Even Nora had vanished—said something about pancakes and being offended Alex didn’t want to come.

Alex didn’t take Sundays. Or holidays. Hadn’t since he was twenty. He’d been up since six, same as always—sleeves rolled, shoulders tight, fixing the damn kitchen sink at the main house that’d been dripping all week.

It wasn’t even broken. Just loose. But his hands needed something to do.

He hadn’t seen Henry all day. Not that he needed to.

The morning passed slow. Quiet. Just the wind outside, the occasional groan of wood, the creak of the faucet as he tested the pressure again.

He was crouched under the sink, tightening the last screw, when he heard the door creak open. He didn’t look. Didn’t have to. He’d know those footsteps anywhere.

“Is this your version of church?” Henry’s voice, low and soft. “Plumbing?”

Alex grunted. “Better than confession.”

Henry’s soft laugh carried across the kitchen. Alex stayed under the sink a second longer, giving himself time to press the back of his hand to his jaw, to try and cool the way his pulse kicked up, then finally emerged—shoulders broad, shirt wrinkled, wiping his hands on a rag.

“You need something?” he asked.

Henry leaned against the counter, notebook in one ink-smeared hand. Barefoot, of course. That soft, worn sweatshirt slipping just enough to show the sharp dip of his collarbone.

“No,” Henry said after a pause, voice quiet. “Didn’t know you were in here. Still leaking?”

Alex nodded toward the sink. “Nah. Fixed it.”

“Impressive.”

“Basic.”

Henry smirked but didn’t push. Alex stayed there, still holding the rag. He nodded toward the notebook.

“What’s that?”

“Writing,” Henry replied.

“Oh yeah?” A smirk pulled at Alex’s mouth. “Let me guess. Cows and dust.”

“Maybe,” Henry said, smiling faintly. “You think about them all day. Might as well put them on paper.”

Alex huffed a laugh, but it came out uneven. He stood and tossed the rag onto the counter, still watching him.

“You gonna read it to me sometime?”

Henry blinked. “You want me to?”

Alex shrugged, eyes flicking—mouth, notebook, then Henry’s eyes. “Yeah.”

Henry didn’t smile this time. Just tilted his head, thoughtful. “I could.”

Henry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and their arms nearly brushed. Then looked up at him, something flickering behind his eyes.

And Alex moved, just a little. His hand hovered near Henry’s hip. Not touching. Not quite.

He was close enough that he could see the exact shade of Henry’s eyes in the light through the window. Like if he even moved an inch, they’d—

Then—

The sound of a door slamming somewhere outside and a sharp whistle cut through the quiet. A distant voice called, “Jefe! You out here?”

Liam. Of course it was Liam. Damn him. 

Alex stepped back like he’d been burned. Shook his head. “I should—check what he wants. I just—sorry. I…”

Henry nodded, slow. “Of course.”

Alex walked out of the kitchen with his pulse thundering in his ears, throat dry. Alex—fuck—he almost did it. Almost leaned in. What the hell was he thinking?

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Next Tuesday, Henry wandered into the kitchen looking like he’d just rolled out of bed—hair a mess, flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips, dark circles under his eyes. He scratched lazily at his ribs beneath the hem of his shirt.

“Morning,” he said, voice still rough from sleep.

Alex didn’t look up right away. He was hunched over the table, sleeves pushed to his elbows, pen tapping restlessly against a page of scrawled notes and numbers. A worn ledger sat open beside him, and a crumpled envelope was tucked under his mug.

“Howdy,” he said finally, eyes still on the figures in front of him.

Henry yawned and reached for the kettle. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight.” Alex exhaled through his nose, pinched the bridge of it for good measure. “Been up since five. Trying to make this budget work. No luck.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Alex shook his head. “Not unless you can turn twenty bucks into two grand.”

Henry gave a chuckle and filled the kettle on the sink. 

“I was thinking of driving into town,” Alex said after a pause, rubbing a thumb along the rim of his mug. “Nora needs vet supplies. I’ve got some feed bills to pay. Liam usually runs the errands, but he’s up to his neck in cattle show prep.”

Henry nodded, blinking his way into the morning. “Okay.”

Alex cleared his throat. “You can come with, if you want. You haven’t seen town yet, right?”

Henry raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a shithole,” Alex added quickly. “But the store’s decent. You might find something fancy. Face cream. A... uh, one of those giant water cups.”

Henry blinked again. “A Stanley cup?”

“Yeah. Those.” Alex looked back down at his notebook like he was suddenly very interested in last month’s fertilizer invoice.

Truth was, Henry didn’t need to come. There was more than enough work to do at the ranch—fence checks, inventory, picking up eggs—and Henry had proven he could handle it. Bringing him along was unnecessary. Self-indulgent, even. But he wanted him there.

He picked up his mug again, drained the last of the coffee. “Come on, then. Eat something. Put some real pants on. We’re leaving soon.”

Henry smiled faintly and sat down across from him, tucking one leg beneath himself. “Are you going to buy me a scented candle?”

“Don’t push it,” Alex said, but he didn’t look away.

After breakfast, Henry disappeared upstairs. Alex rinsed his mug, shoved the crumpled receipts and the old ledger into a paper bag, and went searching for his Stetson. The nice one. Tugged on a clean flannel and shrugged into his oldest leather jacket. 

 He was just heading back to the kitchen when he heard the stairs creak. Henry emerged like something out of a catalog. Crisp button-down—clean white, fine fabric, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Shoes polished. Hair combed back.

