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Chapter Text

It all started with two dusty and sweaty men in the barn after a long, hot, frankly miserable afternoon. Dust floats in the air, gold and slow moving. A young filly, just started under saddle not a month ago, stand flinching from the bit today like it's woven with hot electrical wire ready to fry her brain. She's worn it dozens of times before, wore it yesterday, matter of fact, but today that bar of metal seemed to be on her shit list. Ethan is alone in the groom stall with her, trying to remain patient but very clearly frustrated. His hands stay steady, though his eyes speak words his mouth won't after tasting the family soap bar as a child.

Wade Ralston comes and leans on the wall so smug Ethan wanted to huff at him, but he also wanted money in his pocket, so he just took a breath and tried at the filly again. It helps Ethan none that the man ditched his shirt after sweating through it, tattoos dark and damp against his sun tanned skin, hat pulled low over those chocolate eyes. He was the picture of ease while Ethan started to tremble and internally call up Elmers to pick up this pile of lard that won't take the smooth bit he's got in his hands. He knows this horse, bred her himself, and he's starting to crack open Ethan too. Right now, both look so wired they could snap at the same time if something dropped on the rubber matted floors. 

"She ain't scared of the bit," Wade grumbled in that low voice he carried after a long day, it never carried any malice, not with Ethan. "She's feeling you, cowboy."

Ethan didn't even look at him, just exhaled sharp through his nose and tried again. His thumb brushed against the filly's lips, her response was a sharp lift of her head and a snort.  "I ain't-" Ethan started, then just stopped. He stepped back a foot, bridle in hand, arms stiff with the weight of not knowing what he should do next in order to not get himself hurt, or his ego. 

With a soft chuckle, Wade stepped in. Close. Not to the horse, but to the boy who'd argued with her. Close enough to crowd Ethan back until his spine touched warm wood walls behind him. Wade's hat came off in a swift motion, and before Ethan could utter a word, it was placed on his head. Just like that. A slow, lazy trade of breath and leather. 

"You get so wound up sometimes," Wade started. His hand found his groom's jaw, just there at the edge. Rough thumb brushing where tension always sat like a curb too high up, like a strap too tight. "Don't need to talk if you don't want to. Just show me what's got you so coiled." 

Ethan's throat bobbed. That horse in front of him snorted soft, just blowing air. Then she settled, like even she picked up that she should quiet down now.

Nobody moved, not until the automatic fly spray clicked on. Then Ethan shifted. 

The bigger hat sat low over the blonde boy's eyes, shading the flush near his cheekbones he always got hassled about at school. Wade didn't press, didn't rush him. Just stood right where he was, all heat and mindless patience Ethan could never understand. Like he knew Ethan would break the silence before too long. 

"She's not like the ones back home," Ethan muttered soft. Not looking at Wade, not even really talking to him, just admitting something out loud in hopes it'd help his case. "She's got opinions." 

Wade smiled with all his teeth, slow and warm like. "So do you. Just never hear any of 'em unless I've got you penned in." 

That earned the barn owner a sharp glance, but Ethan didn't push back. He just stood there with the bridle still looped on one arm and Wade so close he could smell nicotine and saw dust on him. 

"I don't know how to ask," Ethan spoke, real quiet. The mice in their hay stall strained to hear. "I don't know how to tell you what I need, Mr. Ralston." 

Wade's hand slid up the front of Ethan's shirt, right over his heart. That ranching calloused thumb moved real slow, back, then forth, across cotton. 

"Ain't no problem," Wade said. "You don't have to tell me nothin' you don't want to. Just feel it, let it show on ya somewhere. I'll listen, even if you ain't talking."

Ethan's throat worked, lashes fluttered. He didn't melt into it-he folded, like a rope tied so tight, it finally gave out. He didn't meet lips with Wade, didn't even grab on him anywhere. He just breathed in, breathed him in. The moment passed through his ribs like something of relief. 

The young mare he still held, as if in solidarity, dropped her head and puffed out a breath.

Wade grinned all toothy how he did. "Ya see? You ain't the only stubborn one in this stall today." 

Ethan huffed out a weak laugh, somewhere deep, it cracked into something more meaningful. "My dad used to say horses like this were for folks with too much time and not enough sense." 

Wade could only shrug, thumb still resting just under Ethan's dirt stained collar. "Then I'd say you've finally found the right damn horse. And maybe the right damn fool to stand beside ya with her. 

Ethan didn't speak, but his shoulders lowered a fraction, and that, for now, spoke volumes. 

***

The moment had slowed like the molasses Ethan sometimes snuck the young ones in bland feed after Wade's comment. For a breath, maybe too, Ethan let himself feel it all. The way Wade's hand pressed steady against his chest, the way the barn air smelled like summer and sawdust and nicotine Wade swore he didn't smoke. But comfort didn't come natural to him, not when it was about him. So, he cleared his throat and stepped back a half boot, just enough to feel the gap between large male bodies. 

"Yes, sir." Ethan spoke, soft and automatic, like he'd been programmed to say that when anyone spoke a word to him. The words rolled off his tongue the same way he'd hand a guest rider with painted nails and a big shiny stone on her finger a set of colored reins. Easy. Natural. Worked in. "Guess I'll try her again."

He turned toward the horse, movements polite and calm. Careful. Rehearsed. Not stiff, but stripped of soul, all the heart replaced by good manners. 

Wade didn't move right away, just watched the way Ethan smoothed his palm along the filly's neck like he was afraid he'd leave fingerprints. The way the boy spoke to her low, sweet, and lifeless, like a man doing chores instead of speaking close with a creature that could feel his heart through his hand. He fumbled with the bridle again until he got the bit to her lips, brushed it against her long whiskers. Immediately, she threw her head up in the air with a squeal that would've made Ethan's father whack her in the jaw with the metal. 

"Easy, momma," Ethan muttered. "Let's not make this an ordeal."

He held the bit like it might burn him. Or her. When she tossed her head a second time, he let go of the bridle and dropped the rope she was connected to. He stepped back, reached atop his head and took the hat off that had been mushed on there. He held it out, hair mussed and eyes so discouraged he looked like he'd pack up and go back to living with his daddy working dead broke animals with old ladies and rich newlyweds. 

"Here," Ethan murmured. "I'd guess you want this back."

Wade didn't take it. He did however learn that Ethan had picked up a pretty nasty habit. Couldn't have been from working here, no, this was something he'd picked up living with mommy and daddy too long. He figured out that if he didn't get something right one time, he'd gone and ruined it. Not around here, Wade would make a cowboy out of him if he had to start pulling teeth and rewiring this man like some kind of emotional electrician.

He didn't take the hat back, didn't even glance at it. Instead, he stepped forward again, just two fingers lifting the brim to look Ethan right in the eye. Right where he got fussy and uncomfortable. 

"You think I set that up 'ere so you could play cowboyin'?" Wade's voice was low, but steady as the beams the barn stood upon. "I gave that to you cause' it looks better on you than it ever did on me. Ain't no earning my hat, Ethan. Not with the kind of work you're thinking of." 

Ethan blinked, shoulders tighter now and square. "Just...figured I was done with it. I'm no use here if I can't bridle your horses."

Wade tipped the brim of his hat down on Ethan's brow, a slow, firm gesture. Almost reverent. 

"You keep that on. You'll try her again, but this time, not like you're talking up some banker's wife. Not like you're afraid of messin' up. Or else we ain't leaving this barn." He stepped in closer again, crowding Ethan back again slightly, voice quieter like he was sharing trade secrets. "She ain't here to laugh at you. Neither am I." 

Ethan swallowed. Hard. Real hard. Looked back at the filly, then down at the stitching in his boots. The old shame rose in his chest-how many times his father had snatched a lead rope from his hands, always grumbling about "soft boys" and "wasting time". 

"What if this screws her up? She's yours, I hate to-" He was cut off before he could even voice the kind of talk his father taught him how to speak when the gerbil in his brain got going too fast on its wheel. 

"Then I'll teach you how to fix it. They're all like sponges at this age, squeeze hard enough they'll forget, offer 'em something and they'll soak it right up."

This time, Ethan didn't say "yes sir." 

He just turned back to the horse, breathing through the fear and drilled in stress like it was something he could ride out. With Wade, maybe he could.

***

Ethan shifted his weight, fingers flexing once at his sides before he held up the bridle once again. No act this time, no smooth charm and practiced voice, no script. Just a soft breath, and this time, a softer approach. The filly's flicked. She didn't pin them, didn't bolt to strike him or throw that big fat donkey head she had up in the air. She just eyed him, her dark eyes flickering like she'd never seen this man before, like he'd just shown up. 

"C'mon, girl," Ethan murmured, thumb and forefinger gentle at her lips, wiggling and opening her whiskered lips to reveal her teeth. "I know this ain't fun for you, but we both gotta wear somethin' we don't like every now and then."

She resisted, the cow she was, chucked her head again and swished her tail like a teenage girl rolling her heavily mascaraed eyes. But then, his fingers slipped past her then closed lips and met teeth, then tongue. She let him slip the bit into her mouth and the browband over her big ears, not without snorting and making it harder on him. 

Ethan didn't exhale until it was done, until he'd fitted it all the way to her. She chomped once, tried to roll the middle, Wade had taken that bit away from her when she played so much she broke his nice one. Once she was done fussing, she dropped her head, bored and over her tantrum. 

"That's it," Ethan spoke, a smile gracing his face. "You little cow, you're alright." 

Behind him, Wade let out a low whistle, arms folded, leaning against the stall wall like he had all the time in the world to watch this man finally come into himself, grow out of the ugly shell his daddy forced him into. 

"What'd I tell you?" Wade snickered. "She was just waitin' on you to be honest. She don't like fake, she's a sensitive little bastard." 

Ethan turned toward his boss a little, not all the way. His cheeks were beet red, maybe from all the sun he'd been getting. Maybe not. 

"She don't know me, knows I feed her and that's all."

"She knows enough." Wade countered.

Wade moved closer again, hands sliding into his own back pockets like he wasn't too sure whether to stay hands off or pull Ethan to him right then and there. Oh boy was that tempting, but the boy needed some shoving, he didn't need to be smothered. Not yet.

"I reckon she saw a man shakin' in his boots and trying anyhow," Wade went on. "That's more honest than most folks who come look at her give. Hell, more than what most folks give anyone these days." 

Ethan let his fingers linger on the filly's jaw a hair longer before stepping back. He gravitated toward Wade, not too close, but nearer. 

"I wasn't trying to disappoint you," Ethan admitted, voice low like he was confessing. "It's not like with my dad, I don't think I'd see sunrise if you looked at me the way he used to."

Wade's jaw worked, not with a snicker, but with something heavier. He stepped forward then, for real this time, and set a hand gently against the back of Ethan's neck, pressing just hard enough to ground the man in front of him.

"You don't have to earn nothin' with me," Wade promised. "You already did, earned all I got to give, cowboy."

Ethan let his eyes close while Wade's did. Just for a second. The filly behind then gave a nice snort, spewing mucus across the wall. That was enough to send both boys into a fit of laughter so hard hats hit the floor.  

Chapter Text

Wade had the filly, who Ethan had just learned was called Panama, loping circles in the round pen while Ethan waited in the center, not sure what he should be doing but wanting to seem busy. The horse was nuts, going around loose, bucking and squealing like a fool. Ethan watched her and shook his head. What a donkey, not an ounce of self-respect, but he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was little, young, and dumb; he used to be that way. Still kind of is. 

"Alright, E, up you go." Wade said after Panama stopped running and started heaving, sides blowing out with breath and ears flicking around like she was buzzed at the world. Wade caught her up and stroked her sweaty neck. 

Ethan looked like he'd just been shot with one of the guns Wade kept for the coyotes, eyes wide and clutching his imaginary pearls when he realized Wade wasn't joking. Spurs hit him on the legs when Wade tossed them over; Ethan still froze. 

"Wade, sir, I've never really schooled one that doesn't know the basics," Ethan spoke, looking at Wade like he just socked him in the nuts. "Especially not one as young as she is." 

"As good a day to learn as any," Wade countered, nodding up at the mare and patting his leg for Ethan to set his upon his boss's knee. When he did, Wade buckled up the spurs on the boy and patted him on the ankle. "Now, do you want a leg or need me to find you a stool?" 

Ethan thought for a second, really just trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he wasn't getting out of this, even if he messed it all up. This was more about training the help than it was about the horse. Lucky Panama. 

"I can jump on her if she stands. I don't need a step." Ethan spoke, grabbing the reins in shaky hands and getting ready to hop up on the horse. She was huffing and blowing, kept flicking her ears back at him like she wasn't sure if she wanted his shaky body rattling up on her back. 

"Land easy on her; she ain’t used to bein’ plopped down on." 

Ethan did; he swung a leg over the filly's back with shaky—yet practiced—grace, lowering his hips down on her gently. His hands tightened around the reins he held. Tighter than he should've let them. I wasn't from fear, rather, just out of habit. Tight rein, tight jaw, still and sharp—that's how he knew how to ride the colts his dad sometimes made him lope on. 

Panama shifted beneath him, alert but not too bothered. She didn't know Ethan's father and didn't know what happened to the boy on her back when he slipped up in the presence of his old man. 

Wade leaned on the railing, arms folded softly, just observing. No correcting. No breathing down his neck. Boys like Ethan didn't learn that way. 

"Let her back settle, she'll walk it out," Wade told him, voice easy. "You two'll figure each other out better movin’ than standin’ still." 

Ethan nodded once and asked the horse beneath him to step out toward the wall at a walk. She did, hooves quiet on the sand beneath her feet, ears flicking all around to hear everything that went on around her. She wasn't so sure what to make of the weight on her back; Wade was heavier and looser, and Ethan kind of felt like a weird stick, so it was hard for her to walk freely in her body. She crow-hopped once, let out a pathetic little squeal, and then settled. Ethan stayed in the middle of her, grabbing the reins harshly when she got to jumping. Ethan then braced for what looked like some kind of beating; in reality, he was waiting for a command. A scolding, a harsh word, to be ripped off the horse and sent back to the barn to clean stalls. Nothing came, just a slight chuckle from Wade that was more soft than antagonizing. 

"She's just talkin’, you're alright. Her back is tight, just let her work it through." Wade spoke, sitting on a chair he'd set up in the center of the round pen and sipping a Coke. 

Ethan breathed, loosened the death grip he had on his reins and, in turn, her face. Let her walk on, this time she lengthened her stride. 

"I ain’t to that," Ethan said after a moment, not looking anywhere but between that filly's ears. "Not gettin’ my tail chewed every time one of these sparks up and starts arguin’."

Wade didn't answer that at first, just let the sound of steady hoofbeats fill the space between them. He didn't give Ethan an excuse to spook or an excuse to curl up.

"Oh, but that's the best part, a little attitude makes it all fun," Wade spoke eventually. "Means she's got somethin’ to tell you, good or dirty. Wouldn't you rather sit on one that speaks her mind than one dull as clay?"

Ethan smiled at that, just to himself. He liked horses that had personality. He didn't come by many with his dad.

"As long as I don't get thrown." Ethan spoke, spurring lightly at Panama's sides to coax her into a jog. With a swish of her tail, she moved on and went forward. Wade had her trained enough; she knew right from wrong. Ethan just had to hold her accountable. 

"Ah hell, even if you do eat dirt, that's part of it. I'll knock the sand off your panties if you're so concerned." Wade spoke, a chuckle in his voice. Ethan snickered too, shaking his head. Before he knew it, Panama had settled down and relaxed, just jogging both ways, then loping, a little tight. Wade had Ethan work her a long while, working a thick white foam into her coat until he'd seen enough of her; he liked the mare too much to work her hard enough to tie up her belly. 

It all ended with a tired stablehand and a puffing horse under him; both did a lot of learning.

***

Ethan unsaddled Panama by himself while Wade rolled up some polo wraps and put away some of the equipment he used today. Ethan worked slowly and carefully, unsaddling the filly like he was trying not to touch her wrong. She stamped the ground when he elbowed a girth sore she had—he apologized and rubbed her snout to make up for it. He treated her like she was human, like she'd hold a grudge. 

Wade brought over a bucket of grain to set by her stall and leaned against the wall, watching Ethan move like he wasn't in a hurry. Like he really trusted him.

"You know, I used to think I'd ruin every one of these animals I touched," Ethan spoke, not even sure where the words were coming from or why they were leaking out of his mouth like a busted pipe. "Dad told me if I didn't do it just right, I'd ruin 'em before they even got good. It got so bad I started thinkin’ my hands weren't shaped right. Stupid…" 

Wade didn't interrupt; he listened. He waited. 

"But she didn't break just then," Ethan added, softer now. "She just...kind of figured me out. While I did the same." 

Wade came up closer, close enough to grab a sponge while Ethan grabbed the hose to rinse her. 

"You didn't ruin her, and you won't ruin any of these, not even the best stock I've got," he said. "And it ain’t your damn hands that's the problem; it's what's between your ears. I've always had a knack for fixing that." 

Ethan looked up at that. Just looked up at him, and Wade stepped even closer to take off the hat Ethan had upon his head. Wade's dusty old crown of leather. It wasn't to end anything, just so he could see the man better. 

"I'm not your daddy, this ain’t his barn, and you ain’t trapped there anymore," Wade explained. "You're here."

"With me."

***

By the time Panama was back in her stall and cooled down enough to let her head down and dig into her dinner, Ethan was already fussing. He stood outside the gate, coiling her lead all nice, the way his father taught him—no, insisted he do. No slack, loops the same size, easy to pick up but neat enough to look purposefully organized. His hands worked quietly, quickly, and precisely. 

Wade watched from across the barn, rubbing a towel over a sweaty bridle he'd just taken off a yearling learning to hold a bit, not really cleaning anymore. Just watching. 

"Are you done?" Wade asked, not unkindly, but sharp around the edges like barbed wire. 

Ethan looked up, rope still in his hand. "Yeah."

Wade huffed and strode over to him, holding out a calloused hand. 

Ethan hesitated, confused, but eventually handed the rope over. Wade took it and tossed it to the ground, right near Panama's door. 

"Sloppy enough to make your old man sick, huh?"

Ethan blinked, perplexed and mildly thrown.

"The hell—?"

"That's what he'd tell you, right?" Wade snapped. "Too loose, too messy, too human." 

The barn got quiet, real quiet. 

"Mr. Ralston—"

"You ride like a ghost, Ethan, and live like one too," Wade spoke, not rude, but it had bite. It was supposed to. "You speak too damn softly, you smile when you get scared, and you treat every animal I give you like it'll tell on you." 

Ethan flinched like he'd been hit.

"I get it," Wade began, softer now. "I know you were trained to be that way. Taught that stillness was safety and obedience was law. But I'm getting real sick of watchin’ you pretend my barn is an extension of where I picked you up from."

He reached up then, slowly. His dusty hand cupped Ethan's jaw, not forcefully. Firm. 

"You're a good man, Ethan. Best man I've had here in a damn long time," Wade spoke, eyes not wavering as they looked deep into Ethan's blue ones. "But I don't care for the parts of you your daddy left behind. I want you, not the version you built to survive that bastard."

Ethan's breath shook in his chest. He relaxed into Wade's hand instead of tensing away, collecting his words in his throat before letting them spill.

"I don't know how to be anythin’ more." Ethan whispered, breath soft on Wade's lips and the heel of his hand.

Wade brushed the boy's cheekbones with his thumbs, sighing.

"Then you're damn lucky I've got patience for you."

They stood this way for a long time, dust hanging in the air between them. No sounds but the low breathing of horses surrounding them and the faraway flap of a tarp in the distance. 

Finally. When the sun had set just a bit more, Ethan moved. He stepped into Wade, forehead to broad shoulder, hands open at his sides. 

"I want to be real, I promise ya." Ethan said, his voice so soft Wade had to duck his head to hear it all. "I just…I don't know how. That life is all I know."

"Start here for me," Wade murmured, so low his voice got gravelly and scruffy. "Don't clean up after everyone. Don't wrap up all my tack just right. Don't rehearse the day. Just stay with me. Think you can handle that, cowboy?"

Ethan thought on it for just a second, then shifted his gaze upward to catch Wade's. 

"Yeah, I think I can."

***

The sun was sinking low now behind the far pasture line, throwing long shadows through the slats of the barn. That last colt, the one a client brought with no manners and a belly full of treats when it deserved to chew dust, had finally worked his energy down into something that could quit for the night. Not polite, but rideable. And Ethan, under Wade's eye, had handled the thing like a man who wasn't afraid to mess up. 

