Cattle Stop by Kit Oliver

Chapter Eleven

The truck fallssilent as Cooper shuts off the engine. Outside, the air’s filled with the chirp of crickets and croaking frogs. The gravel crunches beneath their boots as Cooper and Whit walk toward the house. The hinges squeak on the kitchen door, and Sadie’s slow, rhythmic snores come from where she’s sprawled on her dog bed, one ear inside out.

Drew’s still out for the evening, his Jeep missing from the driveway and his shoes gone from next to the door. Cooper carefully turns Sadie’s ear over, gentle so as not to wake her.

It’s just him and Whit, then. Nobody else to bear witness to the creak of the stairs as they climb nor the soft snick of their bedroom door as Whit presses it closed behind them.

Whit kisses him open-mouthed and eager, drawing Cooper close, crowding against him in the narrow space between the dresser and door. Cooper presses into him, the pull of Whit’s mouth better without the sludge of too much beer dampening his senses. There’s just the clear crispness of the spark of Whit’s lips tugging at his, how his arm wraps low around Cooper’s waist, and his good hand cups Cooper’s ribs.

What a delightful mistake to be making. An absolutely wonderfully terrible idea. Whit’s fucking gorgeous and Cooper’s got the stillness of their room, the emptiness of the house, and the evening ahead to make damn well sure he enjoys it.

And then his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s the longer vibration of a phone call, not the quick hum of a text. Cooper fishes into his pocket, slips his phone out, and tosses it onto the dresser.

“Your phone’s ringing,” Whit says, hot breath against Cooper’s ear.

Cooper tilts his head so Whit can kiss his neck and slips his hands higher under Whit’s shirt, tracing over warm, strong muscles. “Ignore it.”

But Whit’s Whit, so what he ignores is Cooper and reaches for Cooper’s phone, tipping it so he can see the screen.

“Oregon’s calling.” Whit steps back, his lips shiny and wet.

“Oh goddammit.” Cooper rubs his face, straightens his shirt, plucks at his pants. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything other than the bulge against Whit’s zipper and the handful of steps to Whit’s mattress. Hell, his own mattress, too. He’ll sacrifice his sheets to get fucked again, hard and firm, and probably better this time without the tipsiness and the shocked horror of what they’re doing.

Cooper slides his hands over the swell of Whit’s ass. “I’ll call them back.”

Whit just waits, holding out the phone.

Cooper sighs. Knowing Whit, what’s coming is probably a lecture on professional responsibility. It’d probably get Whit all hot and bothered, too. Cooper takes the phone and slides his thumb across the screen. “Hello?”

“Cooper? This is Cheryl, so glad I caught you. I wanted to talk to you about offering you a position. Is this a good time?”

Cooper shoves his hair back and smooths his shirt. “A great time.”

Lying to a new employer, really starting this off right. Cooper slips into the hallway before Whit can levy one of his cool, assessing looks.

“Listen, we’d love to have you. I just have a couple questions first. Well, mostly just one question, about your previous employment.”

“Is there a problem with it?”

“It’s…thorough.”

Cooper edges a couple steps farther down the hallway. “Thorough?”

“You’ve got a lot of experience, I mean, a lot of jobs over the years. It seems like all of these places you’ve worked, it’s six months at most and nothing even lasting a year, unless I’m reading your résumé wrong.”

“No.” Cooper glances back at the bedroom door and slips down the hall to Drew’s room, empty and the lights off. He presses the door closed and sits on the edge of Drew’s bed. “No, that’s right.”

“Well, clearly, you’d be a great fit here, and we’d love to have someone with so much experience, but come September, would you be off somewhere else, and we’d just be rehiring for your position?”

Cooper’s cheeks heat. “No, no,” he says, “I really liked the look of your farm and our interview, I—it’d be a good fit, yeah, like you said.”

“Well, we’d really be looking for that commitment into the fall, at the very least.”

“Fall, right, that makes sense.”

“And it’s already getting close to summer, so we’re aiming to have someone in this position quite soon.”