Alex looked up and forgot how to breathe for half a second. He hadn’t expected to see Henry in anything like that again, not after the first week.

Before Alex could say anything stupid, Nora honked outside—twice. Loud and obnoxious, like she meant to piss off every single chicken in a mile radius.

Alex grabbed the paper bag of receipts and muttered, “Christ, she’s loud,” as they stepped out onto the porch.

“Get in, cowboys!” she hollered through the open window of the battered ranch truck, sunglasses crooked, iced coffee in hand. The engine coughed like it was dying. Alex tried not think of yet another bill. 

“Is the truck safe?” Henry asked.

“Safe as life,” Alex said.

As they got closer, Nora’s grin widened. She gave them a once-over, eyes twinkling behind the lenses. “What is this, prom?”

Alex scowled and tugged the brim of his Stetson lower. The truck door creaked like a barn hinge as Henry opened it and slid in first, slipping into the middle seat. Alex climbed in next, folding his legs awkwardly and trying not to notice how close their thighs were. Then slammed the door shut.

Nora grinned like a coyote. “Don’t worry, boys. I’ll drive real gentle.”

“You say that every time,” Alex muttered, adjusting his belt, already bracing himself.

“And I mean it every time,” she chirped, throwing the truck into gear with a lurch that sent all three of them forward.

Alex elbowed Henry lightly. “Put on your damn seatbelt. She got her license in a raffle.”

Henry let out a soft chuckle and reached for the strap. His elbow brushed against Alex’s ribs.

Then Nora cranked the radio and twangy country music blared out of the speakers.

Alex groaned, pressing his knuckles against his temple. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s culture,” Nora chirped, adjusting the volume even higher. “Let the man learn something.”

Then she started singing at the top of her lungs, belting every word like she was performing for a sold-out rodeo.

If I could make a nickel off a turning 'em bass

Never worry about the price of gas

Alex covered his ears with both hands. Henry didn’t say anything, but Alex caught the smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. Bastard was enjoying this.

I'd be wheeling and dealing and sitting there reeling 'em in

Huntin', fishin', and lovin' every day

That's the prayer that a country boy prays

They rumbled over potholes and past old fences, the truck wheezing with every bump. Every sharp turn Nora took sent Alex sliding fractionally closer to Henry, their shoulders brushing, thighs touching for half a second too long.

Henry didn’t move. Just sat there, quiet and still, the corner of his mouth twitching as he looked out at the fields.

Alex clenched his jaw, forcing his attention back out the windshield. But the truck was old, the suspension shot, and every goddamn turn Nora took swung him right back into Henry’s orbit. 

Henry shifted slightly, leaning back with a soft sigh, and the motion dragged his arm along Alex’s.

Goddamn country music. Goddamn Nora. Goddamn everything.

The town was still thirty minutes away and Alex wasn’t gonna make it out of this truck alive.

The town unfurled like a postcard someone left out in the sun too long—faded awnings, hand-painted signs, a diner with a crooked "Open" light blinking in the window. It had the usual: a gas station that doubled as a gossip hub, a bar that probably hadn’t changed its menu since Alex was a kid, and a store that looked exactly like every store Alex had ever known—down to the creaky swinging door and the bulletin board littered with missing dog flyers and hand-scrawled ads for used tractors.

Nora double-parked in front of the tiny bank and threw the truck into park with a loud thunk .

“Quick in and out,” she said, pulling her sunglasses down her nose to look at Alex.

Alex rubbed his temple and stepped out, groaning. “You gave me motion sickness.”

Nora grinned. “That’s the suspension.”

Henry snorted softly, and Alex slammed the door shut before either of them could say something worse.

Inside, the bank was cool and quiet. Just two tellers and the faint buzz of a ceiling fan. Alex scrawled his name on too many forms, handed over the crumpled paper bag of receipts, and grunted through pleasantries with a woman who smelled like talcum powder and knew his father.

By the time he returned, the truck windows were rolled down and he could hear them before he even reached the curb.

Save a horse, ride a cowboy

Everybody says, save a horse, ride a cowboy

Henry and Nora, singing. Loudly.

Nora leaned halfway out the window. “We got your seat warmed, sugar!”

“God help me.”

He climbed back in, jaw already tight, only to catch Henry mid-chorus, looking far too pleased with himself.

“You good?” Henry asked.

“No,” Alex muttered, slamming the door. “You’ve been corrupted.”

Nora cackled and slapped the steering wheel. “Just in time!”

The engine coughed back to life, and a few minutes later the truck rolled into the gravel lot of the store. An oversized, fluorescent-lit monstrosity that had everything from cattle meds to garden gnomes. 

“You ever been to a place like this?” Alex asked as they stepped out of the truck.

Henry looked up at the sign, then at the display of camo recliners in the window. “I don’t think so.”

Alex smirked. “Buckle up. They sell fishing rods next to decorative pillows.”

Henry blinked. “That’s horrifying.”

“Welcome to Texas,” Nora called over her shoulder, already halfway to the doors.  “I’m getting the vet stuff. Meet me by checkout in twenty.”

“Twenty?” Alex called after her. “I don’t even know what I’m—”

But she was gone.

He glanced at Henry. “Guess we’re free range now.”

Henry smiled. “Do we need a list?”

Alex exhaled. “Not really.”

They pushed a cart together down an aisle stacked high with saddle soap and leather polish, then veered past a section of rubber boots and tangled fishing nets.