"He's going to be a pain, he'll test us for a while," Wade spoke as he uncinched the saddle and pulled it off the heaving, grumbling animal. "But you hardly flinched, atta boy." 

"Didn't feel like I had to," Ethan spoke, real quiet like he always did. "He's a baby. Don't mean nothin' by all his shenanigans."

Wade looked up like Ethan had just said something incredible. He had. That. That there had been what Wade wanted to hear. Not mimicry, not a memorized speech, just some real thought. Some real understanding of an animal that can't speak their language. 

They continued to untack in silence, both moving with the rhythm that only long days at the barn and too many hours too close together can teach. Tack hung up, sweat marks rinsed off, horses cool and hungry. Feed buckets clattered as young ones played with them, hoping for another helping. Ethan carried flakes of hay without watching his feet, without fearing who was watching. 

"You go feed the old girls outside," Wade spoke to him across the aisle. "I'll go toss the weanlings some hay so they quit banging on the gate like toddlers." 

Ethan nodded and walked off to the pasture by the front, a herd of brood mares and retired mares Wade just couldn't part with. Some horses you just have to keep until it's their time. 

The mares came up slow and easy, bumping his shoulders with soft noses and mouthing his shirt while he divided out portions for them. A pregnant bay mare nickered low at him and flapped her lips. Ethan chuckled at the animal. Just once, he didn't try to suppress it.

After all the piles were set out and the girls squealed and halfheartedly bickered over who got the pile they'd all decided was bigger, they settled into a soft rhythm of crunching and chewing while Ethan walked out the gate again and locked it back. 

As he walked back into the barn, boots scuffing concrete, the colt that they'd worked poked his big head out of his stall and snorted, seeing others get fed while he still had a full hay bag and grain spilling from his mouth.

"You've got your own, spoiled brat." Ethan muttered, tapping him on the nose gently and watching the horse move back in offense. 

Wade smiled at that, shaking his head. Maybe he'd cracked the man open a little bit, maybe he'd chipped at that exterior Ethan had built up so thick. 

They worked until the sun set under the horizon and the bulk of the light came from barn lights and the porch lights in the distance. Water buckets topped off, feed buckets empty, and all the latches shut. Ethan came back up to Wade when he was all done, no longer looking like he was waiting to be graded. He just looked ready to go home. 

***

They left the barn together like always. Wade was swinging a flashlight even though they really didn't need it to see clearly enough to get back to the house. Ethan carried nothing for once, just walked. The crickets were out, cicadas too. Ethan always loved to hear them sing when the sun went down. It smelled like dirt and hay and stale sweat, maybe there was some good in that. 

"Do you want first shower?" Wade asked as they neared the porch. He'd promised the boy housing when he came to work here, though Ethan didn't realize he'd be living with Wade until day one. It wasn't so bad, Ethan had warm and free meals, water, and a couch to sleep on. He wasn't picky. Any bed was good to him, anything he could lay his head on. 

"Nah," Ethan spoke. "I want to sit a minute."

Wade held the door open for him to come inside, and Ethan stepped through like the house wasn't someone else's anymore. The cat, Ethan's cat to be specific, was curled on the back of the couch, pissed as ever. He watched the two come in like a landlord. He was old enough to be one. 

Ethan didn't flinch when the animal hissed at him, just scratched behind his ears until he reluctantly purred. 

"I thought you said he'd have to stay in the barn." Ethan spoke, turning to Wade, who was already walking towards the restroom to wash up.

"He's loud when he's not where he wants to be, and he kept followin’ me," Wade replied, eyeing the cat like it had harmed him. "Much like you. Really is your cat." 

Ethan chuckled, soft and low, then cooed to the old bastard he called Charlie. 

Wade smiled to himself, then disappeared down the hallway. Ethan watched him go, then toed off his boots and sank into the couch, Charlie immediately claiming his lap. He draped a blanket over his shoulder and over his cat, flicking the TV on to find something to settle him for the night. Maybe an old western movie he'd watched as a kid, maybe some kind of crime documentary he used to scare his big brother with. Before he pressed play, he took a good look around the house he sat in, not polished or perfect, but it felt like home. More of a home than the place he was born in did. 

***

Ethan hardly moved until Wade came back, shirt gone to the hamper and sweatpants low on his hips like they'd seen a time where he had more weight on him, but stayed loyal. Ethan's body ached, but in that good, tired way. Used muscles, not punished ones. His shoulders had finally loosened where they always used to stay tight and rigid. The cat was curled across his chest like a stone that purred, all attitude and warm, not a care to his name. Ethan hadn't even minded when Charlie's claws came out to mush around and grab at his thighs through his jeans. He liked the weight. 

A soft clatter came from the kitchen—pans, spices, and the creak of a cabinet opening. Wade didn't announce what he was making and didn't ask Ethan what he wanted. He just cooked. Like it was second nature to him to feed someone in need of a meal. 

Ethan blinked slowly, watching the ceiling fan turn shadows on the wall while the TV showed the moving picture of an old cowboy galloping through a sandy desert. His body slipped and ended up horizontal with Charlie curled in the triangle his legs made. A blanket found its way to his waist, then it was dragged over him fully. Ethan didn't even remember moving the one he picked up when he first sat down. Wade's doing, he was sure of it. But he didn't fuss. 

"You fallin' asleep on me, greenhorn?" Wade's voice came from the kitchen, thick with teasing and syrupy with knowing. 

"No," Ethan lied, voice muffled in cat fur as Charlie came up higher to beg for more attention. "Just got to thinkin’." 

"Uh oh. That sounds dangerous. I don't care for when you think."

"Might be." Ethan chuckled, all sleepy-like. 

Wade snickered at that, then got back to work. The sound of onions hitting hot oil followed. Then garlic. Something was browning, possibly burning. Ethan couldn't figure out what, but it smelled like comfort. Like butter and salt and a good country meal Wade was always sure to make. He didn't make Ethan wash his hands before dinner, didn't make him stand behind his chair, and didn't make him wait to be invited to the table. He didn't have to say grace if he didn't want to, he didn't have to sit through prayer if God wasn't speaking to him that day. 

"Supper's done in ten," Wade announced, peeking into the living room to make sure Ethan was still awake. "Feed that mangy thing before it turns into some gremlin. I'm not looking to lose sleep over him yowling."

"Thought you said you hated him." Ethan said, eyes still half closed, Charlie rubbing his fluffy body on Ethan's cheeks. 

"I do," Wade spoke, sneering at the creature. "I hate him more when he's clawin’ the couch and my door lookin’ for a second helpin’." 

Ethan cracked a smile at that, not a performed one. Not a shield for something he didn't like, just something quiet and his. 

***

The table wasn't set fancy, just two bowls, forks missing tines, and a skillet on a knitted pot holder. Whatever Wade had come up with was golden-brown and rich, steam curling from thick sauce and meat over rice. One side had mushrooms, slimy and brown. The other didn't; Ethan didn't eat mushrooms. 

Ethan didn't wait to be told he could dig in. Didn't even wait for grace. He sat. He filled his plate. He ate. 

"You cook like you've been doing it forever." Ethan said, mouth half full of rice and sauce dripping down his bottom lip. 

"Got tired of gas station jerky and unanswered prayers. Not my style anymore." Wade said simply, forking at a mushroom to top a bite of meat. 

Ethan swallowed hard. Not from the heat Wade's food always carried, from the weight of being seen. 

"We always had to say one, at least one," he murmured. "Even if the food was cold. Even if I was the one that made it that night." 

He felt Wade's hand brush his on the table. No pressure. Just enough for him to feel it. 

"No prayers here," Wade spoke, as if he was setting it in stone. "Just supper."

And that was it, just supper. 

They both ate with their elbows on the table and their legs stretched out under it. The cat jumped up and tried to pick off of plates. Wade growled at him without much conviction. Ethan could've sworn he'd seen Wade slip a scrap of chicken under his chair for the creature he hated so much. Ethan wiped his mouth on a paper towel instead of folded linen, Wade used his wrist. Both went without shame. Both left their boots by the door. 

And when they were done, when plates were empty and the stove cooled, Wade leaned back in his chair and looked at the blonde across from him. 

"You look different."

Ethan blinked, sauce lingering on his chin. "How so?"

"Like a man who figured out his place. Found a place for himself, not one he's borrowing anymore."

Ethan didn't answer, just shrugged and leaned the wooden chair backwards.

He didn't have to say a word to be understood under this roof. 

Chapter Text

The bathroom light spilled soft and faintly yellow across the hall, the sound of running water grounding the silence of the night. Wade stood at the sink, sweats somehow even lower on his narrow hips, brushing his teeth with one hand and steadying himself with the other. The mirror was foggy from Ethan's earlier shower, and it smelled faintly of cedar soap and the lingering odor horses left on tired men.

Ethan lingered in the doorway, blonde curls still damp, bare feet ghosting over a worn rug so the tile didn't chill them. He looked half out of place, half at home. The kind of in between that had started to feel familiar to him. 

"You gonna brush your teeth or just watch me like a creep?" Wade asked, words muffled as he grinned around his foamy toothbrush.

"Think I like what I'm lookin' at." Ethan muttered, but best believe Wade caught every word. 

That earned him a smirk and a bump of his shoulder when they finally came close enough. They brushed side by side, spitting and rinsing and bumping elbows like they'd done this a thousand times over. The rhythm was domestic, tender. Easy. It made Ethan's chest ache in the best kind of way. 

"You gon' leave that cat in the kitchen again?" Wade asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. 

"No, can't," Ethan replied, drying his hands on a soft sleep shirt he wore. "He'll just scream, gets cold."

Wade laughed-really laughed hard- and reached over to ruffle the damp blonde curls on Ethan's head like he was no longer a guest. Like he belonged now. Like it didn't matter that one of them had a battlefield behind his eyes and the other had years of silence caked thick under his skin. 

"Night, cowboy." Wade said softly, brushing past the blonde toward the bedroom. Ethan followed, slower. He stopped at the threshold, watching Wade settle into bed with a groan and a creak of muscles. The lamp light bent over his bare shoulders, the gleam making his skin look golden before he shut it off. 

"Don't stay up too late, I wanna catch those weanlings to worm 'em in the morning." Wade grumbled, already half asleep. 

Ethan nodded, though Wade wouldn't see it. "Yeah. Night." 

The couch waited for him in the living room-the soft, sagging thing smelled faintly of spilled coffee, liquor, and cat hair. He grabbed the spare blanket off the floor where it lay from his doze before dinner and sat down. He rubbed his jaw, staring at the sliver of light he could see under Wade's bedroom door, the man probably lost something and flicked the lamp on again to find it. 

The house was quiet. Much too quiet. 

Ethan lay stiff on the couch like he did every night, one arm under his head and the other draped over his stomach. The clock ticked in the kitchen, slow and uneven. Every now and again, Charlie would hop up on the couch and get comfortable, then jump off to run around or play with something on the table. Ethan reached out to him, finding proof of light in the dark. He stared at the ceiling, then toward the bedroom door, then back again. A thousand thoughts passed in his mind, none of them were worthy of the Lord hearing. Or his dad. 

His father's voice came sharp and slicing through his consciousness.

"You better not turn out soft, ya hear?"

"You're not gonna end up one of those sissy boys."

"You seen the way she looked atcha? That one's got great hips for grandbabies. Why don't you call her back?"

Ethan's phone still had unread messages from today, last week, some he just deleted and decided he didn't want to think about. Pictures followed those messages. A couple videos. There was one from just yesterday, his dad filming a girl he hired tossing hay bales. It read, "This one don't mind dirt. She's tough, you'd like her." 

Ethan had tossed his phone in the grain bucket after he saw that, didn't pick it up until he had to feed again. He hadn't answered, didn't plan to. 

That didn't stop the fear. It wasn't real fear, the kind that crept into his bones and whispered that if his father ever knew where his heart leaned, ever learned what got him going, he'd find a way to break it out of him. Ethan swallowed hard, a metallic taste sitting in his mouth like old blood. 

From down the hall came a soft creak of the bed. Wade's voice, heavy and rough with sleep, carried through the still closed door. 

"I can hear you thinkin' and keepin' yourself up, bud." 

Ethan froze, stiffened like a rat did after Charlie near tortured it. "Sorry, I'm settled now."

"Need another blanket?"

"No, I'm good."

A pause, then a more quiet tone from Wade. "Alright then. Night, Ethan."

The silence returned, but it wasn't so heavy now. Ethan watched the ceiling fan spin and spin, jaw tight. He could almost feel the weight of Wade's gaze, even after he'd gone still, like a hand steady on his shoulder. Like a grounding reminder; I'm right here, cowboy.

Ethan almost hated that it worked. Because kindness like that is the sharpest kind of weapon when you'd been raised on cruelty. He didn't deserve it. Couldn't keep it. And yet...

He rolled onto his side, eyes catching that faint sliver of light under the door again.

The ache in his chest didn't leave.

But it quieted. And that was good enough for today. 

***

The air inside the small house was still warm from sleep, faint light beginning to seep through the curtains. The quiet before dawn was a rare kind, the kind that made Ethan feel like the rest of the world had paused just for them two. 

Wade was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull up his boots. His shirt hung loose and half buttoned, his hair a complete mess. The room smelled faintly of coffee he'd gotten up to warm earlier. 

Ethan stirred on the couch in the next room, blinking up at the ceiling. He hadn't slept real deeply, he never really did. He couldn't when the mornings came too early, when the air felt heavy with all the things left unsaid. 

"Someone's up early." Wade called out from the doorway, giving the tired man a once over and smiling to himself. Ethan woke up looking like a little kid, a total mess and confused out of his mind. Wade ate it up.

"Couldn't sleep," Ethan mumbled, voice low and groggy. He pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't, you know I wake early." Wade spoke as he moved closer, stretching so high his shirt came untucked. His eyes were bleary, but coffee often fixed that. "Figured I'd get started on feed early so we can sweet talk the little ones." 

Ethan nodded. He didn't move to stand yet, just watched Wade's silhouette shift in the half lit hall. There was something grounding about it, someone who just was. Steady. Unbothered. Not pushing for more than Ethan could give this early. 

While Wade poured himself a mug of steaming liquid energy, he turned to his guest. "You need coffee?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Wade turned around and fished for his other mug, the one without the chip Ethan had cut his lip on once. The sound of mugs and the clink of a spoon filled the sleepy silence. For a moment, Ethan let himself breathe and wake up, the way he couldn't at home, or around anyone else but Wade. Here, nobody asked him to speak if he didn't feel like it. No one asked why he flinched sometimes, or why he never stayed long in one spot. 

Wade returned and handed him a mug, fingers brushing his longer than they needed to. It was gentle, almost apologetic. 

"Careful, still warm."

"Appreciate it." Ethan muttered, eyes on the cup as he brought it to his lips. 

They sat in quiet for a while, Wade slipping onto the cushion next to Ethan without any fuss, still giving Ethan some room if he wanted it. The air between them was comfortable, not careless. It felt like both of them knew where they were at, in more ways than one. Then Ethan's phone rang.

Ethan almost dropped his cup, Wade made a move to catch it in case Ethan jolted so hard it ended up on the wood floors. The sound cut the boy like a blade.

Ethan reached for the device, knowing who it was without needing to see the name. Still, he went pale reading it. 

Dad

Wade's gaze flicked up, he set his mug down. "You can let that go to voicemail." Wade never took calls before nine in the morning, let him wake up and get working first.

Ethan shook his head quick, like he couldn't even consider that. "No, better not." 

He stood and turned slightly away, answering the call with a smaller voice than he normally carried. "Hello?"

"You still sleepin'? Sun's been up. I've got some gals comin' by with their girls later this afternoon. Thought we'd run 'em around the arena, show 'em a good time. You remember how we do it."

"Yes sir," Ethan spoke quietly, too quiet. "I remember."

"Thought maybe you could bring that buddy you're workin' for now. The big one, Wade, ain't it? Looks like he knows what he's doing. Be nice to have man on the ground who knows not to scare easy." The old man spat, his voice muffled by the toothpick he always held in his mouth. That, or a cigarette. 

Ethan's stomach turned. His eyes flicked to Wade, who was watching the morning news quietly play on the TV while he nursed his coffee. He gave Ethan space he didn't ask for, but knew he needed. 

"I'll come," Ethan said quickly. "But not Wade, he's-uh- he's got a lot goin' on here."

There was a pause, one that made Ethan's soul shake. Then that familiar, cutting chuckle. It wasn't kind like Wade's, quite the opposite. 

"He got a mouth? He talk for himself? Be here before noon, and wear somethin' nicer than you think. Don't roll up lookin' like you just crawled out the covers." 

The line went dead.

Ethan lowered the phone slowly. The quiet returned, though it held a much heavier weight. 

Wade looked at him for a long moment. Then asked, "All good?"

"Yeah," Ethan lied. "Dad just wants some help...he's runnin' some lessons for the kids."

"He ask for me?" Wade's tone was even, firm, but his eyes weren't. 

Ethan hesitated, just for a second. "Nah, not really."

Wade nodded once, as if that was all he could say. He didn't press, didn't prod. He just leaned back in his chair, the faintest sigh slipping through his nose. 

The silence between them stretched, gentle, yet uneasy. 

Ethan's hands tightened around his mug how they'd tighten around reins when he got nervous. Maybe that would keep the warmth from leaving him. 

Outside, the Texas sun was starting to beat down on everything it could find.

Wade finally broke the silence. 

"Sun's coming up hard. You should eat before you go, scrawny thing." 

Ethan huffed a small laugh under his breath, then nodded. "Yeah. I can do that."

He didn't move right away, though. Just sat there a second, watching the light climb up the windowpane Wade sat closest to. He felt something in him pull taut, then fall slack again. 

That fragile comfort he'd just started to understand, the kind that came from being seen, but not grabbed at, was already slipping. 

***

That barn hadn't changed a lick.  Same rust stained stall latches, same drooping hay nets, same old plastic mounting block sitting crooked by the arena fence. The smell hit Ethan first, so familiar it sent a shiver down his spine. Leather, sweat, old feed, and full muck buckets. It clawed its way down his spine like a memory with teeth. 

Wade drove. Not because Ethan asked, because when the keys were in his hands after feeding was done and his hands were shaking just enough to make the loop of his belt go crooked, Wade snatched them right back. No comment, no questions. Just a, "Let's go, cowboy." 

They didn't ride in silence, but it was quieter than normal. Wade let Ethan play whatever channel he wanted on the radio, no arguments, even if he always chose the channel that played Dolly Parton 24/7. He could bitch and moan about it later, so long as Ethan was happy and not shaking so hard his boots rattled. He'd changed his shirt, which was a miracle considering Wade had about three looks to his wardrobe. Something cleaner and nicer, like he had a rich client coming to see a horse Wade had been schooling. He passed Ethan a few cinnamon Altoids, he'd gotten the boy attached to the same things just like he had become. The rest of the ride to the place was pretty quiet, save for Ethan humming along with Dolly and chewing a mint. He didn't ask if Ethan wanted him to come with him. He knew he didn't. But it wasn't about what Ethan wanted, it was about what he needed to stay on his feet. 

Today, Ethan's wants were not concerning to Wade, his needs were. 

The moment they pulled into the gravel lot, Ethan's stomach curled in. There, leaning against the arena rail like he never left it, was Jim Reyes. One hand shaded his brow from the sun while the other holding a toothpick he'd chewed down. Already scowling. 

Wade cut the engine.

"You gon' be okay?" 

Ethan nodded without looking up. "Don't lie to him. If he asks, just say you came. That's it." 

Wade gave a soft grunt that almost sounded like a laugh. "I'm not scared of your daddy, E."

Ethan took a sharp breath. "Yeah, well...maybe I still am."

Wade didn't reply. He just got out. Ethan followed close behind. 

They were halfway across the lot when the man's voice boomed across the dry air. "Well look who dragged himself in. Though you said you were comin' alone."

Ethan flinched. "Plans changed," he muttered. 

His father's eyes narrowed as they slid to Wade. "Ethan told me you have somethin' goin' on at home. Makes me wonder how you ended up here."

"I finished early." Wade spoke, stepping up closer to the man. Not threatening, just calm. Assertive. 

Jim gave a low scoff and shook his head. "My boy can't even tell the truth these days. I raised you better than that, Ethan James." He spoke the last through locked teeth, side eyeing his son.

Ethan's face burned. He couldn't look at Wade. Couldn't look at his father. 

"I didn't lie," Ethan said weakly. "I just-didn't know." His voice was weak and small, nothing like how he spoke to Wade.

"Didn't know if he had balls enough to come, you mean?"

That stopped the air. Silence followed so sharp Ethan thought he might start sniffling. 