“Soon, yeah.” Fuck. He shoves his hair back. “No, yeah, I—actually, speaking of commitment, I’m working at a dairy in New York right now, and so—”

He can hear his own breathing, interrupted finally by Cheryl asking, “So?”

“I think I’d have to let you know about when I could start.”

She sighs in a rush of static. “Then I’m not entirely sure I can hold a position for you.”

“Yeah. No, of course. But, uh, commitment-wise, well, it’s really the exact opposite of just cutting and running from a job—the, well he’s sort of the manager here, Whit just got hurt, and it’d be pretty awful to split right now. He can’t really work. I wouldn’t want to leave them in a tough spot, you know?”

“Well, why don’t you give me a call back when you’re the one who knows. Bye, Cooper.”

“Bye,” he murmurs and his phone beeps as she ends the call.

Well, fuck. That was less than ideal. Commitment, he hears in Cheryl’s voice. He’ll…figure something out. Try to hammer out a timeline for the work he wants to get done. Maybe talk to Drew. Though, as soon as he thinks it, he knows he won’t.

So there goes his Oregon plan, in all probability. He’ll find something else. He always does. Lots of experience, he thinks and tries to grin.

“That the boss?” Whit asks when Cooper pushes their door open.

“What the hell are you doing to your bandage?”

“It’s annoying.”

“Then stop picking at it.”

“Thank you for the reference, you mean.”

Call her back and tell her I can commit to things, Cooper wants to ask of Whit, but it’d just earn him a cool look. Whit would only too happily call Cheryl back and tell her what he really thinks, thinly veiled hints at Cooper who “knows how to be on time.” Fuck. He tosses his phone onto the nightstand.

“She’s indescribably happy to have me,” he says instead.

“You leaving?”

Yes, he could so easily say. Dial Cheryl’s number, apologize, and promise to be out there as quick as could be. “Nah, she gave me a while. I think the universe wants me to enact my grand plans around here.” I think I just lost a job, more like. He puts on a smile.

“Is that what’s going on?”

“Obviously.”

Whit lifts his eyes to the ceiling, still adjusting his bandage, and says, “Yeah, obviously.”

“What’re you doing to that? Stop it.”

“It’s sore.”

“Yeah, ’cause you sliced it open,” Cooper says. “That’s what happens. Stop messing with it.”

“It’s nice that you’re staying.” Whit edges the bandage down a half an inch and flexes his hand. “I mean, for Drew.”

“Well, I said I would.” Cooper winces as Whit works a finger at the gauze. Fucking commitment. “If you’re going to pick at it—Jesus, Whit, stop, or I’ll send you back to the hospital to get them to do your good hand, too.”

“Rewrap it?” Whit grabs a roll of bandage from the top of the dresser. “Not as tight.”

“The doctor didn’t do it to your specifications? I’m shocked. Absolutely shocked, I tell you.”

“Tell it to the cows.”

“Sit,” Cooper says. “Or I really am going to send you back to the hospital for stitches for your mouth.”

And fucking hell, Whit sits. Perches on the edge of Cooper’s mattress with his knees far enough apart that Cooper can step between them. Oh shit, that’s a nice sight. Sorry, Cheryl, he thinks, letting his eyes trace over the shape of muscle in Whit’s thighs.

“Did you get this wet?” Whit’s wrist is warm, the skin soft as Cooper tips Whit’s injured hand side to side.

“I had to shower before I went to the bar.”

“Did you even try to hold your hand out of the water? Make any effort at all? Ever heard of a plastic bag and some rubber bands?”

Cooper’s mouth is too dry. Exhaustion, he’d say if Whit asked, from slogging through Whit’s awful farm work all day. Cooper braces for the question like it really might come, a quick draw of an answer so he doesn’t have to stumble over words. But Whit’s quiet and when Cooper darts a glance at him, Whit’s just watching him, his chest rising softly on his breath. His thighs look so nice in his jeans. Strong, with all the slimness and power of his daily runs.

“I had to open the shampoo.”

“Oh, of course, your gorgeous curls.” Cooper presses his mouth shut and quickly unwraps the bandage, revealing a smaller square of gauze sitting against the heel of Whit’s hand. He didn’t mean to say that.