In the housewares aisle, Henry picked up a throw pillow embroidered with Bless This Mess and smirked at him. 

“Absolutely not,” Alex said. 

Henry reached past him, brushing his arm as he did, and picked up a candle. He held it up, plain glass jar with a neat label: Fresh Cut Hay. He cracked it open and took a slow sniff. Then, without a word, held it out.

Alex took it. Inhaled. It did smell like hay. Not the real kind that got in your nose and clung to your clothes, but the soft, dreamy kind. Like hay remembered through a window. He blinked. Cleared his throat.

“Not bad,” he said. “Bit fancy, though.”

He picked up a few, one by one. Lifted the lids. Sniffed. Some made his nose wrinkle, and he set those back without a word. Others made him pause, tipping his head slightly like he wasn’t sure yet.

Then he reached for one near the end of the row. Small, round, tucked in a honeycomb-patterned jar with a label in soft cursive: Honey Bee Tea.

He opened it and stucked his nose inside. It immediately earned a quiet hum of approval that stuck in Alex’s ears too long. Henry held the jar a second longer, thumbs brushing the glass. Then he placed it back, careful, and kept walking.

By the time they hit the home goods section, Alex was sweating. 

And then—aisle five.

He didn’t mean to walk past it. Really. But there it was.

Condoms. Lube. Rows of them. Flavored crap in obnoxious packaging. Flavored, ribbed, glow-in-the-dark. Christ . Next to that, a tower of neon-colored pregnancy tests. 

e hadn’t bought condoms in years. Hadn’t needed to. Hadn’t touched anyone in—God. He didn’t want to do the math. Lube, sure. On lonely nights, in the quiet of his room, thinking about—

Don’t think about Henry. Don’t you fucking dare.

But it was too late. The thought had already slotted in like a bullet in a chamber.

Alex felt heat crawl up his neck, curl under his collar, settle deep in his gut. He took a step back. 

And then— “Getting something?”

Alex flinched so hard he nearly knocked over the display of travel-sized baby oil.

Henry stood behind him, eyebrows raised. He glanced at the aisle, then at Alex.

​​“I—no. Just—” He gestured vaguely. “Didn’t realize this was—here.”

Henry’s ears went red. “Right. Of course.”

They both turned at the exact same time, ready to walk away, never speak of this again , and that’s when Nora rounded the corner with a bag of dog treats and a box of syringes.

She looked at them. Then at the aisle. Then back at them. Clicked her tongue.

“Too bad you're way too tired to fuck , right, Alex?”

Alex vaporized. Turned to dust. Dissolved in his boots.

“Nora,” he hissed.

Henry made a sound that could only be described as a choke-laugh . His entire face had gone crimson.

“What?” Nora said, all innocence. “That’s what you’ve been saying for years.”

Alex covered his face with one hand. “I’m never leaving the ranch again.”

Nora winked at Henry. “You sure you don’t need anything, sweetheart? The lube’s buy-one-get-one.”

Alex was going to jail. For murder. And arson.

“Let’s go, ” he growled, wheeling the cart away. “Or I will burn the store to the ground.”

They headed toward the checkout, cart rattling over the linoleum. They passed the aisle of candles again—soft light catching the colored glass jars. Alex caught the flash of the yellow-lidded one Henry had liked before. 

Henry didn’t notice. He’d veered slightly, caught by a display near the end of the aisle. One of those stupid novelty soaps shaped like a chicken.

“Oh my god,” Henry said, picking it up. “Look at this.”

Alex didn’t. He saw his moment. While Henry turned the chicken over, Nora already bitching about the checkout line being too slow, Alex stepped back half a pace. Reached for the candle and dropped it into the cart beneath a box of latex gloves.

“Put that down,” Alex muttered when he finally rejoined Henry and Nora, because Henry was still holding the chicken soap.

Henry arched an eyebrow. “Why? It’s charming.”

“It’s a sin.”

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°. 

They didn’t speak for the first five minutes of the drive back.

Alex sat with one hand on the window, the other gripping the edge of his seat. Nora had climbed in humming, completely unfazed, flipping through radio stations. Henry sat pressed to the passenger door, his knee bouncing. He hadn’t said a word since the condom aisle.

Alex stared straight ahead, watching the road stretch endless and sun-bleached through the windshield. His thoughts buzzed like a blown fuse.

“You boys get everything you wanted?” Nora chirped after a while, glancing over her sunglasses.

Henry cleared his throat. “We’re good.”

“Mm-hmm.” Nora’s smirk was audible. “Guess it’s a good thing we didn’t hit the lingerie section.”

Alex hit his forehead softly against the window. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” she said, cranking the volume. More twangy vocals filled the cab. Something about trucks and beer and wanting someone back.

Henry shifted beside him, adjusting his seatbelt. Their thighs touched.

They pulled into the ranch forty minutes later, the truck bouncing over the familiar potholes, the barn in the distance. 

Nora parked like she always did, crooked and unapologetic. She hopped out, already muttering about feed schedules and vet deliveries, leaving the passenger door wide open.

“Unload the truck,” she called. “I’m off the clock.”

“You don’t even have a clock,” Alex muttered, but she was already gone, boots crunching toward the barn.

Silence fell again. Henry let out a quiet breath.

“That was…” he said, finally.

Alex turned to look at him, jaw still tight. “I’m sorry.”

Henry blinked. “What for?”

Alex hesitated. “Everything. That store. Nora. The truck. All of it.”

Henry looked at him for a long moment, then gave a small, lopsided smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was… kind of fun, actually.”