Wade sucked his teeth and shifted his weight, didn't take the bait the old man had set out for him. He smiled, real low and slow, then looked out at the line of tired lesson horses tied in the sun.

"These your mounts?" he asked casually, stepping up to a particularly dull and beaten in animal. It had about as much personality as a Trojan wrapper. 

The grey haired git frowned. "Yes, money makers they are."

"Bunch of ol' nags," Wade muttered, half under his breath, but it was loud enough. He ran a hand over the animal's shoulder and neck, a soft muzzle met his arm in search of a treat. "Still got one with a gait left in her?" 

The insult wasn't really an insult. It was a fact. The horses were stiff, slow, just calm enough for beginner kids who didn't know the reins from the lead line. 

Still, Ethan's father bristled. "Those horses know more than most men I've met." The scowl on his face was enough to make Ethan tuck himself behind Wade. 

Wade shrugged, "Maybe they'll teach me somethin' then."

Ethan watched, stunned, as the two men locked eyes. Then the moment passed. Like thunder that didn't quite break to anything more. His father turned away first, calling for one of the stable hands to start tacking up the near lifeless animals. 

They were in, they were there. But Ethan felt like he was still holding his breath. Wade reached over and gave his wrist a soft squeeze when nobody was looking.

"You don't have to prove nothing," he murmured, just soft enough for Ethan. "Not to him, not to me. Just finish the day."

Ethan didn't answer. But he also didn't let go of Wade's hand. 

***

It didn't take long. 

The moment the first white SUV pulled up and the sun caught the edge of a rhinestone belt buckle, Ethan stopped being the man Wade had come to know. 

He tipped his hat, broken in leather too loose on Ethans curls. He had gotten used to wearing Wade's, but for today, he had to carry his own. His shoulders were pulled back like he was standing for inspection like a showmanship horse. His boots scuffed just right, but his voice disappeared somewhere deep in his throat. He looked like Ethan, smelled like leather and cedar wood soap and fly spray, but that wasn't Ethan. 

Wade had watched horses do the same thing. Switch off. Go still. Shut down. 

The ladies spilled out of the cars, all perfume and matching sets that were a size too small for them. Big sunglasses, bigger breasts, false lashes, boots with fresh new tags tucked inside. Their spawn followed like ducklings, a few hung back like they'd never seen dirt. One clutched a Starbucks cup with more whipped cream than coffee. Wade wanted to snarl and bark at them already, but he took a big breath and just watched.

"Oh my days, look at the little white one! Is she, like, friendly?" The woman's voice was so high it felt like a dog whistle.

Ethan was already walking, moving like a machine, a robot.

"That's Honey. She's near broke enough to ride backward through a thunderstorm."

Both adults and children giggled at that. 

One of the older ones with white leather boots batted her fake lashes at him, stepping up like some kind of cat while Ethan stroked Honey's shoulder.

"Well, aren't you just country sweet. Where'd they find you?"

His father answered for him before he could even open his mouth.

"That's my boy, Ms. Stetson. Raised here, good with the horses. Better with ladies."

Ethan didn't flinch. He rubbed Honey's withers how she liked and slipped her a sugar cube from his coat pocket he wasn't supposed to have. Fly spray followed, the sweet smelling kind Ethan liked because it didn't make horses oily. He'd already gotten Wade to switch all his out. It was the kind that made horses sigh in relief and men like Jim wrinkle their noses. 

"I told you to quit using that crap."

"Keeps 'em happy." Ethan spoke, though he stopped spraying. 

"Ain't about happy. It's about presentable. Now quit that." 

Wade didn't move from his spot against a hay bale. He hadn't said a word since they arrived, just watched. Not judging. Hardly shocked. He wanted to bite the heads off these feral little rugrats and kick their mother's where they'd never forget. 

While Ethan stuck some boots on another horse, a woman, maybe mid thirties and absolutely bored out of her mind, made her way up to Ethan with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"So, cowboy, you single? Or has another bell picked you up?" 

Ethan's jaw worked, he curled in on himself.

Jim laughed like it was a punchline to a prime joke. "He is. Just don't ask him to dance. He gets real shy." 

"Oh come on now," the woman purred, stepping closer and brushing his arm. Her breasts rested against his chest, clearly plastic, clearly there. "We're doing a barbecue later. Maybe you come by, show me how to two-step? I'm a real fast learner." 

Ethan's mouth opened, then closed. His hand tightened around the horse's leg as he secured a boot. "I-I got plans," he lied. "Already promised someone I'd help out at their place." 

"Maybe next time then." The woman spoke with a smirk, though her tone dripped with disinterest now. Jim rolled his eyes and muttered something about him being "picky like his mama."

That one stung like a lash from a crop. 

Ethan's ears burned. His eyes-only for a moment- flicked toward Wade. He was leaning on a fence rail now, arms folded. His jaw was tight, but his expression was soft. Still there, still looking like he hadn't vanished. Ethan's chest ached.

He wasn't looking for rescue. But God, he wanted it. 

***

Ethan found himself giving a lead line lesson to the little kids while Wade walked next to a couple of the ladies while they talked and sat heavy on two mounts. He figured out that if he just put a carrot in his back pocket, the animals would just follow him lazily so he didn't have to look back at the pompous women. Ethan instructed little kids who talked back and groaned when the horses didn't listen, it was like herding cats. 

By the time everyone was done and gone, not even staying to rinse off their mounts and reward them with treats, all the horses were tied up and the dust in the used arena had settled. Ethan had ducked into the shade of an empty stall, just for a second. Just to breathe. He leaned against the wall, hat tipped low, thumb digging into the center of his palm. 

Wade found him there.

He didn't say anything, just stood across from him, the silence too full and too loud all at once. 

"I hate it here," Ethan whispered, voice broken. "I hate the way he talks to me. I hate that I let him do it." 

Wade let him process that. Then spoke.

"You were just surviving, cowboy." 

Ethan looked up, eyes sharp, tired. "Is that what it looked like to you?"

"No," Wade spoke. "That there looked like drowning."

Ethan swallowed hard. "I didn't mean for you to come."

"I know. That's why I came." He stepped forward, reached gently, took hold of Ethan's hand and made him stop stabbing his thumbnail into the flesh of his palm. 

"Let me take you home."

Ethan didn't answer. But he found himself loaded into the passenger side of Wade's truck. 

Chapter Text

Neither man spoke much on the drive home. Ethan kept the passenger window down, fingers drumming absently against the doorframe. The breeze stirred up his curls, but it didn't reach the tight line of his shoulders. Wade didn't push. Just drove. Let Ethan think. When they pulled in, the sun was low and golden, casting shadows across the pasture. The breeze smelled of hay and something sweet-maybe early apples, or just the promise of quiet. 

Wade shut off the truck. He didn't move just yet. 

"You wanna tack up? Take some nice ones out?" 

Ethan blinked. "Now? It's almost dark, Wade." 

"Perfect," Wade spoke, opening his door as to end the debate. "Better do it before you start thinkin' too much."

It wasn't a dare. It wasn't even a suggestion. It was a lifeline. 

Ethan's lips twitched when his boots hit the ground, just barely. "Can I have Rosie?"

Wade shrugged and smiled, locking his truck back and turning around to find Ethan.

"Sure, I'll take Clyde. Rosie misses you when you get stuck in your own head." Wade spoke, heading off to grab the old gelding he used for client kids to show. 

They saddled without words, just the soft clink of tack and the quiet comfort of muscle memory guiding them. Rosie mouthed Ethan's sleeve when he cinched her girth; Clyde nearly took Wade's eye out when he swished his tail. 

They mounted together and rode out towards the pasture after Ethan fussed with bridles and making sure he didn't pinch Rosie anywhere in her mouth. They rode out past the main paddocks, past the feed shed and the tractor house. Right into the wide open cattle field filled with calves of all shapes and sizes. The field itself stretched on for miles, like a lazy quilt spotted with cattle and wild flowers. 

No clients. No Jim. Just the sound of hooves in the grass and the rhythm of breath from both man and horse. 

They didn't talk for a while. Just ambled. 

Wade let Clyde wander a bit, pull a few leaves off some trees to chew. His ears flicked at every rustle in the trees. Rosie moved like she knew this was a gift, slow and steady. Her hooves thudded against the familiar soil and she bent to grab a patch of clover when they passed over it. 

Wade broke the silence. "She's still got her spark, don't she?" 

Ethan grinned, "She's got more go than any of the girls from today, if that says anything." 

Wade laughed at that, warm and real. "Yeah, and a better sense of personal space too."

That broke the ice. 

Soon they were laughing at Clyde trying to grab entire branches from trees without stopping his feet, Rosie's startled half rear when a rabbit bolted from a bush she nosed at, and the way Wade nearly dropped his apple trying to show off and ride one handed. 

Ethan was flushed, bright from the wind and from something else-something freer.

"You're gonna choke, ya prick," he called as Wade stuffed more apple into his mouth while trying not to lose his reins. 

"I'd die happy." Wade spoke through a mouthful. 

They stopped near the old apple tree on the edge of the field, where a few branches bent low enough to easily reach. Ethan stood up in his stirrups and plucked one for Rosie, then one for himself. 

Wade watched him, quiet for a beat.

"You always get soft when you're out here?"

Ethan turned, still smiling like a little kid. "Only when no one's watchin'."

Wade rode up alongside him, took the apple Ethan held out to him and leaned in a little too close to take it with his mouth instead of his hand. Their lips didn't touch, but Wade's brushed up against Ethan's fingertips. He let it happen and turned scarlet after it did. 

The space between them was so small Ethan could feel Wade's breath. Wade chewed slow, deliberate, before finally speaking. 

"Too bad I'm always watchin', huh?"

Ethan flushed. Looked down at Rosie. But he didn't move.

Wade gently reached out and switched their hats, Wade's sitting loose over Ethan's curls while Ethan's hugged Wade's head. He tugged his low over Ethan's eyes in a lazy, intimate motion. 

"You look better in it than I do, greenhorn." 

"You look better when you let me have it."

Ethan exhaled then, not because he was upset. Because he wasn't.

***

They found a small patch of shade near the shallow bend in the creek. The horses nosed the grass and sipped from the water's edge, content. Ethan always had this fascination with how horses drink, liked the little sucky noises they made and the way you could see water travel all the way down their throat if you looked real hard. 

Ethan sat with his boots half in the water, arms loose over his knees. Nobody told him he'd ruin his leather. Nobody told him he'd be buying new ones if he kept that up. He was just allowed to sit. Wade sat up next to him after both horses were tied to the branch of an old apple tree, happy to sip at the stream and graze around themselves. Wade was quiet, a steady presence. 

Eventually, Ethan spoke, voice softer than it had been all day. Not meek, not small, just soft. 

"He makes me feel like I'm ten years old again. Like if I mess up, I don't just disappoint him. I prove him right." 

Wade leaned back on his palms, gazing up at what Ethan thought was the sky, but his eyes always flicked to Ethan's face when the boy wasn't looking. "Maybe it's time we stop trying to make him wrong."

Ethan looked over, perplexed. 

"What's that supposed to mean, Wade?" 

Wade's voice stayed low. Careful. A steady noise.

"Means you get to live how you want to. Not in reaction to him. Not in fear of becoming him. Just live. Right here." 

Ethan was quiet for a while after that. Then he reached out, fingertips brushing Wade's hand. Wade let him. He turned his palm upwards, let Ethan thread their fingers together, slow and shy.

It wasn't a declaration. It was a decision. 

They stayed that way until the last of the sun soaked the grass in amber, shadows stretching long across the open field. the kind of light that makes everything feel a little easier, slower. Like the world's holding its breath. Their interlaced fingers rested between them on the creek bank. Ethan hadn't moved an inch since he touched Wade, like any shift might scare the moment away.

When he looked over, Wade was already watching him. It wasn't expectant, not smug. Just there. Settled like a mountain and just as unshakable. The kind of presence Ethan craved. 

"You okay?" Wade asked, voice low and close. So close his breath came warm against Ethan's face.

Ethan didn't answer right away. His thumb brushed against the inside of Wade's wrists, slow, like he was trying to memorize his pulse there. 

"I don't want to go back." 

Wade cocked his head. "To the ranch?"

"No." Ethan said, real quiet. "To the part of me that fits in there. The yes-sir, the no trouble, the tip my hat and marry some girl he approves of that'll give good babies. I thought it was easier that way. But then you came in and..." He trailed off, didn't need to finish. 

Wade leaned in, the brim of Ethan's stolen hat brushing against his own. Noses brushing against each other, Ethan's cold and pink while Wade's was comfortably warm. "I'm not asking for easy."

"I know it."

"And I won't ask for his permission either." 

Ethan met his eyes, but this time, he didn't look away. Didn't waver, didn't get shy, he kept his blues pointed directly into the amber of Wade's. 

He didn't check if someone might see. Didn't crack a half hearted joke or slip away awkwardly. He just nodded, just once. The kind of nod that meant yes in every language that mattered. In any context it needed to. 

Wade saw that as his permission, not from Jim Reyes, from Ethan. Their lips met when Wade inched just a breath closer, both chapped but warm. Ethan didn't pull back, he let his body guide him, right into the arms of the man that was willing to hold him. Their mouths moved soft, not breaching tongues or teeth, Wade didn't want this moment to push any further than that for now. It wasn't rushed or rough. It didn't need to prove anything, not to anyone here. It was just mouths meeting like they'd been waiting centuries for a chance to slow down and feel something right. Something familiar, yet so incredibly foreign. 

Ethan inhaled against him, stealing the breath Wade was breathing. It was shaky, but not the scared kind. Wade caught the back of his neck with his hand, held him close. Ethan leaned in further like he'd never belonged in a place better. Because he did belong here. Because nothing about this felt like hiding away. Wade got a little firmer when he nipped Ethan's bottom lip with his teeth, just a little tug. Ethan returned the favor and sucked at the place his teeth had grazed. He wasn't a great kisser, if this wasn't his first one, it must've been his second. Wade couldn't have cared less, he could fix the boy's lips easy. It was fixing his head that would make him work. Though, that was going pretty good as of now. 

They pulled apart, barely enough for them to take proper breaths. Ethan exhaled with what sounded like relief, blinking at the man in front of him and trying not to grin like an idiot. Wade flopped down beside him in the grass on his back, one hand behind his head and the other still clutched in Ethan's 

"That felt like somethin'."

Ethan snorted, swatting the taller man on his broad shoulder. "I'd sure hope so. Otherwise I'm more broken than I thought."

Wade looked over at the blonde, that half crooked smile on his face. "You ain't broken."

"Yeah?" Ethan asked. "What am I then?"

Wade didn't hesitate, just said it straight. Or really, not straight at all.

"Mine."

The word hung in the air like thunder. Powerful, in so many ways. 

Ethan swallowed hard. His free hand went up to brush the rim of the hat still sitting on his head. Wade's hat. 

"Alright," he spoke, barely above a whisper. 

"Alright?"

"Yeah, I'm yours." He paused after that, words tumbling out of his mouth without him being able to check them first. 

"I'm yours as long as you don't make me start dressin' fresh for ya and wearing my dad's cologne he gave me." 

Wade laughed, a real laugh, sharp and sweet. He rolled over on his side and nudged Ethan with his boot. 

"No promises, cowboy. I'd get a kick out of seeing you all dressed up." 

They stayed like that for a long while, touching each other in little ways like they couldn't stand to not feel the other. A nudge of a boot, shoulders brushing, hands adjusting their hold on the other's fingers. Wade's thumb moved to rub slow circles on Ethan's wrist, then higher, slowly. Each rotation asked for a little more permission Ethan was eager to give. Ethan didn't pull away, not once. He watched Wade's hand move, watched how gentle a man like him could be, and felt something in his chest uncoil. Something that hadn't in years. 

Wade shifted even closer, close enough for Ethan to feel the warmth emitting off of his body in the cooling air. "You don't gotta know everything tonight," he spoke. "Don't even have to do nothin' else. We can just sit here, or go home. It's your call."

Ethan's answer came out like a confession. "I want to know. I wanna know it all." 

Wade smirked, but under that expression lay something much kinder and softer. His eyes flicked to the blonde's, looking him over. "Then we go slow. You tell me what's too much, yeah?" 

Ethan nodded again, this time not from nerves. From trust. He reached up first, fingertips brushing the edge of Wade's jaw, tracing the rough stubble like he was making sure the man was real. Wade's eyes closed at the touch, his breathing coming out heavier, more real. 

Wade leaned in, not to claim, not to push, to meet Ethan where he was. His hand came up to the side of the blonde's neck, fingers curling in his sweaty strands, grounding the two of them as their lips found each other again. This time it was more hungry, starved. Wade set the pace, Ethan followed. He tasted nicotine and cinnamon on Wade's lips, liquor and smoke on his tongue. Wade couldn't tell what Ethan tasted like, maybe sweet tea and loose sugar, he didn't care. He wanted him, he wanted to know every part of him, every dip and fold and curve, wherever it sat. Ethan was the one to pull off, Wade chasing his lips until all that connected them was a string of saliva Wade broke with his finger. He needed to catch his breath, the feeling swirling in his stomach and below his belt buckle was distracting him. Wade could see it, feel it, he was experiencing a similar sensation. He let Ethan catch his breath while he pulled him closer by the hips and got them both up to their knees, Ethan let a groan escape his throat he didn't even know was there. 

With his forehead leaning down on Wade's again, Ethan breathed him in and opened his mouth. "Don't take me home yet." It was whispered, like he didn't fully know if he was allowed to say it.

Wade smiled, small and unguarded. "Wasn't plannin' on it, cowboy."

***

Wade was a patient man for Ethan, more patient than he'd ever been for anyone else. He'd had past lovers, quick nights with men who saw more bare bodies a day than Wade saw horses, he'd never had the pleasure of showing someone how to feel. Now he did, Ethan had hardly pleasured himself before, let alone been with someone else. He'd been untouched by the world's roughness, and Wade felt the weight of that. As much as Wade wanted to rip the man's clothes off and show him a time, that wasn't going to be the right way with Ethan, he'd frighten that way. So Wade went slow, but with purpose. Ethan fell back against the soft grass, looking up at Wade hovering over him. Wade didn't have him pinned, just had him settled. 

"I ain't never... with nobody." Ethan confessed, voice trembling with nerves. "I don't even know where I start, what happens when-."

"I'll show ya, sex ain't rocket science. You start by not thinkin' so hard." Wade spoke, leaning down slow enough for Ethan to breathe in his presence. to pop the buttons on Ethan's shirt, sucking a mark on his collarbone while he did. He worked carefully but quick until Ethan's shirt loosened and fell off of his pale body. Ethan let out a whine, but he didn't pull away. Wade felt like a leech, maybe he liked that, because Ethan curled into him for more. Ethan let his body do what it felt like doing, he didn't have the will or strength to correct it. His father always told him that when he laid down his lady, he'd know what to do. Wade was no lady, and Ethan was the one being laid down, that couldn't have applied less now. Wade's mouth devoured the pale skin of Ethan's throat until his shirt was off and his upper body was chilled in the night air. Ethan hissed through his teeth, then looked up at Wade, like he was looking for directions. His face was pinched, his cheeks flushed pink, and he looked both intimidated and excited. Wade chuckled soft, moving to drag his lips across Ethan's upper body. It was hot, fiery hot on Ethan's skin. 

"Wade..." Ethan's voice was a whisper, soft and uncertain as to what he was supposed to do. He was looking for a script when human intimacy didn't provide one. 

"Shh," Wade murmured, tone low but steady as he slowed his motions and stuck to longer, deeper kisses. "You're okay."

Ethan's eyes fluttered closed. Every part of him felt awake, alive in ways that scared the hell out of him. He could feel the heat between them, the hum of it like a campfire threatening to grow if he let it get out of control. The flames licked down his body, down below his belt buckle and flourishing between his thighs, though he didn't understand how to act on it. 

Wade chuckled softly, breaking the tension just enough to shift Ethan's attention back to him. "You know," he said as he nibbled at a stray freckle Ethan had on his stomach. "It's more fun when you touch on me too. I ain't never had one of them sex dolls, but you're giving me a similar experience, cowboy." Wade snickered, not mad or annoyed, just teasing the man below him. He didn't want this to feel like school, that wasn't what he wanted the boy to take away from this.

Ethan went red, staring as Wade dragged sloppy kisses across his pectorals and across the plain of his stomach. "Hell, I don't know. You're distractin' me." It came out as a half laugh, shaky and breathy.

"Distract me back then."

