Page 101 of Cattle Stop

“Don’t you know how to feed a goat?” Cooper asks.

“I think I can figure it out,” Whit says.

He drops his hold on Cooper, and Cooper readjusts his hat. His hands feel shaky. All of him does.

Cooper just watches as Whit finishes opening the bale. He’s allowed to look, he realizes dimly. And he does greedily, his eyes on how Whit’s pants tighten over his thighs and his jacket pulls up his back.

“Don’t fold it.” Cooper grabs away the baling twine once Whit tosses the hay to the goats.

“It’s easier that way,” Whit says.

He grabs the twine from Whit. Easier would have been one of them saying something years ago. But they’re here now and he shoves the twine into his own pocket. Whit’s probably right that it’ll make a mess.

“It’s absurd,” Cooper says. “Come on, let’s go.”

Whit follows him across the yard, a half-stride behind, nearly stepping on the heels of Cooper’s boots. Cooper finds Whit’s wet fingers and holds on, and when Whit squeezes, Cooper squeezes back.

Inside his cabin, Cooper grips the zipper pull under Whit’s chin. This isn’t real, he wants to say, but Whit’s standing there in front of him, his ears a little red, his lips shiny and wet, and his warm hand on Cooper’s elbow.

“You came all this way for me?” Cooper asks softly.

“You could’ve picked a farm in Pennsylvania,” Whit says. “It certainly would’ve been easier.”

Cooper smiles. “Shut up.”

Cooper works Whit’s rain jacket off and drops it on the floor. Their boots leave muddy, wet tracks and Cooper’s knees hit the bed, Whit’s tongue in his mouth and hands tight in his hair. Cooper’s shirt lands on the table next to a half-eaten sandwich. They left the peanut butter out, he realizes, and the rest of their lunch.

“Don’t you want to stop and clean up all the food?” Cooper whispers, hot into Whit’s ear. He touches three fingers to the small of Whit’s back, up underneath his shirt.

A soft nip at his jaw, all teeth and then the wet press of lips. “Get on the bed,” Whit says.

“But what about mice?”

Whit just sits on the edge of Cooper’s bed and Cooper laughs out loud, the sound startling him. He’s about to have sex. With Whit. He tries to hold on to that thought, like he can make it all the realer for thinking it harder.

Cooper settles on Whit’s thighs, straddling him. Tugs Whit’s shirt off too, and then there’s the planes of pecs to rub his hands across, the stacked muscles of Whit’s abs. Cooper bends and drags his mouth over the hard ridge of Whit’s collarbone. Hauls him closer too, fingers biting into the hard muscle in Whit’s spine. Gets Whit’s hips between his knees and squeezes, holds him there, fumbling for his belt.

Whit loves him. The power of that thought surges through Cooper, and he stands and kicks his pants off and shoves Whit’s boxers down over his thighs. Cooper’s got a condom somewhere. Lube, too. He gets them, and there’s Whit, lying back on his rumpled quilt. They’re both naked and Whit’s so fucking gorgeous. All tight skin over muscles, and the sharp points of his hipbones, and his hard cock that Whit grabs. Cooper kneels next to him and watches as Whit strokes himself once. There’s a scar on the heel of his hand. Cooper leans down and presses his forehead to Whit’s, his palm pressed to his breastbone.

Closing his eyes, Cooper whispers, “Fuck you, I missed you.”

He’s not sure he could really say that out loud if he had to look at Whit, too. Cooper rubs his thumb over the slope of Whit’s pec. Hasn’t he lain here so many nights, curled on his side and thinking of this? Whit lifts Cooper’s chin with a finger and gently draws him close for another kiss.

When Whit rolls them over, Cooper moves with him, letting his legs fall open, and Whit settles between them. Cooper touches his fingertips to Whit’s cheek.

“You got my bed all wet,” he says.

“So sorry.” Whit fumbles with the condom wrapper. He finally opens it with his teeth and Cooper grabs the lube.

“You’re not,” Cooper says.

His eyes close as Whit pushes a gentle finger inside of him. Whit’s knees shift and he’s looking, Cooper realizes, watching his own hand between their bodies.

“I’m not.” Whit sounds breathless.

And oh, that touch inside him is nice. Whit’s cock is, too, big and blunt as he slowly pushes in. Cooper didn’t appreciate that enough before, the stretch inside of him, how Whit so perfectly hits that spot—“Oh, fuck.”

“Too much?” Whit asks, his back locked tight, all ridges of muscle.