Alex opened his mouth, couldn’t find anything worth saying, and shut it again. He climbed out of the truck, boots hitting the gravel with a sharp crunch. Henry followed without another word.

They unpacked in silence. Feed bags thudded near the shed. Vet supplies stacked neatly against the door. 

Alex crouched to dig through one of the last bags.His hand brushed something small and round inside—smooth glass, warm from the truck. The candle. His throat tightened. He hadn’t planned this part. Hell, he hadn’t planned any of it.

Alex pulled it out slowly, thumb brushing the honeycomb glass. Then he stood and turned toward Henry, who was sorting bags of grain nearby.

Henry looked up, confused. “What?”

Alex cleared his throat, scowling at nothing in particular. “The candle. From the store. The yellow one. I saw you sniff it like six times, so—” He broke off, shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Figured you might want it.”

Henry blinked at him. Then looked down at the candle. Then back at Alex.

“You got this for me?”

Alex’s ears burned under the brim of his hat. “No, I got it for the cows. Thought they’d like aromatherapy after a long day.”

That made Henry laugh and Alex, god help him, couldn’t quite look at him. He took it from Alex hand slowly. He was still smiling when Alex muttered something gruff under his breath and turned away to grab the last bag.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Alex had been up before the sun again, hunched over the same stack of numbers he’d stared at for a week. Nothing changed. But he kept checking anyway—like if he squinted hard enough, he’d make it work.

By noon, his back hurt, his teeth ached, and his mood was shot to hell. He spilled coffee on the ledgers and swore loud enough to scare the dog. Then his phone buzzed.

Spencer.

The pump in the north field was dead. Again.

Alex gripped the edge of the sink and counted to three. Then muttered something sharp and vile that would’ve made Nora smack him upside the head.

He couldn’t fix it alone. Not without throwing his shoulder out or snapping something. Nora was in town. Liam was neck-deep in cattle prep. Spencer had a busted wrist.

Which left exactly one person.

He tossed the pen into the table and headed outside, boots hitting the porch. He was already mad.

He stalked out across the pasture, sun already high and mean overhead. He found Henry by the barn, elbow-deep in a crate of tools.

“We’ve got work,” Alex barked. “Pump’s gone. Grab your gloves.”

Henry blinked. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” Alex was already turning on his heel. “It won’t wait.”

The hike to the north field was hot and silent. Alex stalked ahead. Henry followed, a few steps behind, hat pulled low, breath uneven. He knew he was being an ass. He didn’t care.

When they reached the pump, water was already pooling in the grass. The pipe was hissing out a steady leak. The whole thing looked crooked, like it was seconds from giving up entirely.

Alex didn’t look at him. Just chucked the wrench in Henry’s direction. “Hold that while I loosen the bolts.”

The angle sucked. The pipe slipped. Twice.

“Steady,” Alex snapped.

“I am steady.”

“You’re not holding it like—shit, just—” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t have time to babysit, Henry. I need it held steady, not halfway—”

“Then do it yourself,” Henry said, voice sharp.

Alex looked up, jaw tight. “Please don’t.”

“Then don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”

They glared at each other, crouched low in the heat, boots planted, hands dirty. The air between them crackled. Alex’s heart thudded hard. 

Alex turned back to the bolt, fuming. “Fine. Just—hold it. Right .”

They wrestled with the pipe in tense silence, shoulders brushing, breath shallow. Henry’s knuckles white on the pipe, Alex wrenching hard. And then the hose bucked loose.

Water exploded straight into their faces, a sudden, choking spray that caught them both off guard. Alex sputtered, half-blinded, twisting away from the burst. Henry flinched beside him, instinct kicking in. They both lunged at once, bodies jerking in the same direction.

Boots slid in the slick patch of mud at the pump’s base. Alex reached out on reflex, maybe for the valve, maybe for balance—maybe for Henry. His hand grazed something—an elbow, a shoulder, he didn’t know—but the ground tilted out from under him.

A grunt punched out of Alex as he landed full on top of Henry, the breath knocked out of him.

For a split second, neither of them moved. The world narrowed—heat, breath, heartbeat.

Alex’s hand splayed across his waist, fingers digging in. Their legs tangled, hips slotted close. Henry’s chest moved fast under his, his breath sharp and ragged.

There was a blade of grass in Henry’s hair. Stupid thing. Alex reached up to brush it away. His fingers dragged through the strands, grazed Henry’s temple. Henry’s eyes met his, and then flicked to Alex’s lips.

Something broke loose.

Alex leaned in and kissed him. Not long. Just for one second. Just to know.

It landed like a spark to dry grass. A sound caught low in Henry’s throat, half-shock, half-answer, and his hand fisted in Alex’s shirt like he didn’t know whether to pull him closer or shove him away.

Alex broke the kiss first, breath catching. His heart kicked against his ribs. Henry stared up at him, lips parted, kiss-bruised. 

“I—shit. I didn’t—”Alex started. “I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t’ve—fuck.”

Henry sat up slowly, mud streaked across his jeans. His eyes were wide, like he’d just been struck dumb.

Alex wiped a hand across his mouth, like that might undo it. The wind picked up, dry and sharp, tugging at his shirt, whistling low through the grass.

“I’ll go check the line,” he muttered. “You can head back.”

He turned and walked, fast, blind to everything but the roar in his ears and the awful, dizzy heat behind his eyes.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Alex knew how to avoid people. He’d gotten good at it over the years—sidestepping hard conversations, ducking out of rooms before things got too uncomfortable. It was easier and safer. 