Ethan hesitated, then obeyed. His hands moved with uncertainty to Wade's buttons while his fingers trembled, excited and nervous at the same time. He explored the lines and folds of Wade's shirt, the rough fabric catching against his fingertips. Wade continued his assault on Ethan's chest, beautiful purple marks claiming the man as his own. He let Ethan struggle for a second longer before he got tired of it, grabbing both of his wrists and lifting his own lips to meet the blonde.

"Bust 'em open if you can undo 'em nicely, you're okay," Wade assured him, gently rubbing the back of his neck to keep him present. "You feel that? It's just me, you don't gotta hold back on me, E." It wasn't meant to scare, but Wade had about enough of that uncertainty. He was about to break the blonde open in ways he'd never been before, it didn't sit right if Ethan was nervous to touch him.

With that, he brought their lips together in a rough kiss, Ethan kept up this time. Tongues clashed, teeth knocked together, Wade explored every inch of Ethan's mouth while Ethan swirled his tongue over Wade's teeth like he was starved and searching for sustenance. That was better, that was less nervous and more needy. Ethan's breath caught while Wade massaged his tongue, sucking on his bottom lip so hard it puffed up all pouty. They hardly pulled away to breathe, Ethan stole one breath quick and went back to Wade's mouth. The noises he made, whines and huffs and the occasional moan he'd only ever heard come from his older brother Cody's room. He was embarrassed by it, he'd never sounded so sissy and so...vulnerable, in his life. He was afraid to turn Wade off, so he tried to keep his voice to himself. That was when Wade pulled away, looking at his boy like he'd jut been slapped.

"You ain't gotta be quiet. Not out here." Wade's voice softened when he lost the noises Ethan was making. "Ain't nobody out here but the cows and the moon, and trust me, I've shown her worst."

That earned a small laugh from the smaller boy-half embarrassed, half relieved. His cheeks glowed scarlet from the dim lighting, and Wade couldn't stop watching him. The man was all nerve and heart, fragile and fire.

"I want you to be loud. You sound handsome, I bet you know it too, bastard." Wade spoke, going back to kissing at his throat and his chest. Ethan didn't let himself moan and elicit noise for a moment, but slowly, as he finally undid Wade's shirt and started to run his fingers over scars and tan lines, he let those noises fall from his lips more freely. The pads of Ethan's fingers caught divots and scars on Wade's body, mapping them, learning the area like he meant to return. His hands trembled, breath caught when Wade groaned at the touches, but he didn't stop.

"Look here," Wade rasped after a while, taking Ethan's hand in his again and guiding it down to the zipper of his old jeans. "If I want you to quit, I'll tell you. I expect the same courtesy, I ain't gonna hurt you, got no plans to. Just let me take care of you, yeah?" 

Ethan gulped and nodded, then replied, "I will." His palm was warmed by the bulge of Wade's jeans, too afraid to squeeze but too entranced to remove his hand. Slow, and nervous, he palmed at the denim like he'd do to himself if something got him going at home. Only difference was that never led to anything, this would. Wade could've come undone just at Ethan's hand rubbing him soft but firm. He knew what felt good, there was no guessing, Ethan could tell what Wade needed. As Ethan continued his ministrations, Wade grunted and groaned, before he swatted Ethan's hand away all together and shifted lower. He aligned his zipper with Ethan's, pressing soft to start and rubbing himself on the boy softly, watching Ethan's face go slack and his mouth fall open at the pressure. His face still pinched up like he was holding back, but less. 

"You're doin' just fine, cowboy." Wade spoke as he pressed his forehead to Ethan's, rocking into him further and kissing his temple to keep him right there. 

Wade didn't rush him. Every move was measured, more about giving Ethan time to breathe than about getting anywhere fast. The air had chilled, but their bodies were warm- the kind of warm that came from two heartbeats trying to find the same rhythm. "You okay?" Wade asked quietly, his voice more breath than sound. 

Ethan nodded, his breathing faster and heavier as he looked down at where their bodies rubbed against one another. "Yeah, I think so." 

"You think so? Well, I don't like that." Wade smiled faintly, cocking his head and slowing his pace. 

"I just-" Ethan huffed in a shallow breath, still feeling the pressure Wade was giving him. "Don't wanna mess this up."

"There ain't no way to mess this up. Trust me, I've been with men that tried," Wade said, reaching forward to rest a hand below Ethan's ribs. His thumb moved in a slow circle, drawing the calm right out of him. "You just tell me if somethin' don't feel right. That's the only rule."

Ethan's eyes caught Wade's. "And if it does feel right?"

"Then you lean into it, let it feel good," Wade spoke, voice soft and sure. "That's all." 

That answer seemed to settle something in Ethan. His shoulders eased a little, his breath steadied. Wade could see him thinking less-not gone, just letting his body act before his mind could catch up. 

When Wade continued his pace, holding Ethan's cheeks and encouraging his noise, encouraging him to match his pace and move towards his own pleasure, Ethan leaned into it like a reflex. His skin was warm and clammy, flushed from nerves and arousal. Wade brushed his thumb over Ethan's jaw, his nose, while his other hand rested below Ethan's ribs as he kept steady friction right where Ethan needed it. He felt a small tremor from beneath Ethan's denim, that was all the answer he needed to keep moving.

"Tell me what you want, Ethan." Wade murmured, pressing lightly down on Ethan's lower belly. 

Ethan hesitated. "I don't know how to say that..." 

"You don't gotta know the words. Just tell me what feels right to you right now." 

Ethan swallowed, glancing down at their connected bulges, it was no secret now that they wanted the other, in more ways than one. "I just want you close, closer than you are." 

That, Wade could do. He closed the distance, close enough for Ethan to see it coming. When their foreheads met again and Wade cradled Ethan's waist, Wade didn't kiss him right away. He let the silence and soft motions do the work. Ethan's breath hitched when Wade brushed against him rougher, but not harsh. Wade's breath was steady, a model for Ethan to follow. 

"That feel okay? You need more?" Wade asked, voice so low Ethan strained to hear it. 

"Yeah," Ethan whispered. "Feels...good." 

Wade grunted and pressed his lips to Ethan's softer ones, real gentle. Searching. The kind of kiss that didn't demand anything but a response. Ethan gave one, shier at first, but truer by the end when he groaned into Wade's lips and chased them when he went to pull away. Like he was testing what it meant to finally be wanted and safe in the same breath. When they broke apart, Wade saw that look in his eye. Half dazed, half smiling, half unsure. Wade laughed under his breath and whispered against his ear this time. 

"You're thinkin' again." 

"I can't help it," Ethan admitted. "I keep wonderin' what I'm supposed to do."

"You talk to me," Wade replied, simple and calm. "You keep doin' that, and we'll be just fine."

Ethan let out a small, shaky laugh. "You make it sound so easy."

"Not easy," Wade said. "Simple. There's a difference."

He brushed his fingers through Ethan's curls, slow and patient, untangling the strands that the wind had caught. Ethan closed his eyes, leaning into the touch the way he leaned into the cool of the house after a long day. He felt better, not so much confident, but less pressured. 

***

After that moment, every touch was an ask, every breath and shift in weight, an answer. The night seemed to hold its breath with them. Jeans hit the grass with a soft and heavy thud, belt buckles broke the quiet and boots were kicked aside to the creek edge where fireflies hovered low across the water.

Ethan trembled, unsure whether from nerves or the cold breath of wind curling across the field. Wade was steady beside him, all warmth and quiet. He spoke low, voice carrying that gravelly drawl that always seemed to steady Ethan. His hands were never demanding, they guided and reassured rather than grabbed. Each word that passed between them gave Ethan permission to relax. When Wade had Ethan positioned under him, his shaft lubricated with precum and creek water, both took a moment to breathe, to process. The creek murmured behind them; a cow lowed in the distance. The world kept on as if it didn't dare to interrupt. Wade's breath brushed warm against Ethan's throat, slow, deliberate. Ethan drew in a shaky inhale that filled his lungs with the smell of damp grass and creek muck. 

"You tell me when you're ready, we've got all night," Wade spoke, pumping his shaft softly while Ethan's rested against his own stomach, red and erect, begging for stimulation it was not accustomed to. "There's no rush, I want you comfortable." 

"I think I am." Ethan mumbled, breathing heavy and tightening at the sight of the manhood dangling in front of him. Wade was large, his size resembled his build, thick and stocky, upright and steady. 

Wade chuckled under his breath, the sound low enough to blend with cricket song. "Think some more, make sure you know you're ready." 

Ethan went quiet. He could feel the cool blades of grass pressing against his shoulder blades, the night air settling on his skin in a chill. The stars above shimmered like scattered embers, and for a second, he thought about the strangeness of it all. How easily life could twist into something completely new in one single night. The bruises left from his father still ached, but here, none of it mattered. Here, with Wade, he had a choice. 

When Ethan spoke again, his voice carried something steadier, something that surprised even himself. "I know I am, I want you to." Ethan spoke, not cocky, but more confident now that he got the chance to make his own choice. 

"Want me to what? I need you to say it, E." 

The question forced Ethan to look him in the eyes. He swallowed, breath catching halfway down his throat. He'd never said anything like that before, but Wade's gaze made honesty feel much less frightening. "I want you to fuck me, Wade. That's what I want." 

When the words came out, they weren't bold so much as brave. Wade's lips twitched into a small smile, one that said there you are. Ethan was no longer pretending. He was choosing this time

Wade brushed his thumb over Ethan's lips, his voice low and sincere. "It's not gonna be comfortable to start, and that's normal. Especially now, nobody is prepped, but that's okay. I'm gonna be right here. Hear me? Right here." Wade spoke, stealing a kiss from Ethan's temple while he waited for a response. Ethan gave one, small yet certain. 

"Alright, and what am I supposed to do?" Ethan asked, trying to sound light, but his voice trembled around the edges. 

"Just talk to me. Tell me what's good, what's not. If it hurts too bad, you just let me know. That's all I need from you."

Ethan exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing the tension from his shoulders. His hand found Wade's wrist, gripping it just enough to remind himself he was allowed. The reassurance worked better than any words could've. 

Wade's touch was careful, deliberate. His other hand found Ethan's cheek again, thumb rubbing across the edge of light stubble. The motion wasn't meant to distract so much as to anchor. Ethan focused on that, the warmth of Wade's fingers, the way his calluses rasped against his skin. He didn't count the seconds. He didn't brace for pain. He just breathed. The sound of the creek filled his ears, the wind ran its wisps through the grass surrounding them. Wade whispered something low and wordless against his jaw, Ethan almost missed the moment itself, caught somewhere between fear and trust. That was when the sensation pulled him back into his body. When Wade gently pressed in, sliding past tightened flesh slow and easy, Ethan nearly yelped. It hurt to start, it was painful and raw. He didn't make Wade stop, didn't complain, he felt safe even when he was experiencing a discomfort foreign to him. It was sharp, unfamiliar- but Wade's murmurs were there immediately, steady and close. "You're okay, I've got ya." 

Ethan nodded, eyes still closed and rimmed in water. It did hurt, but the pain was threaded with something else, something deeper that told him this wasn't wrong. He didn't make Wade stop. He didn't need to. The ache was a kind of truth, one he'd never been able to face until just this moment. Ethan's fingers clenched in the grass, twisting a few blades loose. The earth was damp beneath his palms, cool against the heat surrounding his entire being. Every sound felt magnified as the pressure at his entrance built- the rush of the creek, the rhythm of Wade's breathing, the faint creak of leather somewhere among discarded clothes. Wade stayed close, keeping his clammy forehead pressed against Ethan's. His breath came warm and calm, syncing with Ethan's shorter and more uneven pulls of air. 

"Easy," he whispered, the word almost lost in the moment. "You're doin' good, E. Real good." 

Ethan nodded, too focused on the sensations to speak. The discomfort was still lingering, a dull burn that pulsed and eased the further Wade pushed in. But he was never left to do it alone. Wade's hand stayed at Ethan's jaw, his thumb brushing over skin in small, grounding spirals. 

After Wade had bottomed out and stilled for Ethan to adjust, the ache began to shift. Ethan's body adjusted. muscles uncoiling bit by bit as his breathing found a rhythm again. He felt his chest rise against Wade's, his heart knocking against another, steadier heartbeat. The pain melted into something new, still sharp, but threaded with heat and pleasure. He wasn't sure what to make of it, so he just let it be. 

Wade drew back a bit to look at his boy, the older man's eyes were soft in the starlight. "How's it feel, handsome?" he asked quietly. 

Ethan bit his lip before he answered. "Different," he began. "Sore, but... not so bad now."

Wade smiled-small and proud. "That's all I need to know."

He bent down to kiss Ethan again, slow and sure, their mouths moving in a rhythm that said more than words would. The kiss wasn't hungry now, it was patient, steady. A reassurance that he was still there, still watching for any sign of fear. Ethan's hand came up almost without thought, finding Wade's shoulder, tracing the curve of muscle there. The skin was hot, slick with sweat, but solid. Something to hold on to when everything else felt like too much. Their slow rhythm gained speed, gained force, all of which Ethan allowed and followed with his own body. He met Wade's every thrust, naturally moving with him rather than fighting his instincts. The wind shifted through the field, carrying the scent of wet clover and summer rain. Somewhere in the distance, a bullfrog croaked, deep and echoing. The sounds grounded Ethan, kept him tethered to the moment rather than lost in it. 

Wade leaned down, lips brushing the shell of Ethan's ear, his voice a low murmur. "Still alright?"

Ethan turned his head just enough to answer, their cheeks brushing one another. "Yeah," he whispered. "Keep talkin'. Helps me stay here."

Wade obeyed. He talked about everything and nothing, praise and assurance mixing with how the air smelled like a storm was coming, how good Ethan felt, knowingly or not, how he'd never seen the stars this bright this time of year. His voice rumbled deep in Ethan's chest, deep and familiar. Every word drew Ethan further from the edge of panic and further into pleasure. 

It took time, but Ethan's body relaxed entirely. His breathing steadied, his hand slid from Wade's shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers curling in short, dark hair. The movement wasn't planned, it was trust made into movement. Wade noticed, smiled against the blonde's skin, and increased his pace a hair. 

"You're doin' just fine, cowboy," he murmured. "Nothin' to prove here. Just us out here." 

Ethan's throat tightened at that, and so did his body, earning an unexpected groan from Wade. Emotion caught him off guard. Nobody had ever said anything like that to him-nothing to prove. He blinked hard, and when he huffed out a breath, it came out with a light sob. 

Wade didn't tease him for it. He brushed the tears away with the back of his hand, thumb tracing Ethan's collarbone to bring him back. "Hey," he whispered, voice rough. "Ain't nothin' wrong with feelin' it. That's the whole point." 

Wade let Ethan pilot leading up to his orgasm, his hips rocking against Wade's and quickening when he needed it, backing off when he needed a second to catch his breath. Wade reached to grip Ethan's manhood, gently stroking him up and down until he leaned into it and let him thumb at the tip. Wade was getting close, Ethan was tight as a bottle neck, but he wouldn't finish first. When Ethan felt a warmth bubble in his stomach, he looked to Wade, not for help, not in a panic, he looked for guidance. 

"Wade..hey," Ethan mumbled, panting and trying to sit up to look at his partner. 

"I've got ya, just relax. Let it happen, let it feel good." Wade spoke, stroking him faster and faster until his white ropes of cum lay across both his own stomach and Wade's hand. Wade was quick to finish then, Ethan allowing him to finish inside of him rather than into the night air, he wasn't scared of the feeling, only curious. 

When Wade finally pulled back, sweaty and shaky, it was slow. He didn't give far before he collapsed onto Ethan's chest, meeting his eyes. Both of them were flushed, hair mussed, and silent in the easy way that comes after a wave of energy finally crashes. 

Ethan's voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "Was I... okay?"

Wade huffed a soft laugh and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "You did better'n okay, E. You were great, reckon you'd give a stripper a run of his money." 

Ethan smiled at that, small but genuine. The tension that had him bound for days, weeks, years it seemed- eased a little. He stared up at the night sky, catching his breath. As he looked at the silver dust lying across dark velvet night, he thought about how strange it was to feel so safe out here, miles from where home used to be. Wade settled beside him, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily resting across Ethan's stomach. The grass tickled against their skin, and the air hummed with quiet wind and cricket song. Neither uttered a word, didn't need to. The silence was not empty- it was full of breath and the echo of words that no longer needed to be spoken by anyone to be heard. 

For the first time in his life, Ethan didn't feel like he had to brace for what came next. He just let this moment hold him.

Chapter Text

"C'mon, cowboy. No use sleepin' with the herd when we've got a bed waitin' at the house." Wade spoke after a while, his voice rumbled like a storm rolling over the plains. The kind that promised rain but never quite let go of it. 

Ethan was half gone already, his body stretched bare in the flattened grass, chest rising slow, skin cooled. The air smelled like dust and sweet clover, the faint musk of horses and man dirtied about. Every now and again, Rosie snorted and shook out her mane, tack jingling like wind chimes in the dark. Part of him forgot he'd have to get up and work in the morning, go back to normal. He just wanted to stay in this moment forever and bask in the cool air until the Lord came and swept him up. He didn't want to move. The night pressed soft around them, cicadas buzzing steady, a half moon hung above the field like a lantern just for them. Ethan wanted to stay right there, in that quiet between work and rest, his cheek in the grass, earth still warmed from body heat.

He grunted something unintelligible. 

Wade chuckled under his breath and started tugging his jeans back on- the sound of denim brushing against hairy legs, a low hiss of a belt sliding through loops. He didn't bother buttoning up his shirt all the way, just enough to keep the breeze from biting on the ride home. 

"Suit yourself, but I ain't leavin' you out here for the coyotes to find." Wade snickered, sliding his boots on and stretching out those big shoulders of his. 

Ethan cracked one eye open, saw Wade's silhouette against the fading sky, strong and careless and impossibly real. He made a noise of protest and rolled onto his back, one arm flopped over his stomach.

"Hey, E," Wade called, more gentle this time. "Let's get goin', I'll carry ya if I gotta. Sit you right up on that horse like a corpse." His hand brushed over Ethan's side, fingertips grazing soft skin, and Ethan jerked with a noise somewhere between a laugh and a shiver of sensitivity. The air was cooler, and the goosebumps that followed weren't only the wind's doing. 

Ethan groaned, dragging himself upright. "Carry me then, Wade," he muttered, sleepy and spent. "Least you could do after makin' it near impossible for me to sit down normal." 

It came out half joke, half truth. Wade's grin widened like he'd been waiting for this. "That so?"

Before Ethan could back away, strong arms slipped underneath him and lifted him clean off the ground, shoving him into boxers and jeans like a toddler at a daycare. Ethan yelped, kicking lightly, laughter spilling from his mouth even as he protested. "Wade! Put me down! I swear to-"

"Quit squirmin', or I'll toss ya in the creek next time." Wade spoke, but he was all smiles, that deep lopsided smile that made Ethan's chest feel too full. Wade carried the boy to Rosie, the mare's ears twitching forward as if entirely unimpressed. 

"Hey, big mama," Wade murmured to the old girl, setting Ethan down on the saddle as gently as if he were made of porcelain. She didn't so much as flick her tail, she'd been through worse. Ethan had to adjust himself in the saddle, wincing as he tried to find a spot that didn't shoot lingering feelings up his spine. His cheeks flushed as he looked to Wade, who was already watching. 

"You enjoyin' yourself?" 

"Little bit," Wade swatted lightly at Ethan's back pocket before looping Rosie's reins through the ring on his own saddle. He swung up onto Clyde, settling deep into old leather. "Just rest, cowboy, I'll take ya home." 

The ride home was quiet but alive, the rhythmic creak of saddles, the slow hoofbeats of two broke animals on damp dirt. The night air cooled the heat still clinging to Ethan's clammy skin. He let his eyes drift shut, the sway of Rosie's gait rocking him like his mother used to when he was a little boy. The smell of horsehair and leather mixed with faint wildflowers they walked through, grounding and familiar. 

Every so often, Wade reached across the narrow space between them to steady Ethan's leg or brush a stray curl from his eyes. The barn lanterns came into view in the distance, golden smudges against the blue-black darkness. Ethan thought he could live forever in that moment, halfway between the night and home. Between worn out and wanted. 

When they finally reached the barn, Wade swung down first and caught Ethan by the waist as he slid off Rosie limp as a rag doll. Their boots hit the dirt together. The scent of hay and linseed oil wrapped around them in a fog, the horses shifting in stalls, welcoming them home with sleepy huffs. 

"Look at that," Wade murmured, brushing his thumb along Ethan's jaw. "Ain't so bad getting up after all."

Ethan leaned into him, sleepy but smiling. "Only if you keep on carryin' me."