“And then it turned out the bottle left in the shower was empty,” Whit says.

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“When there was a new one beneath the sink.”

“I think I saw a squirrel in there, must’ve been them.”

It’s quiet in here. Whit’s voice sounds too loud. Though Cooper’s does too. As quickly as he can, he rewraps Whit’s hand, careful over the taped piece of gauze and fumbling to press the adhesive smooth.

“Cooper,” Whit says. He sounds too serious. “You’re doing a good job.”

“What?”

“Your ideas for the farm. I could see it making a big difference around here.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Cooper says.

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re not serious.”

“Maybe I am,” Whit says.

“Oh, stop, now you’re just being an ass about it,” Cooper says, though he knows there’s no heat in his voice. “Is this just Drew telling you to be nice to me?”

“No,” Whit says, and that sounds more like him, the curt answer and look he gives Cooper all disgruntled exasperation. “Though trust you to argue about it.”

“Me, arguing? Look in a mirror.”

“Pot, kettle,” Whit says.

And then he reaches up, a finger hooking into the waistband of Cooper’s pants. His eyes on Cooper’s, he leans forward, brushing Cooper’s shirt up and kissing once, softly, at his stomach just above his belt.

“Okay?” Whit asks.

“Yeah.” Cooper’s voice sounds too low.

Whit looks up at him through the dark fan of his eyelashes, his mouth parted and level with Cooper’s zipper. Cooper shifts slightly and Whit’s hand tightens on his hip.

Cooper helps with the buckle on his belt, the metal jangling loudly in their quiet room. Oh, that is a fucking sight, Whit tugging at the elastic of Cooper’s boxers with his good hand, pulling them down to Cooper’s knees.

Whit leans forward and kisses just below Cooper’s belly button.

Cooper’s stomach jumps. For a moment, he feels too naked. Standing here, with Whit staring. Probably appraising him, though Cooper can’t get a good look at his face to tell. The thought is unnerving, imagining being compared to whatever’s going through Whit’s head.

But then Whit wraps long fingers around his cock, and Cooper jerks at the wet, warm lick of his tongue.

“Fuck,” he breathes at the wet slip of the inside of Whit’s cheek, the bump of the roof of his mouth. Whit’s tongue works, and Cooper bites at his lip, catching a groan and holding it in, until he can’t anymore.

Oh God, Whit’s good at this. He tugs at Cooper’s balls with his good hand and licks at the head of his cock. It’s too fucking good. Didn’t Cooper used to think about this all the goddamn time, years ago, when he’d been strung up on the thought of Whit and that mouth of his? This is even better, Whit’s deft tongue and how fucking into it he looks, his eyes dropping closed. Carefully, Cooper touches his fingers to the top of Whit’s head. His dick is in Whit’s mouth. Whit’s mouth. And it’s so, so good.

When Whit pulls off of him, cool air hits Cooper’s wet skin.

“C’mon,” Cooper groans.

The front of Whit’s jeans are tented. Whit covers the bulge with his palm and squeezes. Cooper licks at chapped lips.

“Yeah,” Cooper says and jerks open the drawer on the nightstand. There’s that bottle of lube and a couple condoms. Fucking perfect. He fumbles for them, clumsy with the urgency singing through his blood.

Whit slips out of his clothes and grabs Cooper when Cooper tries to get on his knees again. Even with one hand, Whit’s strong, wrestling Cooper’s shirt off and pushing him down on his back. Quickly, Whit kneels over him, spreading Cooper’s legs and smoothing his hand up Cooper’s thigh, his stomach, and back down to his cock until Cooper’s hips jerk.

Cooper wants to look at Whit. He didn’t get the chance the other night, and now Whit’s kneeling between Cooper’s thighs, cock hard against his stomach and the dim light playing over the shape of his muscles. Whit’s big. The size of him, his body rising up like that. His cock, too, though that Cooper remembers, buried deep in him and the strain of how it filled him. Cooper lets his knees fall open wider and tears at the condom wrapper.

He has to sit up to put it on Whit, and the angle’s awkward, his heels propped against the mattress for balance. Whit helps him roll down the condom, his hand warm and strong over Cooper’s. Hurry up, Cooper wants to whine. Would, too, if morning wasn’t coming for them, and all the harsh brightness of another day working together.