But avoiding Henry? In the same damn house? That was a different beast entirely.

Shame and guilt sat low in his gut, heavy and mean. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything that came after. The way Henry’s face looked when Alex pulled away, the flicker of something hurt and confused that Alex couldn’t stop replaying in his mind.

So Alex did what he always did when things got too close. He buried it. And he buried himself right along with it.

He started waking up even earlier, out the door before the sun had time to rise, in the fields until long after it dipped back down. He skipped meals. Skipped the house entirely when he could. Took the long way around the barn. Learned to listen for the sound of Henry’s boots so he could pivot before they crossed paths.

It was stupid, and childish, and beneath him, but he didn’t know how else to hold himself together.

Henry wasn’t an idiot—he had to have noticed—but Alex wasn’t about to stick around long enough for him to call it out.

Instead, Alex relied on Nora. She’d been more than happy to remind him he was being a jackass every time he asked for an update on Henry.

“He’s fine, you coward,” she snapped one evening after Alex asked how Henry’s was holding up. “But you’re not, clearly.”

“Not the point,” Alex muttered, glaring at the floor like it had insulted him. “Just—can you keep checking on him? I’ve got things to do.”

“Or—and hear me out—you could grow a pair and talk to him. I’m not your carrier pigeon.”

Alex groaned, letting his head fall between his hands. “I fucked it up.”

“Yup,” she said. “Oh, and just FYI? Liam offered to take him into town next week. Show him the good coffee place.”

Alex’s head snapped up. “He did what ?”

Nora shrugged, far too pleased. “Not a big deal. Just a friendly offer. Liam talks to him. Smiles. Doesn’t run away like a spooked horse.”

“You done?”

She beamed. “Not even close. But you might be—if you don’t stop acting like a coward. So unless you want Liam to charm his way into your spot, maybe grow a spine and go talk to the man.”

Alex opened his mouth. Closed it. Grunted.

“That’s what I thought,” Nora said, smirking as she turned on her heel.

Alex didn’t answer. Just clenched his jaw and looked away. Nora was right. He couldn’t keep running from Henry, couldn’t keep pretending the tension wasn’t suffocating him. He wanted to kiss him again.

And again.

And again.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

The storm raged outside, a steady roar of rain pounding against the roof. Alex had tried to keep himself occupied, fixing loose nails on the porch earlier, stacking hay in the barn before the wind picked up. But now he was stuck inside, pacing the living room like a caged animal.

Eventually, hunger drove him toward the kitchen. He stopped short in the doorway.

Henry stood by the stove, one hand resting lightly on David’s head, the other braced on the counter. The kettle whistled softly behind him, steam curling lazily into the air.

Alex froze. He’d successfully avoided Henry for a whole week, it had been days since they’d been this close, and it struck him how badly he’d missed it—missed him . Henry turned at the sound of Alex’s footsteps, his posture tightening slightly as their eyes met.

“Hey,” Alex said, his voice rough.

Henry gave a small nod. “Alex.”

Alex leaned against the doorframe, shoving his hands into his pockets because he didn’t trust them to stay still. He cleared his throat. 

“Kettle’s whistling,” he offered lamely.

Henry didn’t respond. Instead, he looked down at David, fingers trailing over the dog’s soft ears. The silence stretched between them until finally, Henry spoke.

“I’m leaving,” he said, almost too casually.

Alex blinked, the words shaking him to his core. 

“What?”

“I’m leaving the ranch,” Henry repeated, avoiding meeting Alex’s eyes.

Alex pushed off the doorframe, pulse kicking. “Why?” he asked. “You’ve been doing fine. I mean, the work—it’s not easy, but you’ve stuck it out. You’re getting the hang of it. I thought—”

“It’s not the work,” Henry interrupted.

His hand slipped from David’s head. He took a step back.

“Then what?” Alex asked. “Is this about… the other day?”

Henry flinched—just barely—but Alex caught it.

Alex looked away, jaw tight. “I didn’t mean for things to get… weird.” The word felt clumsy in his mouth. “I figured maybe if I gave you space, you’d feel better. I could move you to the south quarters, if you want. You wouldn’t have to see me, I swear. I just… you don’t have to go.”

“This has nothing to do with space, Alex. It’s—” He broke off, his jaw working as if he was trying to swallow the words before they came out.

“Then what is it?” Alex demanded, frustration bubbling up. 

“Because I can’t stay here,” Henry said, his voice rising. “Not like this. Not when you’re avoiding me like the bloody plague. Not when it feels like I’m just—just in the way.”

“You’re not in the way,” Alex argued, stepping closer again.

The kettle screamed behind them, shrill and furious, but neither of them moved to turn it off.

Henry’s eyes blazed. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it feels like. You vanish every time I walk in a room. You won’t even look at me. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you sending Nora to check on me like I’m some sick calf you don’t want to deal with.”

“That’s not—” Alex started, but Henry cut him off with a bitter laugh.

“Why do you even care if I leave?” he spat. “You didn’t want me here in the first place. What was it? A stray dog?”

“Henry—” Alex’s voice broke. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” Henry said. “Because I sure as hell don’t feel wanted.”

“I’m losing my goddamn mind here.”

“I don’t know how to read you, Alex,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “One minute you’re kissing me, and the next you’re running away. You’re angry, then you’re sweet. And I—”

“That’s not fair,” Alex said, his voice rising. “I’ve been trying, Henry.”

