The Farmer & Dale

The next day arrived bright and sunny. Dale gazed out the window at the perfect weather as he sipped his morning cup of coffee. He felt groggy. He'd slept fitfully, tossing and turning, worrying and obsessing about what would happen today. Generally driving himself insane, at 2 a.m., he'd been ready to screech. He'd gotten up, turned the shower on, as hot as he could stand and stepped in, letting the water pour over him. The steamy heat relaxed him, as had the long, slow, jack off session. Knees weak with the powerful release, totally warm and relaxed, he'd wobbled back to bed and crashed, sleeping soundly until almost seven.

He yawned again, and took another sip of coffee. His gaze wandered randomly over the yard. He was grateful there would be no work today. He'd never have heard the end of it if Rick had arrived to find him still in bed.

The thought of Rick and bed, in the same sentence, caused a jittery tremor in his mid-section. Determined to put those thoughts out of his head for a time, Dale fixed himself some breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, and planted himself at his desk in front of his laptop. His current manuscript had been neglected for almost two weeks, a situation he was about to remedy.

* * *

Rick had spent a similarly restless evening. After leaving Dale in the parking lot at Smiley's, he knew he was committed. Though he'd tried to hide it, Rick had seen the increasing sadness in Dale's eyes last night. He was sure that he was the cause. He'd been careful to make no overtures toward Dale, still uncertain of what he wanted to do. Last night at Smiley's had clearly shown him his path. As he'd danced with one woman after another, his eyes had continually looked to Dale.

It was Dale he wanted in his arms. He shuddered, instantly aroused at the thought. Dancing with Dale, their arms wrapped around each other, bodies locked together as they swayed to some slow, smokey melody? It was enough to put a saint on the bone. And Rick was no saint by any means.

He lay in bed, stroking his rigid cock with slow, easy movements. It was the second time since he'd hit the sack. Dale invaded his dreams, leaving him hard, aching. When Dale had made his excuses and rose to leave, Rick's desire to stay left with him. He'd quickly made his own excuses and caught up to Dale. Almost panicked, he had to confirm their plans for the following day. His relief had been monumental when Dale agreed.

In the parking lot, Dale had rallied enough to tease him about walking him to his car. Rick had automatically fired back that remark about a juicy piece of meat. His comment, though teasing and earthy, was as close a hint as he could come up with. He hadn't bothered to hide the desire in his eyes. Dale's look of startled uncertainty had struck a chord deep inside. He wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms right then and there. He'd settled for those gentle words of comfort, the soft caress, that telling endearment.

Rick groaned, his strokes increasing in frequency until he released, semen flooding his abdomen. After resting a moment, he rose and walked on unsteady legs to the bathroom. Grabbing a wash cloth, he held it under the faucet, dampening it with warm water. As he cleaned up, he stared at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror.

Committed. Yes, he was committed. He intended to begin by revealing his feelings to Dale. Difficult as that might be, it was bound to be the easy part. It was the reaction of his family and friends that he dreaded, but his feelings could no longer be denied. He had no intention of losing Dale if, God willing, Dale would have him. Rick felt he was irrevocably ready.

* * *

The day moved on apace. Dale lost himself for a time in his work and felt better for it. He called a halt, mid-afternoon, had a quick snack, then went to work. He pulled the grill from the garage to the back door, cleaned it up, and built his pyramid of charcoal in the center of the bed. Leaving it, he returned to the kitchen and began preparing various dishes for their meal. Macaroni and cheese, his mother's killer recipe, baked beans, pasta salad and a plate of mixed, raw veggies for dipping. There was beer chilling in the fridge along with a tall pitcher of iced tea, sweetened with sugar and flavored with lemon, a few slices of which floated in the refreshing, amber brew.

He'd just glanced at the clock, noting it was exactly five, when he heard Rick's truck pull into the drive. Dale's nerves tingled, his stomach cartwheeling as he watched this most beautiful of men slide gracefully from his vehicle. Dale closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This leap into the unknown was frightening, yet inevitable. There was no going back, only forward, knowing somehow, someway, it was going to be all right. Calmer, he was able to greet Rick with a warm, casual smile.

Rick walked in with his usual familiarity, grin in place. "I see the grill's ready to go. I brought the steaks, and...," with a flourish he set a covered dish on the table, carefully removing the top, "Mom baked us a pie. Hope you like lemon meringue."

"You mean you aren't going to try to convince me you baked this yourself?" Dale teased.