Cooper closes his eyes as Whit’s fingers gently probe him, Whit’s bandaged hand by Cooper’s head, and his weight braced on his elbow. A breath eases over Cooper’s cheek, and he turns his face to the side, surprised to find Whit so close. All the more so when Whit kisses him, a finger pressing up and into Cooper, and Whit’s tongue parting his lips. Cooper breathes sharply, air caught in his throat, and with it the taste and smell of Whit’s skin, clean soap and cotton.

“Okay?” Whit asks.

“S’cold,” Cooper mumbles.

Whit’s weight shifts over him, their stomachs brushing. “Think you’ll survive?”

Cooper rolls his eyes. Whit’s gentle with him, both his finger exploring, and then the bigger, thicker press of his cock. Cooper can feel Whit’s hand against the back of his thighs, his ass, guiding himself in. Cooper bites at his lip.

“Got to,” Cooper says. He sounds like a gasping fish. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to make himself relax. “Someone needs to keep you in check.”

Whit’s nose presses against Cooper’s cheek. His hips rock and Cooper rests his palms on Whit’s waist. It feels crowded like this, Whit’s weight over him so close, the air of their room pressing warm against his skin, the narrowness of the twin bed. Whit’s hips flex again and Cooper takes a breath as Whit pushes into him.

“Is that what you think you’re doing?” Whit’s voice is even, but underneath there’s a breathiness to it.

His bandaged hand lies next to Cooper’s head, his weight on his forearm, and gentle fingers shift through Cooper’s hair, brushing it back from his face. Whit thrusts shallowly and Cooper winces, biting at the inside of his cheek. It feels so good. Whit inside of him, but that soft twine of long fingers through his hair too.

“Go slow,” Cooper says.

He wants to enjoy this. Blood rushes to his face. That’s more embarrassing than begging for rough, thoughtless sex. And isn’t this slower pace all the worse for the time it gives Cooper’s mind to catch up? The dresser Cooper can see over Whit’s shoulder with all the familiarity of their room, how the quilt bunches against Cooper’s bare back. A quick, hard fuck would be better. Easier, for sure, and especially so come tomorrow.

Whit sets his mouth against Cooper’s jaw and nods. His lips drag down Cooper’s chin, across his throat. It’s as foreign as having Whit’s mouth wrapped around his cock, the fact that he’s kissing Cooper’s neck so gently, not the harsh bite of teeth that Cooper might’ve expected.

But Whit’s body is something solid to hold on to, his skin soft and his muscles moving with slow, long thrusts. Cooper lets his eyes close, his head tipping to the side. Whit’s mouth finds the underside of his jaw, the line of tendon in his neck. That’s nice too, the stubble of Whit’s chin scratching over Cooper’s skin, the nip and swipe of tongue and teeth.

How long has it been since Cooper’s slept with someone he actually knows? A hell of a nice way to end a long day, Cooper thinks, relaxing into it. This could be all too easy to get used to. We shouldn’t, is what he should’ve said, but instead Cooper grips his bottom lip between his teeth and presses at the small of Whit’s back, tracing through the beads of sweat there and warm, tacky skin as Cooper urges him on.

“Yeah?” Whit asks. His tongue works behind Cooper’s ear. He shifts his weight to his elbows, space opening between the stick of skin on their chests. “Touch yourself.”

“Bossy,” Cooper says.

“Not that you listen.”

“No.” Cooper slides his hand down his stomach to grab himself. It’s humid between their bodies and he likes the flex of Whit’s abs against the back of his hand. “I don’t.”

Whit’s hips snap into him and Cooper hisses through his teeth.

“Sorry,” Whit says, his shoulders trembling.

Whit looks down between them, and Cooper’s cock pulses in the grip of his own fingers just from Whit watching. Cooper rubs his thumb through the bead of moisture on the tip of his cock, and there’s a soft, unfamiliar sound from the back of Whit’s throat.

“Don’t you dare fucking come,” Cooper says into Whit’s ear, all hot breath and his teeth scraping over the lobe. Whit’s breath hitches and Cooper bites harder.