Wade laughed low and steady, steering him toward a chair to sit in while he untacked their horses. "You keep on like that, and I just might." 

***

The warm buzz from the field hadn't worn off- not with the horses blowing soft, tired huffs and flicking their tails, definitely not with the way Wade had smiled when Ethan never gave him his hat back even if neither of them wanted to wear them now. The barn lights glowed low and gold, dust catching in the beams like slow falling snow. Wade worked steady to brush both horses down and untack them. The steady swish of bristles, the creak of leather straps- all of it folded into a quiet peace neither wanted to break. 

"You see how Clyde tried to pace ahead of me?" Wade said after a while, smirking at the gelding, who now stood half asleep in the groom stall.

"He was feelin' the chill, can't blame him." Ethan mumbled, his drawl heavier when he got real tired. 

"Someone else must've been feelin' the chill then, it's got everyone actin' up." Wade teased, raising his thick brows at Ethan and waggling them.

Ethan reached out lazily, giving the back of Wade's chaps a tug. The leather gave a sleepy creak, and Wade stepped back with a smirk. 

"You touchin' on me now?" he teased, voice soft but lively. "That what we're doin'?"

"Just dustin' you off," Ethan shrugged, staggering on his feet. "That's all." 

Wade set his brushes down and strolled up behind him. His steps were slow and deliberate. "Turn 'round for me."

Ethan blinked at him. "What for?"

"Checkin' for ticks."

That earned a quiet snort. "You're not even tryin' to make that sound normal."

"Never said I was."

Wade lifted Ethan's unbuttoned shirt, his calloused fingertips tracing soft, lazy lines across the small of his back- warm skin against warmer hands. Ethan relaxed against him, almost leaning back too far and knocking his partner over. 

"You're all clear," Wade murmured, his voice low, lips brushing the curve of Ethan's shoulder. "But I may have to double check your front back at the house."

Ethan turned back to face him- slow, still smiling that quiet, hazy smile. "You're awful proud of yourself."

"Mm-hm, come 'ere." Ethan did. 

It wasn't hungry this time, not rushed. Slow, sleepy. Easy pressure on one another's lips, the soft slide of breath against skin. The kind of kiss that spoke of safety. Ethan's hands found the loops of Wade's jeans. fingertips curling in to anchor himself. Wade's hand slid up his back, steadying his blonde when his knees wobbled from exhaustion. They laughed into it, not the loud kind, but the sort that shook the dust off of something tender. The horses shifted behind them, unimpressed witnesses of softness blooming in the dark. 

"You think they mind?" Ethan murmured, lips brushing Wade's while he still rested his forehead against the other man's. 

"Nah, we feed 'em," Wade whispered. "They'll forgive us." 

"Even if I stick my hands in your back pockets while you finish up?"

"Especially then." 

Their soft laughter blended with the hum of the night- tired, breathless, and happy in a way that made them feel younger than they were. Love made them boys again- calloused hands, sore shoulders, and a future that, for the first time, didn't feel so far away. 

***

The barn lights had gone dark. Horses put away, tack hung, chores done. The world quieted around them, the only sounds left were the distant wind and soft creak of the old house settling. 

Wade shut the bedroom door behind them and turned the lock with a quiet click. "Not dealin' with that damn cat walkin' in here." He muttered. 

Ethan gave a sleepy chuckle- the kind that made his eyes half close and his shoulders drop loose. 

What followed wasn't wild or hurried. Just two men too tired to pretend, teasing their way into bed like it was any other night. Wade tugged the blankets wrong on purpose, stole the pillow Ethan wanted, tickled his stomach until he kicked out. 

"You're an ass!" Ethan spoke, half laughing still, voice gone soft. 

"Yeah, but you love it."

"I do, dammit." 

When clothes came off for a second time, it wasn't nearly as theatrical or methodical. They moved together slow, careful of Ethan's sore and sensitive body. They laughed when something bumped or Ethan squeaked. Hands trailed lazily over every part of one another, tracing outlines rather than claiming anything. Wade's hushes and assurances were soft in the quiet home.

"You're okay, E,"

"I know you're tired, I got it,"

"Just feel it, I'll settle the rest,"

He guided Ethan into another safe release of pressure, landing them both catching their breath again. When it turned quiet, it wasn't heavy. Just warm. Clammy skin and slow breaths syncing up. 

Ethan's head rested on Wade's shoulder, his hand drawing faint spirals across Wade's chest. Wade hummed something tuneless, low in his throat, the sound vibrating beneath Ethan's cheek. 

"Don't fall asleep on me yet, baby." Wade murmured.

"Too late." Ethan mumbled, words already slurred with heavy sleep. 

Wade just smiled against blonde curls. "Figures."

Outside, the world kept on spinning. But in that small room, everything felt still.

***

The first light of morning spilled pale across the wooden floor, dust rising with every slow breath they took in sleep. Jeans lay draped over the chair, boots thrown over near the door. 

Neither had said much as they woke. There wasn't much need to. 

Ethan lay sprawled on his back, one hand tucked in blonde mats, hair sticking up every which way. Wade was half on his side, one leg thrown over Ethan's. The sheet was barely covering either of them, the air warm enough to forgive it. 

"I ain't movin'." Ethan muttered, drawl so thick in the morning he sounded like his grandfather. 

"You don't have to," Wade said, voice gravelly with sleep. "You earned a rest."

Ethan smiled faintly, eyes still closed softly. "Didn't know this kind of stuff could wear a man out." 

"That's kind of the point, bud." 

Both chuckled, a lazy morning sound. Wade reached out to brush his hand through Ethan's tangled hair, making it worse on purpose. 

"Such a mess, E." Wade murmured. 

"You like it."

"You're right."

Ethan cracked an eye open and met his gaze. There was no hesitation there anymore, just that quiet kind of peace people spent years chasing. 

"Feels like I been missin' this my whole life," Ethan whispered. 

Wade leaned in, forehead resting against blonde tangles. "You have. But not anymore." 

Beyond the door, the ranch began to stir. The soft snort of hungry horses, a rooster half-heartedly crowing, wind threading through the grass. Inside, the morning stretched out slow and forgiving. Giving them one last pocket of stillness before the day started over. 

And Ethan, still tucked under Wade's arm, decided the world could wait. 

***

It was well past the time Ethan usually got himself in gear. But today...he just didn't. 

He shuffled around the little house in boxers and mismatched socks, one surely Wade's and the other a soft grey. No shirt, no belt, no combed hair. Just soft fabric and the buzz of a man who'd just got laid. 

Wade was already in the kitchen by the time Ethan managed to pull himself up, shirtless too. He bent over the stove in a pair of jeans that were more belt than denim. He was humming something low and tuneless, poking at a skillet of scrambled eggs like it had somehow personally offended him. 

Ethan padded in behind him, yawning like an old housecoat and leaning into Wade's warm side, heavy and drowsy. 

"You hungry or just hangin' off me for fun?" Wade asked without even looking at the man invading his space. 

"Both." Ethan replied, voice rasped from the night before and face nuzzling into Wade's shoulder.

He didn't move for a while- just stood there, resting his head against Wade's bare shoulder, letting the heat of the stove and the man beside him do all the work waking him up. When Wade reached back and let a hand drift down to Ethan's thigh in idle motion, Ethan didn't flinch. He leaned in.

"Didn't know you got cuddly after a good lay." Wade teased, flipping and manipulating the eggs.

"Didn't know I could get cuddly. Guess we're both learning me." Ethan mumbled, a small, genuine grin twitching at his lips. 

A moment later, he broke away a bit, only to sneak behind Wade and slap him harshly across his backside. 

"Aye-!" 

Ethan was already scampering down the hall, barefoot and limping like a rodeo clown after a bad dismount, snickering all the way. 

"Payback's a bitch, ain't she?" he called over his shoulder. 

"You keep that up and I'm gonna make sure you're limpin' worse than that tomorrow." 

Ethan laughed-really laughed- and disappeared into the bathroom just long enough to splash some water on his face and rub the crusties from his eyes. 

When he came back out, hair a little damp and stuck to his forehead, he looked like something new. Like someone who finally got a good night's sleep in a life previously full of night terrors. 

He plopped into a chair at the dining table, groaning dramatically as he sat. 

"Christ almighty, I'm sore in places I didn't know I had." 

Wade slid a plate of eggs and toast in front of him with a cup of coffee to follow, and a smirk.

"Told you it'd be fun." 

Ethan gave him a long look, then tugged him down by the arm and kissed his cheek with deliberate slowness. 

"It was." 

They ate side by side, trading lazy comments and jokes, toast crumbs in coffee. Ethan didn't rush. He didn't flinch. Didn't worry about what time it was or who might come to the door. Every now and again, he'd reach across the table and brush Wade's arm hair with his fingers, or lean his head against the man's shoulder like they'd done this a thousand times before. 

And maybe they hadn't. But maybe now...they would.

Chapter Text

The morning sun had already burned the dew off the grass by the time they finished breakfast. Wade pushed his chair back with a deep sigh, tossing his napkin onto his empty plate like a man clocking into the day. 

"We gotta get to it, cowboy. Barn don't run itself. Got the Thompsons at noon today." 

Ethan groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, but there wasn't any real complaint in it. Just the comfortable kind of protest that came with knowing Wade would be grinning back at him for it. He stood anyway, brushing past Wade close enough to press a sleepy kiss to his shoulder before grabbing his boots by their corner near the door. There was no need to dress up. He pulled on a pair of old jeans and a clean button up from the laundry line, it smelled still of sun and hay and nothing like his old home used to. 

When they both were dressed and freshened up, they made their way to the barn in slow, even steps, shoulders bumping. Wade swung the gate open with a lazy flick of his wrist, and Ethan laughed when the same filly from the week before poked her head over the stall door and neighed loud enough to wake the crows two counties over. 

"That thing's got lungs like a preacher." Ethan spoke, trying to keep off the headache he was sure to get from all this noise, considering he didn't get a lot of time to sleep the night before. He'd taken a painkiller with his second cup of coffee so he could quit waddling like a homosexual duck, but it wasn't kicking in really good. 

"She just wants her boyfriend." Wade joked, pointing his chin toward a stud colt looking at them from a nearby field. He was already chewing at the latch and digging holes in the dirt. 

Ethan snorted. "Good luck, sweetheart. He'll be less a man in two weeks when we get a vet out here to settle him down." Wade chuckled and shook his head at that. 

They got to work-feed buckets clanking, the smell of grain and oats and thick dust. Occasionally, one man would yell a sharp "Aye!" when one of the little ones stepped out of line. They had a couple of geldings that needed to be saddled and pre-worked before their owners got there, Wade was never one to allow for a spirited horse to become a bad ride for a paying client. Especially when the client was thirteen and rode with her momma. Two colts needed to be worked at some point too, both too beautiful and talented to castrate, but also so much to deal with. The rhythm was different today, nobody did their job in silence. Ethan cracked jokes about the older gelding with a busted up ear, teased Wade for spilling feed when a horse knocked the bucket from his arms. 

Ethan got a little weanling out to mess with while both of the geldings stood and settled in the groom stalls, Wade wanted the weanlings able to be handled before they got too big. The filly was short and fat, needed to be taken off of grain and probably needed to be thrown outside for a bit. She seemed to agree, yanking her rope from Ethan's hands and galloping all of two feet before she got confused and stopped in the barn aisle to visit with the performance horses, frazzled and frozen. Ethan couldn't help himself, he threw his head back laughing. 

"She must think she's some kind of wild mustang. She don't even know how to jog straight." 

"She's got more guts than grace." Wade muttered, looping the rope gently around her neck to steady her so she didn't take off. 

"Same could be said about me." Ethan spoke, and his voice had that ring to it- that rare, open glint of vulnerable honesty. 

Wade didn't tease him for it. Just gave him that knowing look, the one that never asked for more than Ethan wanted to give. 

When they moved on to wrapping the legs of the horses they readied for clients, Ethan rolled up his sleeves without a second thought. He had horsehair and sweat halfway up his arm, shirt sticking to his ribs, but he didn't mind it. Didn't stop to brush off or grumble when the younger horse of the two wouldn't quit moving. 

"You got somethin' on your back, E." Wade said casually. 

"Yeah? Mud or-"

"Tick." Wade grinned a toothy smile. He knew what he was doing. "Gonna have to check you again, just to make sure you ain't carryin' more."

Ethan flushed, swatted at him with a curry comb in hand, and took off toward the next paddock like a kid outrunning a bear. Wade hollered after him, doubled over in the stall laughing. 

They spent the next hour this way-hauling hay, Wade working horses into a light sweat while Ethan stood by with another for him, hosing boots only for them to get muddy right after. Then it was time to clean up the client horses so they didn't look pre-worked. Ethan rubbed down their saddles with oil and checked both their girths while Wade swapped out bits and rubbed both animals down with a little water and alcohol. The mother and daughter who were coming weren't new to this barn, Wade had known them since the little girl was in a bassinet while her mom rode. Now, she had her own horse, and it was up to Wade to teach her how to show it. He didn't do baby lessons, he didn't train basics, he liked people who knew how to ride and just needed help showing their animal how a competitive rider should. 

"Make sure Jasper looks presentable," Wade said, rubbing the grey animal down the legs so he didn't look so sweaty. "Can't have him lookin' homeless in front of his momma." 

"Speak for yourself." Ethan fired back, grinning at the older man and flinging a clump of hair at him. 

By the time they'd finished tacking and cleaning up the other gelding and checking leg wraps, the sky had gone from morning gold to just bright blue, hot afternoon. The kind that promised a cool breeze soon to bite at the blazing Texas heat. Ethan leaned against the barn door, wiping his hands on his jeans, when he heard tires crunch on gravel. Wade tipped his hat back on his head, glancing toward the small parking lot they had. 

"That'll be them."

A white SUV came rolling up, the same one Wade said showed up every other weekend without fail. Out stepped a woman in her forties- hair in a loose braid, soft cotton shirt tucked neatly into her jeans- and a girl about thirteen, long legged, smiling like she'd been waiting all week for this. 

"Afternoon, Miss Laura." Wade called, his voice carrying that steady, easy drawl that made people instantly feel at home, no matter where they were. "And look who grew near a foot since I saw her last."

The young girl beamed, making a beeline for her horse as he stood in the groom stall. "Hardly an inch, Mr. Ralston."

Laura laughed, shading her eyes with one hand. "We've missed you all. Lord, the place looks wonderful. You've done well."

Wade shrugged modestly. "Helps havin' some good hands." He motioned to Ethan. "Been puttin' him to work, almost forgot what it was like having nice help around here." 

Ethan dipped his head, polite but shy. "Ma'am. Miss." He was polite, not stiff or scared, just a shy man greeting a client like it's easy for him. 

"Ethan, I don't know how Wade ran this without you." Laura said warmly, reaching out to him and squeezing his forearm. "He's been tellin' us all about his help, we're glad for it. He near works himself to the bone."

Ethan smiled at that, quiet and genuine. "I can see that, he keeps me busy, ma'am."

Wade gave him a look, half amusement, half affection- but said nothing. They'd both gotten good at saying plenty without talking with their lips. 

The next while was easy. The kind of busy that didn't weigh on Ethan the way old ranch work used to. They brought the mother's mare out to the covered arena and allowed the girl-Sydney- to bring her own gelding out to the arena as she talked a mile a minute about her school's riding club to Ethan. Laura kept laughed softly, shaking her head like she couldn't believe her child could talk that much about horses, especially to Ethan, who looked shy around the girl who talked so fast and about stuff he didn't quite understand. 

Wade moved among them naturally, gentle with the horses and softer with the people. He adjusted Sydney's stirrups and acted like he could hardly believe her legs had grown so much in a span of two weeks. When he gave instructions, he didn't yell, he hardly shouted, just projected his voice to reach both horses and riders as they rode in a circle around him. Ethan watched the whole thing while he cleaned out some water buckets, an ache he didn't have a name for settling in his chest. Something like pride, tenderness maybe. When Wade glanced his way, a quick flick of his eyes over his shoulder, Ethan knew what that meant. Come over here, come sit with me. 

So he did, he dropped the buckets by the stall door he retrieved them from and walked over to where Wade sat on a mounting block in the middle of the arena. He steadied the gelding Sydney rode when she got too eager, reminding her to loosen her grip, to squeeze on his sides a little harder, to breathe. She listened, really listened to him, and that made something small and sweet unfurl in him. 

"Is this what you do all the time?" Sydney asked, voice bright with curiosity as she knocked a spur into Jasper's side to get him to jog on. 

He nodded. "Most days."

"Do ya like it?"

Ethan looked out toward Wade as he walked alongside Laura to show her something he wanted her to learn, one hand on her reins and one gentle on the mare's shoulder. He smiled, just softly. 

"Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, I do."

The lesson rolled easy after that-just the steady rhythm of hooves in dust, the creak of leather, Wade's low voice giving praise where it was due and correcting moves Sydney made that weren't helping her. Laura sat taller in the saddle than she did last time, Sydney was fearless on her gelding, laughing every time he'd snort or yawn. 

When they dismounted, flushed and grinning, Wade helped Laura down first, steadying her by her elbow. Ethan caught Sydney when she flung to the ground and caught her reins before they tangled. 

"You spoil us, Wade," Laura spoke as she brushed the dust from her jeans. "No one else is as patient." 

"Patience ain't a chore," Wade replied easily. "It's just rhythm. Horses like when you move slow, same as people."

Sydney smiled up at Ethan as she handed him her reins. "You're here every week, too?"

He nodded. "Every day, all day." 

"Then I'll see you next time." She said, earnest and simple as sunlight. 

When they waved and drove off, the gravel settled and quiet filled the ranch again. Wade stood beside Ethan, waiting until the car was off down the road before he rubbed the man's damp back. 

"She's a good kid." Ethan said.

"Her mama too, they're good people." Wade added. "They've been comin' to me near ten years. Always polite, always kind.

Ethan gave a small hum, then turned toward him, voice softer. "Not what I'm used to."

"I know." Wade brushed his knuckles along Ethan's back, just once, but grounding. "Not everybody wants somethin' from you, cowboy. Not my clients."

Ethan nodded, eyes fixed out on the road as the last of the stirred up dust dissipated. "Still getting used to that."

They walked back to take care of the horses in silence, that kind that wasn't empty. The horses shifted in the groom stalls, sweaty and heaving, but relaxed. The air was thick with the smell of dust and hay. 

"Barn looks good," Wade said as he uncinched the saddle on the mare and watched her breathe out a deep sigh. "Day went smooth, no hiccups."

Ethan smiled faintly, looking around the wall of the second groom stall while he unwrapped Jasper's legs. The neat lines of tack and slow swing of the gate in the breeze was enough to show him the brunt of the day was done. 

"Feels like more than just a day." Ethan spoke. 

Wade came over and pinched his side softly, a grin on his face. "Yeah. Feels like somethin' worth hangin' on to."

And for the first time in a long while, Ethan believed him on that. Believed that a day-just a day- could be worth more than he'd ever thought. 

***

When the sun started to think about dipping beneath the horizon, both boys decided it'd be a good time to get some colts out and saddled so that hopefully- said with a grain of salt- they could at least go to the next horse show and dink around, maybe have someone take a look at them. Wade had too many, he realized this about a month ago when all of them had to come in to be registered and saddle broke, he'd bred more mares than he thought. Never the matter, they needed to be sold, so it was his and Ethan's job to break them enough to get a rider on and hopefully make a profit. Ethan left his phone on a chair in the tack room while both of them wrangled a nasty stud colt who didn't deserve his testicles. Ethan narrowly avoided a hoof to the mouth, Wade booted the thing so hard under the belly it settled and had to find its breath again. 

Neither boy heard the buzz of a ring from the tack room, too busy with this feral animal who Wade used to be able to snuggle and play with when it was small. 

By the time they were done bothering the animal, Wade was heaving and sweating like a hog. The gelding jerked sideways, hooves skittering over the barn's concrete aisle way like it had somewhere to be. Ethan had barely hung onto its face as Wade dismounted, boots thudding against the floor, dust puffing around him. What a jerk. Wade was already thinking about how he'd call the vet tonight, have him lay that thing down and get rid of its breeding materials. With that attitude, the stud was lucky he's still breathing around Wade. 

"You're lucky you're a pretty sucker. Make a great ranch horse, after we schedule an attitude adjustment." Wade muttered, brushing off the dirt clinging to his chaps with a practiced flick of his hand. "Little shit." 

Ethan doubled over laughing, laughing so hard his ribs ached where they sat in his chest. Wade limped over to him with exaggerated stiffness in his back, shoulders hunched like he'd just survived a great rodeo disaster. He kind of had, but he did that weekly here. Maybe one of the two would learn to start colts earlier. Or just start geldings. 