"I told you I can't cook. My abilities run in other directions."

"Such as?"

"I'll show you later." Rick intoned softly.

His words caused a clenching pinch in Dale's middle that slid straight to his cock. He grabbed some matches and made a hasty retreat, "I'd better light the charcoal."

Rick smiled at Dale's obvious nervousness. He was set on a course of seduction, Dale's reaction was encouraging. He followed Dale out the back door. It was time to turn up the heat.

By the time they sat down to eat, Dale was as nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory. Rick had trailed him constantly. His nearness kept Dale wound tight, waiting for some move, some touch that never came. At one point, in the kitchen, as he'd tossed dressing into the salad, Rick had been so close, Dale felt the warmth of his body radiate outward, seeping into his own over-heated skin. Goose bumps chased up and down his arms, his nerveless fingers had fumbled with the utensils he used, until he managed to lose his grip and toss one halfway across the room.

Rick had chuckled and retrieved the offending utensil. He took it to the sink, and using a dab of dish soap, gave it a quick wash and rinse. He handed it back to Dale, his eyes soft, the blue-greenwarm, tranquil.

"Calm down, babe, it'll be alright, I promise." he soothed.

Dale turned back to the salad swallowing hard, his eyes tearing. He nodded silently, relieved when Rick excused himself to use the bathroom. If he doesn't touch me soon, I'm going to have a heart attack, Dale swore silently.

Rick returned, helping to set the table. They served themselves buffet style from the dishes that lined the counter and rested on the stove. Rick started with a fork full of mac and cheese, his eyes closing in sheer appreciation at the delectable flavor. Opening them, he found Dale watching him expectantly.

"This is great, Dale. Tons better than that stuff out the box."

Dale explained about it being his mom's recipe. They dug in, conversation sporadic and easy between mouthfuls. Dale felt himself relaxing at the normality of it all. He could see this scenario taking place on a regular basis, knowing he wouldn't mind cooking for such an appreciative recipient. Not to mention of course, that as long as it was Rick, he wouldn't mind in any case, compliments or not.

Both men put away a good meal. Afterward, they attended to the cleanup, Rick insisting on doing the lion's share, as Dale had taken care of the dinner preparations. Dale fixed numerous containers for Rick to take home, stating quite honestly that there was too much for him to finish alone.

Dishes done, food put away and everything back in shape, they decided to leave the pie for later. The sun was setting as they headed outside. They grabbed beers, the bag of marshmallows and a couple of lawn chairs, hauling them out to the brush pile. Once there, they set up their chairs near a sturdy section of wood fence that marched a short way from the corner of the barn. Dale's grandmother had planted clematis vines there, which were slowly winding their way up the fence, the buds still forming. Dale and Rick settled in, waiting for the approaching darkness to deepen.

For the most part they sat quietly, their conversation low and desultory. There was something infinitely soothing about watching a day come to an end. The birds had all made for their roosts, a few errant chirps piping out here and there. Crickets and frogs began to sing. Small moths fluttered low to the ground, landing first here, than there, as they sought mates. Every now and then, the distinctive buzz of an early June bug could be heard. The big outdoor light that topped the electric pole in the backyard, flickered to life, its blue/white light attracting a cloud of insects that would swirl, hover, dive and court its pearly glow until morning.

Sheltered from its light by the silent bulk of the barn, Dale and Rick sat in the dark, nursing their beers, until Rick stood.

"I think it's time to light this fire." he said softly. His words conveyed a distinct duality, a subtle, double meaning that what not lost on Dale. His voice was hushed, as though reluctant to interrupt nature's night song.

Taking up the matches and newspaper that Dale supplied, he wound the paper into several long twists placing them here and there among the branches. He selected two long, sturdy ones for their marshmallows, placing them aside by his chair. Returning to the brush pile, he struck a match and lit first one, then another, of the twisted paper torches. The brush caught, smoking, crackling. The flames at first hesitant, took hold, then boldly, gleefully, dug in, reaching for the sky.

Dale's breath caught in his throat. Not only was the fire impressive, but the man revealed in its glow was magnificent. Rick was outlined, highlighted, gilded golden like some pagan god by the fire's leaping light. His hair shone, shimmering, spun silk. Dale felt himself a lowly supplicant, as he rose from his chair and approached the burning altar.