“Don’t say that again.” Henry said bitterly. “You’ve been avoiding me, Alex.”

Alex’s throat tightened. His chest ached like it had been cracked open.

“Look—I ain’t good at this, alright?”

Henry took a breath. Alex dragged a hand down his face, and when he spoke again it felt like the words were being yanked out of him. 

 “I’ve been alone my whole life. Since I was a kid, it’s been me and land and fences and busted shit to fix. I don’t talk about feelings. I don’t know how to… You broke something loose inside me, Henry. I don’t know the rules here. I just know cattle, dirt, work. This is scaring the shit out of me. And I know you deserve better.” 

Henry was silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling. “You think I don’t want you?”

“Why would you?” Alex asked, his voice breaking. “You’re smart and soft and fucking beautiful and kind, and I’m just—me. Angry and tired and stucked. I’ll screw it up. I’m already screwing it up.”

Henry stared at him, lips parting. Then he muttered, breathless and furious, “Christ, Alex. You’re as thick as it gets.”

Then Henry closed the distance, and his hands came up, rough and sure, gripping Alex’s face like he’d been wanting to do it forever.

Their lips crashed together, hot and desperate, and Alex stumbled back a step, hitting the doorframe with a dull thud as Henry followed, crowding into his space. 

Alex’s body moved on instinct. One hand slid down to Henry’s waist, the other curling tight around the back of his neck, pulling him in. His fingers tangled in Henry’s hair, softer at the nape. 

Henry made a soft noise against Alex’s mouth, something between a sigh and a groan,that shot straight to Alex’s gut. His hands roamed without permission: down Henry’s back, across his ribs, learning the shape of him, the give of muscle beneath soft cotton. Every inch of him felt good, real, right.

Their breaths came hot and fast as the kiss deepened. Alex thumb found bare skin just above Henry’s jeans, and Henry gasped, hips jerking forward. Alex felt it everywhere. 

Then, without a word, Henry sank to his knees.

His hands were steady on Alex’s hips, fingers curling into the waistband of his jeans. Alex’s back hit the doorframe again, a breath leaving his lungs in one shocked exhale. Henry worked his belt open with deft, impatient fingers, tugging jeans and briefs down in one swift motion.

“Jesus—Henry—”

Then Henry leaned in, mouth trailing along the sharp line of Alex’s hip, and Alex’s voice faltered into a gasp. When Henry took him fully into his mouth, Alex choked on a curse, his entire body going taut.

“Oh my fucking God—what the hell—”

His knees buckled, and his hands scrabbled for purchase in Henry’s hair. Alex let out a strangled groan, hips twitching, the coil in his gut tightening too fast.

He tugged sharply on Henry’s hair, fingers threading in deep. “Stop—fuck—stop, sweetheart—wait.”

Henry pulled back, lips swollen, breath coming hard, eyes blown wide and dark. He looked wrecked. He looked beautiful.

Alex cupped his face, still panting. “Not like this,” he rasped. “I don’t want it like this. Let me—take you upstairs.”

Henry barely nodded before Alex was moving.

He kicked off his boots with one hand and shucked his jeans the rest of the way with the other, underwear dragging with them. Then he slid both arms under Henry’s thighs and lifted him. Henry made a quiet, startled sound—half gasp, half breathless laugh—but wrapped his arms around Alex’s shoulders, holding on tight. 

He carried Henry up the stairs, steady despite the tremble in his legs. The house was dim and quiet, the storm outside howling.  In the bedroom, Alex set Henry down on the bed with care. The mattress dipped beneath Henry’s weight, and Henry lay there, flushed and looking up at Alex. 

Alex hesitated, his hand were shaking. But Henry reached for him, fingers hooking in his shirt, tugging him down.

Their mouths met again, slower now. Alex groaned into the kiss, bracing his weight on one hand while the other found the curve of Henry’s waist. They pressed together, skin on skin, hips aligning, heat sparking wild between them.

Henry arched into him, and Alex thought— fuck, I forgot what this feels like. That molten slide of skin. That helpless sound someone makes when they want you. 

Henry’s fingers slid up his back, blunt nails dragging across muscle, and Alex’s hips stuttered. The friction nearly undid him.

“Wait,” Alex gasped, breaking the kiss, panting like he’d run ten miles. “Just—fuck, I don’t wanna come yet.”

Henry’s lips quirked, breathless. “You haven’t even gotten started.”

Alex let out something between a laugh and a groan. He buried his face in the crook of Henry’s neck, trying to hold himself together. “Yeah, well. Been a while.”

Henry’s hand slipped into his hair, cradling the back of his head. “That’s okay,” he murmured. “We’ve got time.”

Alex pulled back, his eyes scanning Henry’s face, the flush on his cheeks, the soft, vulnerable look in his eyes. His hands trembled as he reached for the buttons of Henry’s shirt, undoing them one by one. His fingertips brushed warm skin, and he swore under his breath at the way Henry shivered. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Alex murmured. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the constellation of moles scattered across Henry’s collarbone. Then lower, mapping slow kisses down the line of his chest, over his stomach.

Henry’s breath caught. He turned his face to the side, teeth catching his bottom lip. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He moved up, brushing his lips over Henry’s. “Tell you how beautiful your body is? Because it is.”

Henry let out a breath, shaky and half-laughing, and Alex hushed him with another kiss. His hand drifted down, settling on Henry’s hip first, grounding him. Then he wrapped it around his cock. Hot, flushed, impossibly hard. Alex stroked him slowly, deliberately, his thumb brushing over the slick head with just enough pressure to make Henry arch up, hips jerking.