"You looked like a damn rodeo clown, Wade." Ethan gasped, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, letting out a holler as he settled his laughing fit. 

"Least I stayed with him," Wade shot back, leaning close enough for Ethan to feel the warmth radiating off of him. He could smell him too, sweat and man and frustration. "Bet you'd fold like a beach chair."

"I fold for no one, prick." Ethan fired back, chest puffed out as much as he could make it go, grinning despite the soreness spreading through his thighs and his backside. 

Ethan's device buzzed again, vibrating on the chair it had been tossed on. He didn't hear it, neither did Wade. 

Wade smirked, stepping close enough to press into Ethan, fingers sliding along his sides as if searching for something-or just an excuse to touch him. 

"Ticks." He said, with the same mischievous edge that always made Ethan tense up and laugh at once. 

Ethan barely had time to react before Wade tugged his shirt halfway up his chest and gave a sharp pinch over his nipple. 

"Ow! You jerk!" Ethan shoved him back, laughing and rubbing over his pectorals. The shove turned into a playful grapple. Elbows bumped, boots scuffing the ground, chaps tangled and rubbing together, Wade went as far as lifting Ethan off of his feet to reach and pinch him on his bottom. They wrestled like boys on the lake shore, free of responsibility for the moment. The smell of dust and hay filled their noses as the barn echoed with the slap of hands and endless laughter.

A ring came again, Ethan too far from the device to hear. 

The stud colt in the groom stall shifted, tail flicking and nose snorting at the two boys in interest and confusion. He pawed the ground, impatient, bored, tired and itchy from sweat. He'd been left unattended, but it was good for him to understand patience and independence. He trusted Ethan, not so much Wade, but it was enough for him to allow the wild energy to pass by. Ethan glanced at the horse once before Wade took a fistful of his thigh and was trying to tickle the sensitive section of his waist. 

Then came the sound of an old truck, sputtering and wheezing. Gravel crunched under large boots, a door slammed so hard the noise cut through the afternoon like a whip. 

Ethan froze mid-laugh, chest rising and falling quick like a jackrabbit, as Cody stormed through the barn doors like a thundercloud, boots thudding against the floor, every step a hammer. 

"You gotta be kiddin' me."

Ethan's grin was wiped off his face. Shirt still rumpled, cheeks flushed from laughter and exertion, he straightened slowly and pried Wade off of him. 

"Cody." It came out steady but wary.

"Dad called," Cody barked, eyes sharp as the crack of a bullwhip. "And you ain't answerin'? Too good to pick up for us now?" His boots scraped against concrete as he cut across the aisle. 

"Daddy called you, didn't get no answer, and you're back here screwin' around with-" His eyes flicked to Wade. "This fag." 

There was no mistaking the sneer, the disgust. 

Ethan stiffened. The old Ethan might've stumbled over an apology, made up an excuses, maybe rushed to untie the stud colt like that would fix this. But this Ethan stood still. His hands were shaking slightly, but he folded his arms, breathing out slow.

"We were workin'. Just took a minute."

"Workin'?" Cody barked a laugh, sharp and bitter just how Ethan remembered. "That what y'all call it now? Him grabbin' up on ya playin' tickle games in the aisle like a couple damn girls?"

Wade's eyes narrowed, shoulders tensing- but he didn't move, didn't speak. This was for Ethan to decide, he wasn't going to take this opportunity from him to grow and heal himself. 

Cody spat near the colt's hoof, intentionally close to be a message. 

"This ain't vacation. This ain't some Brokeback barn where you get to screw off and play pretty boy with some washed up bronc rider who reeks of tobacco and shit choices. You're embarrassing yourself. Embarrassing your family."

That one stung. Ethan flinched, but he didn't look away.

He didn't say, I'm sorry. 

He didn't say, I'll fix it.

He looked right at Cody like he was looking into the eyes of the devil. 

"I ain't hidin' anymore." It was quiet, simple. No dramatics. Just a decision laid bare.

Cody blinked, thrown off for a second. "You think that's brave, E? Runnin' from the family name to hang off some...drifter?"

Wade didn't say a word, this was Ethan's battle, no matter how many strays he caught. 

"No," Ethan replied, calmer now even as he shook in his boots. "What's brave is living in a way that makes me want to live. 

Cody stepped closer, crowding Ethan's space, and for a breath, it felt like childhood again. Punishment, guilt, silence. But Ethan held what ground he had.

"You don't gotta like it. But I ain't lettin' your shame run my life no more." 

For the first time in their shared history, Cody had nothing to come back at that with. 

Just that look. That quiet boil he'd inherited from their dad. That deeply ingrained belief that yet again his baby brother had just ruined everything.

"I'm telling dad about you fagbags." 

Then he turned and left, slamming his truck door and speeding off so harsh it tore up all the gravel. 

The silence left behind wasn't easy. It hung thick like smog. 

Ethan stared at the concrete floor where hoof oil had stained a ring. The stud shifted in the groom stall, shaking off the tension. 

Wade stepped up beside him. Didn't say anything at first, just offered a quiet presence. Like a wall to lean against that wouldn't budge. 

"That was somethin'." Wade said after a long while. 

Ethan swallowed hard, still shaking a little. 

"I'm scared shitless."

Wade nodded. "S'alright. I'm proud of ya anyhow." He bumped Ethan's shoulder softly. 

***

The rest of the early evening passed with its own rhythm, quiet but heavier than normal. Wade went easier on Ethan, let him just lunge out the young ones and lope one more out that was older and broke as could be. That made Ethan smile, he always got along with the real calm and settled ones. The mare dragged her feet in the sand and sneezed when she accidentally flicked some dirt into her own face. There was never pressure, never with Wade. There was just purpose. Brushing horses down, wrapping and unwrapping legs, refilling water buckets for the last time that day. They were just chores- but they were his now. Not orders. Not punishment. 

Wade cracked a joke while tying off a wrap on a gelding with a summer sore on his knee, something about how if Ethan bent over one more time in front of him he'd have to go back inside and lock the door this time. Ethan rolled his eyes, laughed like he meant it, then whacked Wade with a tail brush. Not forced, not because it was polite, because it felt good to laugh with someone. 

Then his phone buzzed again, buzzing sharp and long from where Ethan had moved it to the brush shelf. 

Wade didn't even look up- just hummed as he wrestled with the mouthy gelding on putting some cream on his sunburnt nose. Ethan had that familiar pit drop in his stomach. He reached for the phone with a sigh, swiping it up, expecting something simple. 

"Hey, what's goin on?" he said casually, one hand still wiping sweat and horse hair from his shirt. 

His father's voice came down like an axe on wood. "What's goin' on? What's goin on!?" the man spat, venom in his tone. "I'll tell you what's goin' on- I sent Cody to check on you, and what do I hear? You're down there pillow-bitin' with some washed up ranchin' boy who spits chaw and smells like cheap beer?"

Ethan just stood there frozen. He hadn't even finished wiping down the horse he had standing in the groom stall. The world narrowed, the air in the barn thinning like he'd been belly kicked. 

"I gave you work, I gave you a name, and you're gonna throw it all away for a man? Hell, Ethan, you think I raised you to act like that? That ain't just soft, that's wrong." 

Wade didn't need to hear the words. He saw it all in Ethan's posture-the way his head dropped just slightly, the way his knuckles whitened around the phone. 

"I'm gonna come over there," his father barked. "We're gon' fix this. I'll haul your ass back home myself, sit you down with a real woman and remind you what your bloodline is supposed to mean. Got it?"

Ethan's mouth opened. Nothing came out. Not even a breath. 

He wasn't sixteen anymore, but he sure felt like it. Like he'd been caught red handed stealing something he wasn't sure he had a right to. The silence grew heavy. His dad was still ranting, but Ethan was no longer listening. He just slowly brought the phone down from his ear and hung up. No goodbye. No protest. No anger. Silence.

Wade watched, quiet as ever, stilling working on smearing the young gelding's nose with some cream. But his eyes locked with Ethan's. He didn't ask what was said. He didn't need to. Instead, he gave Ethan what he always gave him-space. A look that said you're safe, cowboy. 

Ethan didn't cry. Not yet. 

But he did lean hard into the wall, dropped the phone like it had burnt him, and whispered to nobody in particular:

"I don't know how to do this. I really don't." 

Wade didn't say a word. He just walked up, slow and steady, and pressed the side of his body against Ethan's. A nudge. Solid. Reassuring. 

"You don't gotta know," he said simply. "You just have to not quit. Keep holdin' on, they'll give it up." 

Chapter Text

Time had passed slow like the pour of molasses into feed. The barn was quieter after the call ended and both men busied themselves to combat the silence. The sun had dropped below the treeline, casting long golden bars across the aisle. The horses shuffled and moved in their stalls, tails flicking at the last flies of the evening, content. But Ethan stood by the tack wall like he couldn't move. Like the phone had left a mark on him. He'd fed the little ones inside, tossed hay, and looked half-heartedly at a mare with a little gash on her side from playing rough outside. His heart wasn't in it, Ethan truly wasn't even there all the way. 

Wade came back after turning their problem stud outside after a wash, the animal was tired but content as he ate his dinner and spilled it all over. Wade didn't ask. He just leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, watching Ethan with a look too soft for a man who'd once been champion of anything special. 

"Ya know," Wade started after a moment, voice low and careful. "You got this look about you- lookin' twelve and twenty-three all at once." 

Ethan didn't respond. He just blinked at the floor, jaw set tight. 

Wade didn't quit. He tilted his head. "Like when someone talks down to you.. you shrink like your cat does. All those years bein' the soft one, the quiet one- you still hold onto it."

Ethan finally spoke, voice tight. "Yeah, well. I didn't exactly have the right kind of loud in me." 

Wade let that hang in the air. 

"You know, when I was a kid," Ethan continued after a moment, "I figured if I just kept my head down, kept bein' what my dad said was good, he'd just pass over me. Like, if I wasn't in the way, I wouldn't get in any trouble. Wouldn't disappoint him."

Wade was silent, letting Ethan think on that. When he spoke, it was soft. "Worked for ya?"

Ethan's body shuddered almost, he lifted his head to glance at Wade. "No. Just made it easier for him to pretend I wasn't there, I guess."

Wade nodded slow. "That's the thing about families like yours, cowboy. They ain't got no use for sons, they want reflections. Like Cody, if he ain't your dad, I don't know what he is." 

Ethan winced. That was too sharp. Cut too close to a part of him that was still open and festering. 

Wade stepped away from the wall, ran a hand down his face, and stood in front of Ethan. He crouched so he wasn't hovering. "You got that curl in your shoulders, like you're always bracin' for somethin'. And you still answer that phone like you owe them every piece of your life, kid." 

"I do owe them, Wade." Ethan snapped, surprising even himself with the bite the words carried. "My dad gave me work, a roof. He even-"

Wade's eyes narrowed. "He raised you to feel like you were lucky he let you exist, E. That ain't nothin' to be owed for." 

Ethan's mouth opened to protest, but it slowly shut in silence. 

Wade wasn't finished. He kept on. "You keep letting your dad and Cody talk to you like you're some stray they picked up off the street corner. Like you don't get a say in who you love or what you want to do. And I get it, I do. The shrinkin' used to work."

He shuffled forward, held Ethan's chin even as he tried to pull away. He forced the boy's tear-lined eyes to meet his stormy ones. "But it don't anymore. You ain't a kid. And you ain't small either. You sure as hell ain't wrong for what you want." 

Ethan's throat worked around the knot in it. "It's easier sometimes. To let 'em believe what they already assume."

"Til you start believing it too." 

That landed. Hard. 

The air hung heavy between them, Wade let go of his face. A few stalls down, a horse snorted, the sound echoing hollow in the stillness. 

Ethan looked back down at his boots. "What if I can't do it? What if I foul it all up and make it all worse?"

Wade shrugged. "Then I'll still be here. Watching you mess it all up, helpin' you pick up what broke." 

For the first time in a while, Ethan took a breath that didn't sting his chest. 

***

He didn't plan it. Just found himself kissing Wade goodbye and saying he needed to go for a drive that morning. Wade let him, it was a slow day and he knew Ethan had a full brain. He found himself driving down the old country road, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel of his own truck, boots tapping a nervous rhythm on the floorboards. The small farmhouse came into view how it always did-wrapped in dust and memory, porch swing creaking in the wind like it hadn't stopped since he left. 

Dawn "Momma" Reyes was in the kitchen when he walked in, stirring something on the stove. She looked up like she always did, emerald eyes scanning him quick, like a doctor with a chart already in hand. 

"Well," she said, not quite smiling. "You've gained weight."

"Just workin' hard. Started eatin' better."

She hummed. "You're always workin'." 

He sat at the table like a boy again, palms flat against the aged wood. He could still see stains from paints and crayons and spilled juices on the wooden surface, all from when he and Cody used to color or play in the kitchen waiting for a snack after school. He could hardly look at Cody without shaking now. 

The same clock ticked above the sink, the same bowl of sugar sat beside the window, untouched like it was waiting for company that never came anymore. 

"I gotta talk to you about somethin', momma." Ethan began.

The woman raised an eyebrow but didn't turn to face him. "Mhm."

"This ain't about bein' angry, or tryin' to cause any trouble," he added quickly, heart already hammering. 

"Never said it was." She replied, lacking emotion. 

He swallowed, but pushed on. "I'm not comin' back to this ranch. Not ever." 

She stopped stirring, slowly pivoting. "This about your daddy?"

"No," he said, and it surprised him how true that was. "It's about me."

Her eyes flicked over him again, slower than before. Reading something new on her youngest boy. "Go on then."

He took a deep breath like Wade made him do often. "I've got good work now, good life set up. With horses. Just not his way. I like where I am. I like who I'm with." He paused. He thought about Wade, how he'd push him to keep going. For both of their sakes. "And I've decided I don't want what y'all wanted for me. I don't want the land, or the title, or the wife sittin' on the porch waiting' with lemonade in a sundress." 

She stared. Harsh. Unreadable.

"I'm not gon' have a wife," Ethan said quietly. "Not ever, and no kids. I'm... happy how I am. And I'm not ashamed of it. Not no more." 

The words hit the creaky wood floor gently, like feathers with nails hidden in the spines. He braced himself for a storm. 

But she didn't shout. 

Didn't cry. 

She just leaned on the counter, looking tired in a way he hadn't noticed on her before. 

"I figured." She sighed softly. 

Ethan blinked at her. "Ya did?"

She nodded once. "You were never like your brother. And that ain't all bad. I just kept thinkin' maybe you'd find your way back to what we wanted for you. Thought maybe if we waited long enough, you'd fall in line." 

Ethan looked at the floor. 

"I was wrong," she added. "You got your own kind of life. 

He raised his head at that. "You think it's a mistake."

"I think it's yours to make, son," she spoke. "That's what bein' grown means. You mess up on your own terms now." 

Silence filled the room. 

Then, she came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Didn't coddle. Didn't hug him. 

She stood close enough that he felt it-the quiet pulse of something close to peace.

"I'll still be here," she told him. "Even if I don't get it."

Ethan nodded, throat thick. "Thank you, momma." 

It wasn't everything, but it was more than he'd ever gotten. 

He walked out of that kitchen taller than he walked in, his boots no longer dragging through the dirt in the yard how they did when he was small. 

***

The sun was beating down on the barn when Ethan got back, shoulders relaxed for the first time since he first saw his brother. He wasn't smiling, not really, but there was something softened in the set of his jaw-like he'd set down a bit of weight he didn't even realize he was carrying. 

Wade looked up from where he was brushing out Rosie's tail, getting her ready for a client who needed a good ride, a stable one. He could sense the boy before he saw him. 

"You okay?"

Ethan nodded, slow. "I went to go see my momma." 

Wade gave a small sound of surprise. "You... voluntarily went home?"

Ethan huffed a shallow laugh. "Yeah. Guess I did."

"And? Do I need to go over there?" 

"No, no. She didn't yell. Didn't bless me out or tell me I was ruinin' her life," Ethan said, like he still couldn't believe what he was saying. "She didn't like what I had to say, not by a mile. But she listened, said I could come to her if I needed to, even if I screw up." 

Wade didn't speak at first, just walked over and laid his hand on Ethan's hip, rubbing small circles there on the denim. "That's somethin'."

"Yeah." Ethan leaned into it, stepping closer to him. "It's not everything, but it's more than I expected from her." 

They stood there for a moment, barn quiet except for the occasional stomp of a hoof or a distant crow stuck in the old wood rafters. Wade pulled Ethan in closer, wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed Ethan's face close to his own. 

Then Ethan spoke again, a low whisper. "I'm still scared though."

Wade met his eyes. "What for?"

"My daddy," Ethan admitted, shame crawling up his spine even as he forced the words out. "Not of his fists or nothin' like that- he ain't never laid a hand on me like that. He's just the kind of man who'll grab hold of something and break it, just to prove he can." 

Wade's eyes narrowed, but he let him finish. 

"He's not gonna call again, I know that. He's gonna show up. One day. Just walk through here like he owns the place and demand I come home. And if I don't, he'll make a scene. Big one. He's not above forcing me into his truck by my arm." 

Wade was quiet, but he still held his boy close. Still calm. Solid. "And if that happens?"

Ethan thought for a moment, then looked down at the floor.

"I don't know, really," he began. "I keep thinkin' I'll stand tall and tell him about himself, but every time I picture him, I go back to bein' ten years old again. Just wantin' to be good enough."

Ethan swallowed, taking a breath. 

"Look at me." Wade spoke, firm as concrete. "If he comes here, he'll find out real quick this ain't his place to barge into. I've got Buckshot in that tack room. You won't be alone." 

That made Ethan blink hard, chest tightening. 

"I'll be right here," Wade added. "And I don't shrink for nobody. You can lean on me until you remember how to stand again."

Ethan just nodded, slow. 

"Don't let me run. If he comes here, don't let me run from him."

"I won't. You won't." 

It wasn't over, but fear didn't get to be the only thing in the room anymore when the topic of Ethan's family came up. 

***

The week passed like a warm current, nothing sharp beneath the surface. No phone calls, no unexpected visitors. Just long days, sunburnt arms, dumb horses, and the kind of laughter Ethan hadn't dared let loose since he got here. 

He let himself be light again, to hell with who saw. 

That afternoon was one of those perfect kinds-dusty and golden, the air humming with cicada and no young ones to work since it was their day off. They had clients in an hour, a mother, her daughter, and technically a little boy who was barely out of his stroller. The girls had been riding with Wade for years, real easy to like- no showy money and no snide remarks about dirt or callouses. The kind of people who brought cookies at Christmas and thanked you twice for tightening the cinch. 

Ethan had been on cleanup duty, sweeping the aisle while Wade cooled out a mare that he'd lunged for the girls. His shirt clung to his spine, dust streaking his jaw. When Wade had rounded the corner after tying the mare, Rain, in her stall, Ethan couldn't help himself. He snatched Wade's hat clean off his head, looking proud of himself. 

Wade turned, sleeves rolled up and a streak of dirt showing on his neck. He looked a little annoyed, but not much. "C'mon, give that back."

"Come get it, old man."

"You callin' me old?" Wade growled, that rare grin tugging the corner of his mouth. 

Ethan took off down the aisle with a squeal, laughing, spurs jingling as they knocked against concrete. He didn't make it halfway to the other end before a hand caught him by the belt loop. A moment later, the hat was snatched back and he was hauled clean off the ground, squirming like a caught calf while Wade dangled him above the trough in the closest pasture. 

"You're not gonna." Ethan wheezed through his laughter, fighting and clawing at Wade's shirt.

"Don't test me, pretty boy." Wade warned, bouncing him just a little closer to the edge of the trough. He kicked the rubber and watched the water lick at Ethan's blonde curls. 

"I popped a button!" Ethan declared through a laugh before yelping when Wade made a show of lowering him closer and closer to the water. Sure as hell, he'd pulled one of the buttons off Wade's shirt, it lay on the ground near a decorative bush.

It was stupid and good and free, like Ethan finally had this life he'd wanted so bad as a little boy.

Then a truck door slammed.

The sound cracked through the barn like a gunshot, sharp enough to still the air. Dust motes hung in golden light, unmoving. Ethan froze in Wade's grip.

Then came the boots. Heavy, furious, echoing down the aisle. 

"Ethan James!"

That voice. It hit like a flash flood-instant dread crawling up Ethan's ribs and into his throat. 

Wade sent him down gently, stepping in front of him without even thinking. 

Mr Reyes' shadow reached them before he himself did, the smell of rotgut whiskey and cigars curling in behind him. 