Whit’s sharp inhale catches and he thrusts hard, his back tightening. Cooper digs his fingers into the dip of Whit’s spine and Whit does it again, his pace picking up.

“Good,” Cooper grunts.

Whit probably doesn’t need the encouragement. Insufferable, the guy is, and that’s without Cooper panting under him. But it’s good and Whit’s making a little, sharp noise with each thrust, his eyes closed now and his mouth lax.

“You better wait,” Cooper says. “I’m so fucking serious.”

“I’m sure”—Whit’s out of breath and he sucks down air—“I’m sure you—ah—are.”

Cooper lets his hand speed up. Whit’s forehead wrinkles and creases line the corner of his eyes. It hurts a little, that punishing pace Whit sets. And then Whit’s bending down and kissing him hard, Cooper’s lip caught between their teeth, foreheads knocking, and Whit’s gasping into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Whit groans and the weight of him shoves Cooper into the mattress, Whit’s hips pumping until he stills, shaking.

Cooper lets his eyebrows rise, his mouth touching the corner of Whit’s lips as he whispers, “It that the first time you ever swore? The second?”

“Shut up.” Whit’s back heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Cooper squirms under him, his skin flaring hot with Whit’s weight and the sweaty stick of him.

“Was that good?” Cooper asks. He squeezes himself. “I’m accepting compliments.”

“Of course you are.” Whit kisses him once, wet and messy.

Whit drops the condom on the floor before batting Cooper’s hand aside and tugging at Cooper’s cock. He sits back on his heels, Cooper’s legs still draped over his thighs, and oh, that’s a damn nice sight, Whit’s skin dewy with sweat, and Cooper’s cock in his hand, the head swallowed by Whit’s broad palm with each stroke.

Cooper licks at his lips, his hips lifting. “That the best you can do?”

Whit just jerks him all the faster, his forearm flexing. Heat builds in Cooper’s stomach, rolling over itself with each pass of Whit’s thumb over the tip of his cock, each squeeze of his fingers and twist of his wrist.

“Oh,” Cooper breathes, his head tipping back. He scrambles for purchase with his feet, but all he gets is Whit’s bandaged hand falling to his knee. Cooper presses his palm down on his own stomach. “Fuck, Whit…”

“Yes?” Whit asks, his voice low and deep and his eyes on Cooper. Oh shit, he’s going to just keep watching. Cooper scrambles, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets, pleasure pulsing hot in the base of his spine, gathering in his stomach as he squirms and Whit’s eyes are on him, heating his skin with each slow look over Cooper’s body.

Cooper comes like that, staring up at Whit, coating Whit’s fingers and his own stomach, and air caught deep in his lungs, pleasure like a hot knife cutting through him.

“I’m accepting compliments,” Whit says when Cooper’s eyes slide shut.

“Oh, I think I hate you.”

“As much as you hate getting out a new bottle of shampoo?” Whit asks.

Halfheartedly, skin buzzing and his hands heavy, Cooper tries to smack at Whit.

Whit just catches his hand and presses a kiss to his palm. Whit’s still kneeling. And Cooper’s bed is in a state. Whit’s going to stand up, Cooper’s sure. He even lifts Cooper’s leg and slings it to the side, but then Whit just settles on his hip, stretching out between Cooper and the wall.

It’s nice, not that Cooper’ll tell Whit that. All that naked skin pressed up against Cooper’s, the warmth of another body next to his. Cooper yawns. He’s going to fall asleep like this, even all gross and sticky, unless Whit moves. He doesn’t, and Cooper doesn’t move either, and when the sun rises, Cooper can’t pull the pillow over his head like he wants to ’cause Whit’s using the other half of it.

Outside, the rooster crows. They’re going to be late for milking. Whit’s foot lies crossed over Cooper’s ankle, his knee crooked over his thigh. He’s sleeping still, by the slow pace of his breath against Cooper’s shoulder. Work, Cooper thinks again. He needs to shower. But he lies there longer anyway, far longer than he should, studying the sunlight that glows over the ceiling and the warm hand lying over his stomach.