A moan escaped him—high, breathless, needy.

“Fuck,” Alex whispered, watching him fall apart. “You’re so goddamn sensitive.”

“Alex, please—” he gasped, voice raw, hips chasing every stroke.

“Please what?” Alex asked, his mouth brushing Henry’s jaw. “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”

“I want…” Henry faltered, his chest heaving, his thighs trembling. His eyes—glass-bright and full of want—met Alex’s. “I want to feel you inside me.”

The words sent a dizzying rush of heat through Alex, his hand pausing on Henry’s skin.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I—fuck, Henry, I want that too.”

His fingers trembled as he reached for the drawer, fumbling the lube in his hands. When he turned back, Henry was already rising onto his elbows, reaching for him.

“Let me,” Henry said.

Alex caught his wrist, kissed the inside of it before gently pressing him back down. “No. You can trust me.”

He gave a small nod and sank back onto the bed, his body pliant beneath Alex’s.

Alex poured the lube over his fingers, rubbed them together to warm it. He settled between Henry’s legs, one hand steady on his thigh, thumb brushing circles into the soft skin.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Alex said.

Henry nodded again, lashes fluttering as Alex leaned in, pressing a kiss to his knee before bringing his hand lower. He circled Henry’s rim gently with a slick finger, coaxing him open, slow and careful.

When he pushed in, Henry gasped, his back arching. Alex paused, waited, whispering, “You’re okay. I got you.”

When he slid in a second finger, Henry whimpered, the sound going straight to Alex’s spine. His free hand smoothed over Henry’s belly. 

“You’re doing so good,” Alex murmured, kissing the soft inside of his thigh. “So good for me.”

By the time he added a third finger, Henry was panting, sweat slick at his temples, legs falling open. His hands found Alex’s shoulders, gripping hard.

“Alex,” he breathed. “I need you. Now.”

Alex exhaled shakily, sliding his fingers out. 

Alex pulled back, his fingers slipping free. Henry whimpered at the loss, hips still rocking forward instinctively. Alex wiped his hands on the sheet, heart hammering. 

His body was strung tight, his cock flushed and aching, but his nerves felt like they were splitting at the seams. His hands shook as he slicked himself with lube. When he looked up, Henry was watching him, with wide, hungry eyes. 

“God, I’m so nervous,” Alex muttered, the words tumbling out.

Henry didn’t answer. Just pushed a palm to Alex’s chest, firm. “Let me, then.”

Alex let himself be guided down, head hitting the pillow as Henry climbed over him with slow, deliberate grace. His knees framed Alex’s hips, one hand planted on his chest for balance. 

"Fuck," Alex breathed, his hands hovering just under Henry’s hips. “You sure?”

Henry nodded, already breathless. “Yes.”

“Fuck,” Alex whispered, his hands coming up to hover just beneath Henry’s hips, barely touching. “You sure?”

Henry nodded, already breathless. “Yes.”

Alex’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, watching every tiny movement. Henry reached behind himself, fingers wrapping around the base of Alex’s cock. He lined them up and then, with exquisite, excruciating care, started to sink down.

It was slow. Tight. A burn edged in pleasure, both of them holding their breath.

Henry let out a shaky gasp as he took more, hips rolling instinctively, thighs trembling with the effort.

“Does it hurt?” Alex rasped, barely able to breathe.

“No,” Henry said, voice thin but certain. “It feels good.”

Alex exhaled a broken sound, forehead pressing to Henry’s for just a second, one hand sliding down to rest against the curve of Henry’s thigh, fingers digging in.

“You feel so fucking good, too,” he murmured.

Henry exhaled a shivery moan, his fingers curling tighter against Alex’s chest as he took more of him, inch by inch. Alex’s head dropped back against the pillow, teeth clenched, trying not to buck up.

Once Henry was fully seated, their hips flush, his breath caught—both of them trembling. Alex was already sweating, fingers curled into the sheet like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

Then Henry started to move.

It was slow at first, lifting himself just a little, then sinking again with a soft whimper. Alex bit his lip, hard, trying to stay grounded as the rhythm built between them.

Alex’s entire body jerked at the sensation, his hands flying to Henry’s hips, desperate for something to hold.

“Fuck, Henry—” His voice cracked in half.

Henry braced himself on Alex’s chest, then his shoulders, moving with more confidence now—rolling his hips in smooth, deliberate waves, chasing friction. The sight of him like that, riding Alex with his head tipped back, cheeks flushed and mouth slack, nearly undid Alex right then and there.

Alex’s hands roamed, down Henry’s back, over the curve of his ass, guiding him without meaning to. He couldn’t stop touching him. Couldn’t stop looking at him, mouth parted, eyes glassy. 

Henry leaned forward, kissed him—open-mouthed, panting, a little wild—and Alex groaned into it, his hand sliding between them to wrap around Henry’s cock. Already hard and leaking, hot in his palm. He stroked him slow, matching the rhythm. 

Alex could feel the way Henry clenched around him, the way his thighs trembled.

Henry broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as he thrust into Alex’s hand. His breath hitched.

“Alex—”

“I’m—I’m close, I—, I can’t—” Alex groaned, every nerve strung tight, hips jerking up helplessly. “Henry, I’m gonna—fuck, I—”

Henry’s hand found his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone, soft and steady.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, almost smiling. “Go on, love.”