"You think you can just run off and play house with another man?" He barked, shoving past a saddle stand so hard the leather groaned. "You think you can embarrass me like that?"

Ethan's pulse spiked. He couldn't move. Couldn't even swallow. 

"I'm takin' your ass home," his father snapped. "Now." 

"No you ain't, old man." Wade said, calm as a still pond. 

Mr. Reyes didn't even look at him. "You stay out of this, ranchhand."

Wade's jaw flexed. "I own this ranch." 

That made the other man pause-but only for a moment. His hand shot out, catching Ethan's arm hard enough to bruise. Ethan gasped, stumbling forward under the force of it. 

"Dad-I-"

"You're gon' tell me what to do now? You think that little cocksucker over there makes you a man?" 

Something in Wade's face changed, something Ethan had never seen before. His shoulders went rigid, like something taut had snapped in two. 

"Let go." Wade said, quietly and calmly. Too calm.

Mr. Reyes didn't. 

"I said, let him go." 

When the older man's grip only tightened, Wade turned without a word, stepping toward the tack room. There was the sound of wood scraping, the metallic click of a latch, and then the unmistakable weight of something being lifted. 

Ethan's chest caved in. He knew what Wade had in his grasp, he'd never seen him use it. "Wade, please don't-"

Wade wasn't aiming. Not yet. He came back out with a rifle held in both hands, calm, barrel pointed low but with clear intent. 

The air shifted. Hot, electric. Every fly in the place went silent. 

"I ain't gon' ask again. Take your hand off him." Wade spoke, voice so quiet and calm, it was deafening. 

Mr. Reyes froze. His fingers stayed clamped on Ethan's arm for another second too long for Wade. 

His thumb brushed over the safety, deliberate.

Click 

Ethan's father finally let go, jerking his hand back like he'd touched a hot stove. 

"You pull that trigger, boy, you'll regret it."

"I already regret lettin' you get past the front gate," Wade said, the words steady and cold. "You put your hands on him again, you ain't gon' leave standin'." 

Ethan's breathing came in shallow bursts. His father stared between them-between the man with the rifle and his youngest son standing behind him, face white, arm red from where he'd been grabbed. 

For the first time in his life, Ethan saw his father hesitate. 

"You don't get to do this," Ethan spoke, voice trembling but fierce. "Not ever again." 

Wade didn't lower his rifle. Not until Mr. Reyes stepped back, muttering curses of his idiot son under his breath. 

"Get the hell off my property." Wade spat. 

And for once, Mr. Reyes did. He left in a cloud of dust and engine noise, the sound fading down the long dirt road. 

When he was gone, when the dust settled back onto the gravel, Wade clicked the safety back on and leaned the rifle against the wall. His hand was shaking, barely. He'd never aimed that thing anything more sentient than a mangy coyote. He didn't say a word, just stood there breathing through it while Ethan tried to do the same. Even the horses were still.

The world had gone muffled-like sound couldn't get through the thick air in his chest. 

He could still feel it.

That grip. Those fingers digging into him. The smell of his father's jacket he always smoked in, the way the man's breath had hit his ear when he spoke. And over it all-the rifle. The low, ringing noise the metal made as it slid against Wade's palm. The look on his own father's face when he realized Wade wasn't playing. 

His throat clicked when he tried to swallow. His eyes were locked somewhere in the space between the hay bales and the open barn doors-unfocused, not really seeing. His body didn't trust that it was all over yet. 

He gave a shaky laugh that just didn't sound right. "Well, that wasn't exactly ideal."

Wade didn't move at first. He was still watching Ethan carefully, like approaching a skittish horse- shoulders low, voice steady, every movement slow enough to read. His hands were empty now, but there was still tension in them, the faint tremor of adrenaline that hadn't worn off. 

"Ethan," he said quietly. 

"I'm okay." The words came too quick, too practiced. "I'm fine, just-kinda happened fast. That's all."

Wade came closer, just enough to reach. He lifted Ethan's arm, his touch careful, thumb brushing over the red marks still bruising where the grip had been. The shape of a hand, ugly against sun-kissed skin. Wade's jaw flexed. 

"Piece of shit. Had no right." He growled, low.

Ethan glanced away. "He never used to-" he stopped. His voice broke in the middle. "Guess I didn't ever think he ever would."

He looked down at his arm again, then forced another laugh that sounded smaller than before. "You're the only guy I've ever let manhandle me before. Feelin' a little cheap, if I'm honest."

Wade didn't smile. "You ain't cheap." 

The words came out too sure, too final. Ethan blinked, the sound of it startling him more than it should've. 

"He touched you like he still owned you." Wade spoke. "Like he had every right to drag you back." 

That landed hard. Ethan's shoulders dropped, the breath going out of him in one long shudder. 

"I feel so damn stupid," he whispered. "I was just havin' fun. Laughin'. And then-" His voice wavered. "It's like I forgot he even existed for a second. Guess that was my mistake." 

Wade didn't argue. He just put a steady hand on Ethan's shoulder, grounding him there in the barn light. "You didn't forget. You just started livin' without his hand up your ass like a puppet." 

Ethan blinked hard, tears clinging to his lashes but refusing to fall. 

"You really weren't gonna let him touch me again..." 

"No." Wade said. Concrete. A vow. A promise. "Never."

For a long beat, neither of them moved. Then Ethan stepped in closer, forehead pressing against Wade's chest. Not crying, not really, just breathing. Wade's hand raised up between his shoulder blades, thumb rubbing slow but sure patterns through the thin cotton of his shirt. 

"Deep breaths, cowboy. I've got ya."

They stood that way until the air shifted again-the sound of a truck crunching over gravel, tires rolling to a stop outside. Clients. Remington family. 

Wade let out a slow breath, then rubbed Ethan's back up and down once. "They'll be walkin' in any minute." 

Ethan nodded against him, straightening, wiping his face quickly on his sleeve. 

"Go up to the house, lie down a minute-"

"No." Ethan cut in, voice rough but steady. "I'm gonna stay down here." 

Wade studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Alright then. Let's work."

They moved through the motions- saddling horses, talking to Mrs. Rose about how her three year old is coming along very well and how she'd be on him by the time fall rolled around, Ethan lifting the small boy up to stroke a weanling's nose when he got a little fussy and his momma was busy talking about her horse. That whole family had kind eyes, genuine laughs. It put Ethan at ease, Wade too. They thanked Wade twice for his work on Rain and complimented Ethan's gentle way with the horses, and their small son. 

Neither of them could've guessed that only minutes before, there'd been a rifle raised in that same barn. 

By the time Wade had Rain out working so Mrs. Rose could see and Clyde tied up ready for her to mount, the place looked peaceful again. But the mark on Ethan's arm burned quietly beneath his sleeve-a reminder of the line that had been crossed, and the man who'd stood between him and the past that had haunted him. The past that wanted to drag him right back into it.

Chapter Text

That morning, the kitchen smelled of burnt bacon. 

It was barely past five, the kind of hour where the light still looked half asleep. A soft glow spilled through the window over the sink, catching the edges of the counter where a cracked egg sat in a ceramic bowl, yolk gleaming like sunrise caught too soon. 

Ethan stood at the stove, quiet except for the scrape of a spatula and the faint hiss of grease. He hadn't shaved like he normally did, stubble already taking hold of his chin. His hair was mussed. But he was dressed- jeans, boots, a clean plaid button-up secured wrong at the collar. Like he needed to look ready. Like if he didn't start the day fast enough, it might catch up to him. 

Wade leaned on the bedroom doorframe, arms crossed, watching him for a long moment. The boy's movements were too careful-each turn of the pan measured, each breath held between steps. 

"You runnin' from somethin' this mornin'?" Wade finally asked, his voice still low and scratchy from sleep.

Ethan didn't turn. "No."

A beat, then softer, "Just runnin'." 

Wade moved closer, pulled up a chair, and sat at the little dining table. The seat creaked under his weight. He didn't press-never did anymore. He'd learned that silence could do more good than a hundred words. Ethan plated the bacon, added on toast, slid over two plates with eggs over easy. He sat across from Wade, fork idle between his fingers. They sat in that hush for a while. The only sound was the slow ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft shift of bacon cooling on porcelain. 

Then Ethan reached across the table-not quick, not desperate, just small and certain. He set his fingers on Wade's wrist. Not gripping. Just there. 

Wade went still, then turned his palm up, threading their fingers together. The contact was solid, grounding. Warm inside and out. 

"You didn't have to get goin' this early." Wade said, half a smile ghosting at the corner of his lips. 

Ethan shrugged, eyes down. "Couldn't sleep."

Wade didn't ask him why, he knew. 

The silence stretched, soft and friendly. Outside, the first birds had started up-a slow hesitant chorus that sounded more like a warm up than true song. 

Ethan finally spoke again, voice low. "You ever feel like someone could just reach into your chest and turn your life off? Like a switch?" 

Wade's eyes stayed on him. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "Used to feel that way a lot."

Ethan nodded slowly. "I think he almost flipped mine yesterday." 

For a while, neither said anything more. The words just sat there between them, heavy and real. 

Then Wade reached across again, caught Ethan's chin with a single finger, and tipped it until their eyes met. "But he didn't." 

Ethan swallowed hard. "No," he said. "He didn't."

Wade gave a quiet grunt, sitting back in his chair. "Good. 'Cause I ain't in the mood to bury nobody today." 

Ethan's mouth twitched into something close to a smile. He pushed his plate forward a little. "You gonna eat or just sit here flapping lips?"

"Depends," Wade started, picking up his fork. "You cook like you're tryin' to bribe somebody into lovin' you." 

That pulled an unexpected laugh out of Ethan-sharp, startled, real. "Is it workin'?"

Wade smirked. "I'm still here, ain't I?"

Ethan looked at him then. Really looked. The morning light caught on Wade's face, the quiet creases by his mouth, the steadiness in his eyes. 

Something in Ethan's chest unclenched, just a little. His throat loosened, shoulders stopped their hum of tension. 

Because Wade hadn't quit. He hadn't looked away. He hadn't said you're too much. 

He'd just said, plain as day, "Eat your eggs, cowboy."

And somehow, that was enough to keep Ethan's world turning.

***

"Saddle that dark bay one, one with all the cool socks. Braid him up too." 

Wade's voice was light, almost too casual, but Ethan still blinked at him like he'd misheard. 

"That one? You want him over the junior horses?"

"Yeah," Wade said, already walking past him toward the barn. "Saddle me the shiny ones. The ones I actually want folks to see when they show up. You, on the other hand-" He paused enough to grab a tiny leather halter from the bin and toss it at Ethan. "You've got foals to wrestle today." 

Ethan caught it against his chest, frowning. "Aren't we due for a rotation on those colts? They've had a couple days off already."

"Not today," Wade spoke, shaking his head. "You're on catchin' and dewormin' duty. You handle the babies, I'll handle whatever squealers I get to." 

"Because you think I can't?"

"Because you need a good day, Reyes," Wade said without looking back. "Let me handle the ornery ones for once, you go make friends with my future paychecks." 

Ethan's jaw twitched. His instinct was to argue, to tell him he didn't need any babysitting-but his hands were already moving, finding some more tiny halters and picking out some dewormer safe for tiny bellies. "Fine. But if one of those babies kicks me, I'm blamin' you."

"That's fair," Wade told him, grinning as he disappeared into the tack room. "And if one of the ones I had you saddle break throws me, you're payin' my hospital bill." 

By midmorning, the sun had burned the mist off the hills, and the paddock was alive with motion. Ethan stood in the middle like some kind of mother hen,-jeans dusty, shirt already stuck to his back-as foals of all shapes and sizes snorted and skittered around him. 

He worked slow and steady, the way Wade had taught him. A hand at the withers, a brush of the halter across the nose, a kind word before slipping it over the ears. Tap on their legs, pick up their feet, rub their bellies. Let them learn that people meant patience, not panic. He apologized every time he had to squirt a tube of pure nasty medicine down each one's throat, rubbing their necks and kissing their snouts. 

The little chestnut filly he was on now was pure attitude-pawing, tossing her head, biting at him when he wasn't looking. Ethan just laughed, low and unguarded, as she finally settled down enough for him to ease the tube past her lips. "Good girl," he muttered. "Don't bite me and we'll both live to see lunch, alright?" 

Down the fence line, Wade was all business-long strides, voice low and commanding as he talked with two clients who'd come to see the geldings he was taking to the show in Abilene later that month. The mother was in a wide brimmed hat, her daughter hardly old enough to keep her boots clean. Both of them were kind, genuine-complimenting Wade's horses, asking questions about their training. 

"Now this one's got the better head on him," Wade said, running a hand down the bay's neck. "Smart as a whip, smooth, sound as a mule, not a mean bone in his body. If he don't sell before we trailer him, he'll have cash thrown at him in Abilene." 

The woman nodded along, listening closely and trusting his every word. They didn't know about the man who'd shown up at the barn a day before. They didn't see the still loaded rifle resting above the doorframe in the tack room. To them, Wade was just a rancher with some steady hands and an eye for good stock. 

Ethan glanced over more than once. Watched how Wade moved-how easily he smiled, how he could handle a thousand pounds of muscle like it was nothing. That was the thing about him, even after the storm, he was calm water. 

When Wade finally put the two showboats away and made his way toward the paddock, the clients heading off with the promise to call next week, Ethan was ankle-deep in grass and laughter. One of the little bay colts had tried to chew his belt again, another was pawing at his thigh like it wanted to play. 

Wade stopped at the gate, leaning on it with a quiet grin. "You've got yourself a fan club." 

"Yeah, they love me," Ethan said dryly. "All except that chestnut-she's plannin' my murder." 

"She's got spark," Wade shrugged, ducking under the rail and stepping in beside him. The little ones scattered, but quickly came right back in search of a snack. "How're they doin'?"

"Bratty. But better than they've been." Ethan glanced up, squinting in the sunlight. "You sell any of your nice ones yet?"

"Not yet. Just plantin' seeds," Wade said. "They'll bite eventually." 

Ethan snorted. "Guess we're both wranglin' babies today." 

Wade hummed, stepping close enough that his hand brushed Ethan's back in passing-casual, grounding. "Difference is, mine'll pay for their own feed." 

Ethan shot him a look, but he didn't move away. Didn't flinch at the touch. The little ones shifted around them, tails flicking, dust floating in the light like smoke. 

Wade leaned back on his elbows in the grass, watching him with quiet pride. "You're good with 'em, better than me." He said proudly. 

Ethan shrugged. "They don't judge."

"Oh yeah?"

"They don't care what you did or who you disappointed," Ethan went on, rubbing a filly's neck as she itched him back on the arm. "You're calm, they're calm. You're kind, they trust you." 

Wade nodded slowly, voice low. "Maybe that's why I wanted you on this job today."

Ethan looked at him-really looked-and for once, he didn't see any pity. Just understanding. Sunlight caught in Wade's dark hair, glinting off bits of alfalfa and dirt, and for a second the whole day felt golden, clean. 

Then Wade clapped a hand on his shoulder and broke the spell. "C'mon, cowboy. Let's finish up before these knuckleheads eat up your jeans."

"Too late." Ethan chuckled, pointing to where small teeth had chewed his belt loop and mauled leather, drool still thick on denim. 

Wade laughed, deep and warm. "Guess I'll buy you a new pair. Consider that your hazard pay."

***

More clients had come in late afternoon, a mother and her son Wade had recently picked up after selling the woman a horse he had trouble parting with. Lucky thing was, she needed a place to keep it, so Wade never really had to part with the guy. They were the kind of people who brought both men some lunch and a drink, who smiled when they shook Ethan's hand and meant it. They'd both ridden well, kind to their horses and to one another, laughing easy in the sunlight. Ethan had stayed back to get started on feeding and watched Wade charm them, the picture of easy professionalism. 

They'd told Ethan he had kind hands when he unbridled the older mare for the son, the mother nodding approvingly when he stroked both horses before untacking them. Ethan hadn't known what to say to that, except thank you. Wade caught his eye then as he pulled the mother aside to talk about her boy showing his horse, one of those quiet looks that said, See? You're good at this.

With the day done and the horses put away, the world felt smaller, slower. The porch light threw a warm circle across the boards where Ethan sat, Charlie sprawled across his lap like some kind of king. The cat purred and shifted, then stood, turning once before meowing right at Ethan in his scratchy old cat voice. 

Wade tilted his head from the other end of the porch swing, his mouth curved in a tired smile. "What's he want now?" 

"Wants to be carried to bed," Ethan muttered like it was the most obvious thing. "Little tyrant." 

Charlie yowled in agreement. 

Wade huffed a laugh, eyes lingering on Ethan longer than they meant to, softer than they used to. Ethan felt it-like heat on his skin, like something alive between them. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to that weight. 

He scratched his cat behind the ears, but didn't move quite yet. "You gonna keep listenin' to Charlie and stargazin'," he began, voice low and quiet. "or you takin' me to bed?"

Wade's grin was slow, amused, but there was something else lingering under it. "Oh, now I'm takin' orders?" 

Ethan's lips curved faintly. "Just askin'. Nicely." 

The air shifted between them, a hum like the pause before thunder. Wade stood, held out his hand, and Ethan took it, allowing himself to be pulled up. He didn't let go. His fingers traced the front of Wade's shirt, slow, uncertain. 

"I'm not tryin' to make it a whole thing," Ethan murmured. "Just...don't really want to be thinkin' tonight." 

Wade's thumb brushed the inside of the blonde's wrist, grounding him. "You want peace, cowboy," he spoke quietly. "I'll give it to you."

That was all it took. Ethan's breath hitched, his chest tightening, not from nerves anymore, but from need-real, human, aching. He stepped in closer, and Wade met him halfway, their mouths barely touching before Wade deepened it, firm but sure. It wasn't rushed, but it was hot and electric-the kind of kiss that steals the air from between two people and replaces it with something heavier. Ethan's hand found the back of Wade's neck, the other pressed flat against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. 

"We gon' go fool around or would you rather I do a crossword?" Ethan asked, impatient and wanting a clear head. 

Wade huffed a laugh, getting up close to Ethan again to brush his lips against the boy's nose. "Depends, how dirty's the crossword?"

"I'll let you fill in the blanks, dammit." 

Wade snickered and pulled back just enough to whisper, "You sure, cowboy?"

Ethan nodded, his voice a whisper against Wade's jaw. "Yeah. Just...don't stop. 

Wade didn't. 

***

Their boots came off at the door, Ethan half-kicking his against the wall while Wade-ever the tease-lined his neatly beside them. The cat darted ahead, tail high, already leaping onto the bed like he owned the place. 

"Gonna have to start lockin' that damn door," Wade muttered, loosening his belt. "Charlie gets in here faster than I do." 

Ethan chuckled, undoing his own belt with a flick that was half for show, half a challenge. "I'd keep from worryin', you're better lookin'."

"Oh I'm the attractive one, aye?" Wade caught his belt mid swing and snapped it lightly against Ethan's thigh. Ethan yelped, grin sharp, grabbing one of Wade's back pockets. 

"Yeah, yeah. Don't let it go to your head, old man." 

Wade's brow arched, eyes glinting. "You and this old man thing, I'm startin' to think you're some kind of panther or somethin' comin' after my wallet." He stepped closer until Ethan's breath hitched-less from nerves and more from memory. 

The air between them felt charged somehow, warm from laughter and something heavier beneath it. Ethan reached for Wade's shirt, tugged him closer, and the teasing gave way to quiet. Familiar quiet. 

"Come to bed." Ethan murmured. 

Wade brushed a thumb across Ethan's cheekbone, the touch slow, almost ghosting. "Didn't plan on goin' anywhere else."

The lamplight spilled golden across the room, catching the curve of Wade's smile as Ethan drew him down. The glow of the shadows was soft, stretching over the quilt and fading through the corners. It wasn't shy anymore-not like their first time, all uncertain hands and careful pauses. This was known.

When Wade settled above Ethan, the air shifted-warm, steady, full of breath and closeness. His lips brushed the blonde's throat, his jaw, his nose, his collarbone, it was all so familiar. Ethan chuckled and swatted half-heartedly at him, hands connecting gently with Wade's face when he sucked a mark far too high up on his neck to be considered professional. 

"You're gonna get me in trouble, Wade."

"With who?" Wade grinned, voice low and amused. "You work for me, and I'd be ticked if you didn't sport what I'm givin' you." He leaned down again to unbutton Ethan's shirt, this time not as slow as the last. 