Rick turned to watch Dale's approach, his own breath at first hitching, then rushing to fill his lungs. Dale too was gilded by the flames. His dark, reddish, brown hair shimmered in the flickering light, the red highlights winking like fire opals. His body seemed to float, flow like approaching lava. Rick felt the heat of the fire at his back. It paled in comparison to the inferno that approached.

He took a few steps forward, meeting Dale, staring into his wide green eyes. The flame was reflected there, dancing in those calm pools of mossy green. Rick reached out, his arms enclosing Dale, pulling him close.

"I have to." he whispered. His mouth sealed over Dale's.

The fire burned merrily, mindlessly ignorant of the conflagration, but a few feet away, that built and threatened to put it to shame.

Dale put everything into their kiss. He felt himself drown and was resuscitated, awakened by the flavors, scent and heat of the man in his arms, by the clever tongue that languorously explored his mouth and the thick demanding bulge that undulated so sensuously, insistently against his own.

Rick drew back, his retreat pulling a whimper of protest from Dale. He stared at the beautiful face just inches from his own. Dale's eyes opened, glazed, stunned, his lips swollen from the fierce passion of their kiss. Rick's cock spiked, he grunted with the exquisite pain of it.

"Say yes, babe. Dale, say yes." he pleaded, his voice a rough, husky rasp that sent shivers down Dale's spine.

Without hesitation Dale whispered, "Yes."

Rick groaned and took his mouth again. His hands began moving over Dale in an age old pattern that was made new with each pair of lovers it guided. Exploring, roving, Rick's hands paused at the twin mounds of taut flesh encased in rough, tactile denim. Fingers curled in, squeezing, kneading, pulling Dale's hips tight against his own. Rick ground himself almost feverishly against his new lover. The pressure was an excruciating tease, hot and pleasurable, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

One hand relinquished its bounty, searching for new treasures. It glided over Dale's hip and around. Rick found the buttons of Dale's jeans, slowly releasing each one. Dale's hips moved with the rhythm of the fingers that squeezed his ass. Each forward motion brought him firmly against Rick's other hand. The fingers brushing against his erection sent small electric shots down his spine which culminated into one wrenching jolt as Rick's hands simultaneously released to slide instantly into his jeans, pushing them down. While one resumed its place on his ass, holding him steady, the other encircling his raging hot, silky smooth erection. Dale cried out as Rick began to lightly stroke his cock.

Rick murmured softly, his cheek pressed to Dale's, his warm breath feathering over his ear, "I know baby, I know. It's ok. It's all right. Ah God, you feel good, so good."

Dale's breath panted from his mouth, his heart pounded as Rick slowly worked him. Everything disappeared, save the man who held him, touched him.

Dale found himself turned, draped over the sturdy wood fence near their chairs. His fingers dug into the wood when he felt Rick lower his jeans. Rick knelt behind him. Dale felt his fingers untying his shoe laces.

"Take them off, sweetheart." Rick ordered.

Dale obeyed, toeing off his loosened shoes. He was beyond objecting to anything. Rick divested him of his jeans and briefs, leaving him bare-assed and exposed. He felt the heat of Rick's breath, a moment before his tongue laved one firm cheek.. Rick moved over his ass, licking, kissing, lightly biting, until impatient to claim the prize, he spread Dale's cheeks. He gazed at the soft, tender, brownish-pink rosebud with lustful wonder. Here was the physical treasure. Here was the place that would allow their bodies to become one.

Rick breathed deeply, inhaling the erotic spice of his lover. His tongue gently touched, slowly swirled over that sweet pucker, causing it to clench. A few moments of concentrated effort saw it relax, as it welcomed the slick wet heat of his burrowing tongue.

Dale's moans drove Rick on, as each one became tinged with an increasing degree of desperation. Rick rose, quickly unfastening his own jeans, releasing his demanding cock. He draped his body lightly over Dale's. Moistening his fingers, he found Dale's quivering hole and slid one, slowly inside. Dale bucked under him. Rick held him steady.

His mouth again found Dale's ear. "Is this mine?" he questioned, his finger sliding slowly in and out. His teeth found Dale's earlobe, lightly biting, as he eased Dale open, expertly finding his prostate.

"Yes!" Dale ground out, shivering with increasing need.

A second finger joined the first, causing Dale to groan and push back into Rick.

Releasing Dale's ear he moved to the other, his stubbled cheek against Dale's, "Is it still mine, baby?" Fastening his teeth to Dale's lobe, he sucked and nibbled.