That did it.

Alex came with a full-body shudder, the orgasm ripping through him so fast and sharp he saw stars behind his eyes. He moaned low in his throat, hips snapping up once, twice, before going still, every muscle wrung out.

Henry kept moving through it, slower now, riding it out with a soft groan, his thighs shaking. Alex’s hands loosened on instinct, too spent to do anything but feel.

Then Henry collapsed onto him, chest to chest, both of them panting, skin slick and sticky with sweat. Alex wrapped one arm around him blindly, his other hand sliding up to the back of Henry’s neck, holding him there.

He was still inside Henry, still shaking, and it was only then that embarrassment hit like a second wave.

“Shit,” Alex murmured, pulling back slightly. “Henry, I’m—sorry, I—”

“Shh,” Henry said, breath still ragged. “Just touch me.”

Alex swallowed hard and let Henry lift up and settle on his thighs, his body still trembling in the aftershock. Gently, he wrapped his hand around Henry’s cock. Slow, steady strokes. His thumb circled the head, teasing light where Henry was already slick.

Henry gasped, hips twitching, hands braced against Alex’s chest. His breath came in stuttering waves.

“Let go for me,” he whispered.

And Henry did, coming with a soft cry of Alex’s name, spilling hot in Alex’s fist. Alex pulled Henry close and pressed a soft, reverent kiss to Henry’s shoulder. Then another, just beneath his jaw. 

“Was that okay for you?” Alex asked eventually, quiet. “I mean—did I… was I—?”

Henry’s smile was crooked and a little sleepy. “You were perfect.”

“I felt like a damn teenager.”

Henry huffed a laugh and leaned in for a soft, slow kiss. 

“You were nervous,” Henry murmured against his mouth. “And it was really hot, actually.”

Alex made a low, grumbly sound of disbelief, and Henry laughed again, curling closer.

“You’re allowed to want something, Alex,” he said gently. “You’re allowed to want me.”

Alex didn’t know if that was true. He didn’t know what came next, or how to ask for it.

But with Henry in his lap, warm and real and not going anywhere, it felt like enough to start.

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Epilogue — Two years later

Alex stood by the barn, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his boot.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Nora said, appearing beside him out of nowhere.

Alex startled, straightening up. “Jesus, Nora. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she said, nodding toward his pocket where a small velvet box bulged against the fabric. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Alex groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not a big deal.”

Nora raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been pacing for twenty minutes.”

“I don’t even know why I’m nervous,” Alex muttered, more to himself than to her. “I mean, we’ve been together for two years. Things are good. He loves me, I love him. Hell, he’s practically a cowboy now.”

“And a published author,” Nora added, smug. “Don’t forget that.”

Alex smiled despite himself. “Yeah. Wrote a whole damn book in the corner of the porch like it was nothing. He’s so damn smart.”

Alex shot her a glare, but it lacked heat. “You’re not helping.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting back to the house. Through the kitchen window, he could see Henry wiping his hands on a dish towel, his blond hair catching the light like a halo. 

“You know,” Nora said, her tone softening just slightly, “he’s gonna say yes, right?”

Alex swallowed hard, his chest tightening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said firmly. “Now go do it before you combust.”

.°˖⋆🐎⋆˖°.

Henry was humming softly as he poured himself a glass of water. He turned when Alex walked in, his face lighting up with that easy smile that never failed to knock the wind out of Alex.

“Hey,” Henry said, setting the glass down. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex replied, though his voice cracked just enough to betray him. 

He stepped closer, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. His hand tightened around the small box in his pocket as if holding on for dear life. “Actually, no, I’m not fine. I need to—uh, I have to ask you something.”

Henry’s brow creased in concern. “What is it?”

Alex took a breath. Then another. He pulled the box from his pocket and turning it over in his hands. His heart pounded so loud he thought maybe Henry could hear it.

“Okay, so… look. You came here, and you turned my whole damn world upside down. And at first, I hated it, because I’m terrible with change, and I’m stubborn as hell, and—” He stopped, groaning as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “God, I’m screwing this up.”

“Messing what up, love?”

“Jesus, Henry,” Alex muttered. “You know I’m not good at this. Talking. Feeling shit out loud. But you’ve been here for two years, and I don’t know how to live without you. I don’t want to.”

Henry’s lips parted, his hand instinctively reaching toward Alex. Alex swallowed hard and opened the box, revealing the simple silver band inside

“What I’m trying to say is… you’ve made everything better. You’ve made me better. And I want you to stick around. Like—forever. Will you marry me?”

For a second, nothing happened. Henry just stared at him, eyes wide, blinking slow like maybe he hadn’t heard right. Alex’s stomach flipped. His hands were shaking. Fuck.

“God, Henry,” Alex said, his voice breaking. “Say something, because I’m losing my shit here.”

Henry’s lips twitched, a laugh slipping out, soft and a little shaky.

“Alex,” he said, his voice trembling, “you idiot. Of course I will.”

Relief hit Alex like a wave, his knees almost giving out beneath him. He took Henry’s hand in both of his, steadying his grip, and slid the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly—God bless June, who’d spent hours helping him choose it.

Henry looked down at it, then back at Alex, and smiled so softly it nearly undid him.

Alex swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Henry said. 

From the doorway, Nora’s voice rang out, cutting through the moment. “Finally!”

“Get out, Nora!” Alex shouted, but he was laughing.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me now,” Henry teased, his smile widening.

“Damn right I am,” Alex said, kissing him again.