Working on the Addington ranch was both a blessing and a curse, in multiple ways. Alan did not mind his coworkers- they were all nice enough and he really had no choice but to get along with the people he slept next to every night.
His boss gave few fucks about the actual well-being of the farmhands. Richard Addington was not cruel, but he sure as hell wasn't a nice man. He was serious and traditional, and if he knew what his son got up to in the loft of the barn he would have a heart attack. Speaking of, Virgil Addington was a curse from God.
The boy- and he really was a boy, only freshly eighteen- was the biggest nuisance Alan had ever met. He loved pissing off his father in ways even Alan hadn't dared when he was younger, talking back like his daddy wasn't one of the most powerful man in the state.
Even the sight of him was torturous. A lithe little body befitting the type of man who would never need to work a day in his life, a pair of pale slender legs begging to be marked. To top it all off, the cherry on the ice cream, he had the sweetest ass Alan had ever seen. He had seen plenty of women in his life and not one had been blessed with an ass like Virgil Addington's.
Given all that, Alan considered it something of a miracle that he had lasted this long. Long enough to get wrapped up in an inescapable heatwave.
Virgil was sweating out in the Georgia sun same as the rest of them. He fanned himself with one of his mother's fans, as if a piece of canvas stretched over some sticks would stave off the oppressive heat. It was almost comical to watch him wave so desperately at his sunburnt, freckled face.
Alan wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty rag when the salt began to sting his eyes. He stared at Virgil, at the boy's ass attempting to balance on the little fence rail he had perched on. He looked good like that, the sweat dripping down the center of his back and soaking the back of his tanktop. Alan licked his lips and grabbed another bag of feed which he hefted it over his shoulder. He wasn't oblivious to the way Virgil's gaze followed him as he worked.
He was sick of the heat. Mr. Addington had been working everyone damn near to death, long days with little reprieve. If it kept up, he couldn't guarantee that Virgil would be enough of an incentive to keep him working on the ranch.
He caught sight of the boy sliding off the fence just as he set down the bag of feed. Virgil sent him a wink as he disappeared around the corner of the barn. The boy was dangerous, he knew, but by God he just could not keep away.
Alan waved down Johnny.
"I'm gonna take a break, go get a beer. I'll be back soon as possible." Johnny gave him a look that told him he knew there would be no beer involved in this break. He returned it with an unapologetic grin and walked around the barn to where his boy waited.
By the time he got there, Virgil's tanktop was hanging off the handle of the busted wheelbarrow out back and the boy was trying to cool his chest with the little fan.
"Hey Alan," Virgil crooned. His half-lidded eyes were somehow more scorching than the sun's heat as he gave the man a once-over.
Alan licked his lips. He wanted to pounce, take the boy by the hips and lick the salt from his skin. The heat made him sluggish though, and he ambled over slowly, eyes trailing over the perky nipples and smooth chest.
Virgil turned over so his back was to Alan, chest to the side of the barn. He hooked his thumbs into his tight denim pants. Slowly, the fabric was pulled down. It was the most torturous striptease he had ever witnessed. He stumbled forward and with one hand reached out to grab one fat asscheek.