"Rick! Yes." Dale gasped as the taut ring of muscle loosened under Rick's relentless strokes.

Moments later a third finger was introduced. Dale whimpered as pleasure and pain mingled. He felt some slick substance smeared at his burning hole which made the penetration easier. He fought to relax, eyes closed as he panted.

Worried by Dale's whimper, Rick had spread precum from his leaking cock over his tightly coned fingers, working them slowly into Dale's pucker. He sighed with relief as he felt Dale relax. With slow and easy strokes he opened his lover, readying him for their joining. Dale was again moaning his pleasure, pushing back into each inward stroke.

He leaned forward, and spoke two words in Dale's ear, "Tell me."

"Yours," Dale groaned, "yours, yours, yours."

"That's right baby. Mine. I'm going to take what's mine. Now."

Withdrawing his fingers, Rick quickly sheathed himself with one of the condoms he'd brought, just for this occasion. His cock resembled nothing so much as a steel spike waiting to be driven into its berth. His only desire was to drive into Dale's soft, welcoming sheath. Just as the spike's intended berth would give way for such an invasion, so would this fleshy channel. At first resisting, fighting the intrusion, beckoning pleasure and burning need caused it to give way, accepting the hard tunneling length that pierced it.

Dale ground out Rick's name. Agonized pleasure and fiery pain warred at his breaching. Rick stopped, holding steady, giving Dale's body the time it needed to adjust. Moments passed.

"Now, Rick, now." Dale panted. The pain was gone, pleasure only, awaited.

"Are you sure, babe?" Part of Rick was serious, in that he wanted to make sure Dale was unhurt, that he find only pleasure from now on. The other part was that imp that found pleasure in teasing his lover.

Dale groaned dramatically, "Don't tease me now, you bastard, move!"

Rick nuzzled Dale at that place where neck and shoulder joined. Animal instinct washed over him as his bit down, holding Dale in place, claiming his mate as he thrust slowly forward until he was fully seated, buried to the root.

He rested against Dale, sudden irritation washing over him at the presence of their shirts. He wanted more skin, more Dale. Impatiently, he pulled his own shirt over his head, dropping it at their feet.

He reached for Dale's, pushing it up, "Take it off Dale, now."

Dale complied, lifting his arms, shivering as cool air washed over his damp skin. Rick pulled away the offending garment, covering Dale with his own heated body. Grasping Dale's hips, he began to move. The skin of Dale's back rubbed his nipples, causing them to peak. He reached around with one hand, finding one of Dale's, already beaded, hard. He pinched it firmly, pulling a gasp from Dale, a gasp that fought for a place between his steady moans and grunts of pleasure.

Dale felt weakened by Rick's sudden urgency. Once begun, he moved with unrelenting, machine like precision. He drove them steadily upward with long gliding strokes that became short jabbing punches with a staccato rhythm that hit Dale's nut with unerring accuracy. Approaching orgasm had both men's balls drawing up tight, Rick's slapping against Dale with each hard thrust.

Knowing he was about to shoot, Rick slid his hand from Dale's chest, down. He grasped Dale's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Twin guttural groans broke free as Dale's cock swelled, thick streams of cum erupting in rhythmic bursts. Rick shot his load, his ass clenched tight as he rocked against Dale, his cock once again buried to the hilt, grinding deep into the sheath that convulsed, squeezing, milking, draining him.

Release calmed their urgent mating frenzy. Exhaustion seeped in. Rick's cock slipped free and he dropped to the cool grass, pulling Dale down with him. They lay in a relaxed, rubbery heap until Dale shivered.

"It's a little cold, now that the heats off." Dale quipped weakly.

Rick slid his hand over the cool skin of Dale's ass, "You are cooling off a mite." he agreed. He groaned and rose, pulling Dale up. "Better cover up, babe, don't want any important parts getting frost bit."

Rick adjusted his own jeans while Dale donned his. They gathered up the rest of the discarded clothing, shoes and the neglected marshmallows. The fire had burned down to glowing embers that glittered sullenly under powdery ash. The remains of the bonfire seemed to be sulking. It's heat had not matched that generated by two horny humans.

Arms full, they returned to the house. Dale dropped his shoes in the mud room. Everything else landed on the kitchen table. Rick's contributions joined his. He looked up to find Rick watching him, a tender, yet somewhat uncertain look on his face. Dale gave him a slow tentative smile. Rick's own lips began to curve in a smile as he pulled Dale into his arms.