Ethan rolled his eyes but didn't pull away when Wade started unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers fumbled over the thin fabric, slow at first, then more confident. The lamplight caught the curve of his wrist, the movement of his throat. Ethan exhaled and let himself sink back into the mattress, soft against the old quilt, the world narrowing to Wade's quiet laughter and the steady rhythm of breathing. When Ethan's own hands moved-tugging at Wade's shirt in retaliation-it was with a mix of nerves and familiarity. Buttons clattered against the floorboards, laughter breaking the quiet like sparks. The room smelled faintly of hay and sweat, of something sweeter the two of them didn't care to define. 

They tangled there, easy and unhurried, every small touch edged with comfort and play. Wade wasn't as tough as Ethan had once thought-he folded easily under Ethan's tongue as he rolled it under the older man's ear and down his jaw. Wade was quick to retaliate by making Ethan squeal under a suck at his Adam's apple. Their laughter turned breathless, and for a moment, all there was included laughter, the touch of skin, and the low hum of cicadas outside the window. 

The air grew thicker with the mix of heat and affection. Wade pulled back just enough to look down at the blonde under him. 

"You lookin' to try somethin' fun? Or just play it easy tonight? Your call." Wade exhaled when he finally pulled away for a breath, rubbing Ethan's hips with calloused fingers while he refilled his lungs. 

Ethan looked up at him, lips puffy and red from working against Wade's. His eyes were lidded, cheeks still flushed pink. He pondered it for all of two seconds before he answered. 

"I'll try somethin'-whatever you want. Just teach me." 

With that, Wade grinned and went back to sucking at Ethan's skin, toying with the hair leading down to his navel. Ethan groaned at the touch, threading his hands in Wade's messy hair. Wade growled when he tugged slightly, so he did it again and got the same response. Wade had worked his way all the way down to where denim met skin, then looked up at Ethan for permission to continue, to take it lower. Ethan just nodded, a little confused but incredibly intrigued. He could be seen already showing through the denim, it squeezed him like some kind of containment. He was happy to have it gone when Wade tugged the jeans down his hips and threw them to the floor, sighing softly and staring down at himself, only for a moment. 

"Just tell me if you wanna quit, alright?" He said, his voice gentler now. "I might be a little rusty to start."

Ethan chuckled softly, though it was cut off with a sliver of nerve. "You'll be better than me," he muttered. "I ain't had much to go off of." 

Wade took that as his invitation, he moved lower and ran his fingertips underneath the waistband of Ethan's boxers. Laughter bubbled up in his throat as he caught sight of them, childish, not entirely boyish, though they were patterned with small green tractors on black background fabric. 

"I don't know how I'm supposed to seduce you when you're wearin' John Deere undies, man." Wade snickered, trying to hold in a full laugh while he pulled the fabric down off Ethan's hips. 

Ethan flushed even harder, hiding his face in his arm. "Don't make fun of me," he muttered, but his voice was light. "I didn't shop for myself until last year." 

Wade laughed again, the sound rich and fond, and leaned down to press a kiss to Ethan's temple. 

"You're impossible." He murmured, the words half lost against Ethan's skin as the lamplight flickered across them both. 

Ethan smiled faintly, trying to hide his face in the pillows, though the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. Wade's laughter hummed low in his chest, that familiar rumble Ethan often felt more than he heard. His calloused hands traced slow, easy patterns down Ethan's hip bones, then down to his thighs, over his knees. A kind of absentminded affection that made Ethan shiver. 

"Hey," Wade said quietly, voice dripping into that gentle tone he reserved only for this. "You ready?" 

Ethan nodded, swallowing hard. His skin was warm, the air thick around him, smelling of sweat and linen. He reached for Wade without thinking, hands finding his shoulders, his neck, then his hair-needing to touch something solid. 

Wade chuckled low and tender. "You always run so hot," he teased, thumb brushing a small circle over Ethan's thigh before giving a reassuring squeeze. The room fell quiet while he wrapped his lips around the blonde's length, starting with circling the tip before working his way all the way down. The sound of bedsprings creaking kept Ethan from floating away in his ecstasy, though it hardly held him down. He gasped as Wade sucked all the way down, then left licks and pressure on the way up. He kissed Ethan's peak a few times before he would bob his head down again, causing Ethan's hips to jolt without his permission. 

Wade felt it, he could feel all of Ethan. He stayed close, murmuring soft words of praise while he moved, the dialogue vibrating against Ethan and making the experience that much more enjoyable. 

"Easy," Wade whispered when he pulled away to kiss Ethan's jewels. "Just breathe, E. You're doin' good." 

Ethan did, drawing in a shaky breath that came out like a laugh. "You're real bossy sometimes." He managed, though the words wobbled through a love drunk grin. 

"Someone's gotta keep you in line," Wade said with mock severity, brushing a kiss against his thigh. His voice softened, "You trust me, don't ya?"

Ethan nodded immediately, the tension leaving his body at those words. "Course I do." 

Wade smiled at that-small and confident. The two of them fell into a rhythm again, Wade leaned back down and got back to work. Ethan tugged his hair when his tongue rolled over a vein and Wade moaned against him, rough and guttural. Ethan's breath quickened again, and his moans turned into something more squeal-sounding. Wade knew he was getting close, and he didn't want to finish tonight like this. With a wet pop, he pulled his lips off of the smaller boy and smiled at him, wiping his own chin. Ethan stared at him with what could only have been utter outrage. He looked at Wade as though he'd just kicked Charlie across the room. 

"What's the matter, cowboy?" Wade teased, leaning on his elbow. "I forget somethin'?"

Ethan shot him a glare, his shaft still erect and aching. "Feels like it." He muttered, though there was no real bite to it. 

Wade's grin spread slow. "Slow down, tiger. I'd much rather make this last awhile. Call that a warm-up."

Ethan groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. "You're horrible." He spoke, but the laugh that followed ruined any chance of it sounding serious. 

"You love it, don't lie to me." Wade spoke, low and lazy. 

***

Ethan didn't really remember the exact moment he'd ended up straddling Wade-only that he had, and that it might've been the best view he'd ever had. Wade was beneath him, laughing like a schoolboy, eyes bright and full of mischief, like this moment had been waiting for them both a long time. 

"You know," Wade spoke, still grinning. "I learned somethin' from a real smart friend of mine. Brightest man I ever met.” 

Ethan blinked, breathless and bewildered, his hair falling over his eyes. "Wade, why in the hell are you talkin' about one of your old friends right now?"

Wade didn't answer right away-he just reached an arm up over the headboard and retrieved his hat, the same battered one he wore every day to work and hung up every night like clockwork. 

"What does this have to do with anything?" Ethan groaned, half frustrated and the other half amused, his voice somewhere between a laugh and a genuine whine. 

Wade gave him that mock offended look of his, chin tilted, eyes glinting with something sly. 

"Patience, cowboy. You oughta listen to what he told me."

Ethan's irritation flickered into curiosity, though the feeling didn't last long before Wade plopped the hat right on top of his head. The brim tilted slightly until Wade reached up to fix it, tipping it just enough that their eyes met through the shadow it cast. 

"He told me," Wade began, his grin spreading slow and deliberate. "That if you wear the hat-you ride the cowboy. His rules, not mine."

Ethan froze for a heartbeat, processing, the light weight of the hat warm on his curls. "Ride the cowboy?" He repeated, the words slow and uncertain, like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or take it seriously. 

Wade just laughed, voice soft and playful, the kind of laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Pretty simple request," he drawled. "Let me show you." 

Ethan's heart stuttered, but the humor stayed alive between them. Wade reached into the bedside drawer to retrieve the same green tinted bottle he'd seen the last time they both got dirty. Not ideal, not what you saw in movies or erotic magazines, but it was easy to get around here. Olive oil, not virgin anymore, though it said that on the packaging. 

It was cool against Ethan's hole as Wade spread it about, gentle and soft. He'd stayed relatively stretched from their last activities, Wade could slip two fingers in easy enough to prep him easily.  He went slow with it like normal, but Ethan was much more pliable, already worked out and now lubricated, and smelling like some kind of Italian appetizer. 

He whimpered soft when Wade hit a spot that was tender, immediately reaching for Wade's shoulders looking for assurance. For comfort, stability. 

"Hey," Wade murmured, looking up, voice suddenly gentler than it had been. "You're alright. I got it all handled. You just sit up there and be handsome." 

That earned him a breathless laugh from Ethan, half embarrassed, half endeared. He nodded, hands resting on Wade's shoulders for balance. For a while, there was just the sound of their breathing, the quiet warmth their bodies created, and a vulnerable amount of trust. When Ethan finally gave a small nod, Wade guided him gently, careful and slow, as if he were handling glass. He lifted the boy's hips up and gently settled him onto his length.

Ethan startled at first with a squeak, then steadied, trusting Wade to take care of him. His grip tightened for balance, his breath catching as he tried to match Wade's rhythm, the two of them learning each other's pace without words. 

"You alright? Need me to slow up?"

"Yeah, still good." Ethan nodded, a little flushed. He was in to the hilt, it was taking all of Wade's power to keep still. 

It took a moment for Ethan to figure out what exactly riding the cowboy entailed, though once he figured it out, he didn't mind it. Wade guided him with quiet patience, showing him how to move himself up and down, how to find what felt right to him. With every breath, Ethan grew more confident, their movements syncing until they seemed to move as one. The sounds that left Wade were new-low, rough, and honest. Ethan was sure he could listen to them for the rest of his life. Eventually, Wade got close, too close for his liking. He didn't like coming first, not when he had Ethan to take care of. When he felt that familiar heat pool in his stomach, he reached forward and wrapped a calloused hand around Ethan's length, the area dripping with precum. Ethan gasped and rocked harder, trying to lean into Wade's length and his hand all at once. He felt that heat after Wade began to match his pace, thrusting into Ethan with the same rhythm he'd established. 

"Wade...Wade-I-"

"You're still good, you're doin' fine. Just let go, cowboy." Wade assured him, stroking him with more fervor and thrusting into him harder than he had been. 

Ethan's body was in heaven, and not the kind with pearly gates and golden halos. He felt so safe, so cared for, he allowed his climax to wash over him as he clung to Wade, the safest space he'd ever been in. He let go the only way he knew how to-fully, fearlessly, with a kind of trust that left his whole body shaking and sobs wracking through his chest. Wade held him through it, murmuring against his ear, pressing soft kisses to his temple until Ethan's heartbeat slowed again. Wade was quick to finish right after Ethan had, the combination of him tightening around him and those soft tears had Wade gripping sheets. 

When the rush faded fully, Wade was careful, gentle. He brushed a hand along Ethan's side as he pulled out from him, fixing the hat that had fallen over his eyes. He smiled when he saw how tired and small Ethan looked-peaceful in a way he rarely was. 

"Just sleep, cowboy," he murmured, drawing him closer. "The world'll wait." 

Ethan mumbled something about needing a shower, but even before the words were done forming, he was already asleep in Wade's arms. 

Chapter Text

The sunlight filtered in through the cabin window like a hush. It wasn't hot or bright or dramatic-just kind of soft. Safe.

Ethan blinked himself awake, his breath slow and steady, chest rising and falling against Wade's. One of Wade's arms was still slung heavy over his waist, the other tucked beneath his pillow. Neither of them had moved much in the night. Charlie was curled in the windowsill, grimacing like he'd seen more than he bargained for last night. He had, but he'd forget by late afternoon when he got a can of wet food. He blinked down at the boys soft and slow he always blinked slow at Ethan, liked it when he mimicked the motion. 

For once, Ethan didn't feel the need to bolt upright or apologize for resting too long. He stayed where he was, soaking in the warm smell of sex and hay dust that clung to the sheets. The room still held its familiar scent of cedar, just like the rest of the house. His fingertips traced idle patterns across Wade's forearm, following the faint scars and rope burns like a map. 

This was a morning he didn't want to outrun. 

Eventually, Wade stirred, voice low and scratchy against Ethan's ear. "You're still here."

Ethan smiled into the pillow, voice equally low and saturated with sleep. "I know." 

They stayed tangled for a while longer, the world outside content to wait. When they did finally get up, it wasn't rushed-just easy. Barefoot, hair mussed, moving about the kitchen with sleepy precision. They bumped hips near the stove, argued softly over how dark the toast had gotten under nobody's supervision, shared a piece of fruit like it was a prize. 

Ethan leaned against the counter, biting into toast with one hand while the other absently traced circles on Wade's back. 

"Should head to the barn." Wade said, voice still rough from sleep. 

"Yeah," Ethan grinned. "I'll try not to hit you with anything today." 

Wade gave him a look. "That's a damn lie, and you know it." 

It was. Because ten minutes later, Ethan cracked him across the shoulder with a saddle pad and took off running. Wade cursed, laughing as he gave chase to the hobbling blonde, their boots thudding across the packed dirt. The horses lifted their heads in their stalls as they ate breakfast, watching the morning unfold like they'd seen this a dozen times before. 

Inside the barn, the air was cool and sweet with hay and dust. Shafts of light cut through the slats in gold yellow stripes, catching the slow drift of dirt particles and the faint steam rising off horses' backs. Wade's voice carried through the space, low and steady, that easy authority that made even the greenest colt stop and listen. 

Ethan busied himself with the younger horse that morning-the weanlings that had just started getting used to halters and human hands. Wade had given him the job of introducing them to soft lead pressure, getting them used to touch along their bodies, and not getting kicked. It was quiet, focused work, the kind that built trust one breath at a time. He moved slow, careful not to crowd. The filly in front of him-sooty buckskin, nervous, with a snip of white on her left nostril-watched his every move. He murmured under his breath to her, just enough to keep her focused on the sound of his voice rather than her own fear. They'd been calling her Sandy, her dam had this real pretty sand color. Hopefully she'd grow to be like that. When she took a single step toward him, Ethan felt it like a small victory. 

"That's it, mama," he said softly. "Good choices." 

Behind him. Wade worked with a two year old gelding that still thought biting was acceptable. Ethan glanced over eveyr now and again, watching Wade's quiet patience, the way he'd correct the gelding with a flick of the rope and then wait for him to start licking his lips. No anger, no rush. Just steady, grounded energy. 

"See, that's what I mean," Wade called over his shoulder. "You can't rush his head. You rush his head, you lose his feet. Then he short circuits." 

Ethan smirked. "You talkin' bout the horse or me?"

Wade glanced back, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Both, now that ya mention it." 

They traded comments and lessons back and forth as they worked-how to teach the yearlings to yield their hindquarters without getting a hoof to the chest, how to rub the saddle pad over a nervous shoulder without spooking them. By midmorning, the two of them had fallen into an easy rhythm. Sweat gathered at Ethan's temples, the scent of leather and horse filled the air. Wade's shirt was stuck to his back, and when he paused to sip his drink, Ethan caught himself watching the lines of muscle move under thin fabric. 

When they finished with groundwork, Wade leaned on the fence rail while Ethan swung a leg over one of the flashier green colts. The colt danced under him, unsure, but not unkind. Ethan sat deep, patient with the animal. Wade offered quiet corrections when he needed them. 

"Loosen your rein to him. Let him find it lower. Good. Right there's good." 

Ethan rolled his eyes but followed every word. When the colt finally picked up the correct lead smooth as silk, Wade let out a low whistle. 

"What'd I tell you? You trust your seat more than your hands, these dumb suckers like that better." 

Ethan grinned, flushed with pride. "You just like bein' right." 

Wade chuckled. "Someone's gotta be." 

By the time the horses were cooled down and grazing quietly along the fenceline, the air had turned hot and lazy. They walked side by side into the round pen, letting an injured old mare in there to loosen up, Wade didn't want to risk her getting hurt outside in the grass. Cilia, a horse that used to win trophies and rose garlands and cash by the thousands. Now, she ate too much alfalfa and got scratches behind the ears just for standing up. She'd gone lame last week, abscess in her foot, Wade thought it was founder before he got a vet out and nearly lost it in the aisle. They walked her in slow, shoulders brushing now and then. 

"Hey," Ethan said after a while, thumb hooked in his pocket. 

Wade looked up, unlatching Cilia's halter and letting her walk around the pen. "Yeah?"

"Your momma... she cook?"

Wade blinked, then nodded. "Sometimes. Why?"

Ethan shrugged, gaze drifting out to Cilia as she moved to roll in the dirt. "Just thought maybe...if she wanted...we could have her over sometime. Supper or something."

Wade was quiet for a moment, taking that in. He watched the sunlight flicker off of Cilia's chestnut coat, the way she shook off the sand that stuck to her and did a little crow hop, not quite herself, but getting there. Then he reached over, tugging on Ethan's sleeve, pulling him close enough for their arms to brush. 

"She'd like that," Wade answered. "She likes when I'm happy."

Ethan nodded, his throat tight in that soft, full way that wasn't sadness-just too much feeling. They walked back to the barn that way, the rhythm of hooves and birdsong the only sound between them. 

He didn't bring up his dad. Or the bad years. Or the things that used to make him run. They didn't belong here-not in this place that smelled of hay and sun and quiet, where Wade's voice was calm and Ethan's laugh came easier than ever. 

This wasn't forgetting. It was remembering and living anyway. 

And Wade made it feel like he could.

***

Wade leaned against the fence rail, phone in one hand, thumb idly tapping the wood as he watched it ring. The sun had already dipped lower, laying long lines of gold across the paddock. Dust hung in the air like something sacred. 

Ethan kept himself busy with the broom, sweeping nowhere in particular. He wasn't eavesdropping, not really-just keeping close enough that if Wade needed something, he'd hear. 

When Darlene Ralston picked up, Wade's voice shifted. Softer. Warmer. It wasn't the same tone he used with the horses or with ranch hands-it carried something rounder, a kind of tenderness Ethan didn't hear often. It made his chest ache, good and bad all at once.

"Hey, Ma." Wade spoke. "Yeah, I'm doin' alright. You busy?"

A pause.

"Nah, nothin's wrong. I just-well, I was wonderin' if you wanted to come by for supper sometime soon. Real food. We'll cook."

Ethan's sweeping slowed, he listened like Wade was preaching some kind of secret. 

Wade chuckled, thumb dragging slow against the wood rail. "No, I ain't tryin' to poison you. Ethan's the one doin' the cookin'. He's a damn fine one too-you'll see it."

Ethan ducked his head, pretending to focus on a patch of hay that didn't need sweeping. He hadn't thought much about impressing her, not really. Just about being good. Good enough to hold Wade's heart steady and not drop it.

Wade went quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting toward Ethan. Their eyes met across the barn-brief, sure, steady.

"Yeah," he said softly into the phone. "He's the one I done told you about. Fixed that busted gate I hit. That cat I found? His. Why I'm out of bed early and not half drunk anymore? That'd be him too."

There was a pause. A long one. Then Wade's mouth curved, slow and genuine.

"Yes, momma," Wade murmured. "I love him."

Ethan looked away fast, blinking hard. His throat ached around something warm. He got to sweeping again, harder this time, like dust could cover up how red his face and eyes had gotten. 

Wade's tone shifted again, grounding itself. "Only if you want to come. I just thought...maybe we'd set a place for ya." 

He nodded at something she said, a soft laugh rumbling out of him. "No, ma'am, I ain't forgettin' your wine. Yeah, you can bring dessert-but don't outcook him. He'll pout." 

That made Ethan grin without meaning to, shoulders loosening just a little.

"Alright, Ma. Love you."

He hung up, tucking the phone into his back pocket before glancing back toward Ethan. The air between them fell still, settled. 

"She's in." Wade said, voice casual but his eyes shining a little. 

Ethan nodded, leaning on the broom handle. "Alright. Just tell me what she likes. I'll make it."

"You don't gotta go all-out." Wade assured, stepping closer, brushing hair off his jeans as he did. 

"I want to," Ethan replied. "I was taught you break bread with someone-that's how you earn respect. That's how you say you wanna know 'em better."

Wade smiled, something tender flickering in his eyes. He leaned in, bumping his forehead lightly against Ethan's.

"She's gonna love you."

"I sure hope so."

"She will. You're mine." 

Ethan flushed, but he didn't pull away when Wade closed the gap softly. 

He didn't have much family that felt like family. But maybe-maybe he was building one anyway. One meal, one quiet morning, one phone call at a time. 

***

By the time all the horses were fed and the sun dipped low enough to turn the fields gold, the inside of Wade's little cabin looked nothing like the calm, open space it had been that morning. 

It looked more like a battleground. 

Ethan had a kitchen towel slung over one shoulder, sweat dampening his hair, and a streak of flour drawn across his cheek like war paint. The smell of roasted garlic hung thick in the air, tangled with something buttery and rich-could be the potatoes. Or the cream sauce he'd been fussing over for too long. Everything had started to blur together. 

"Shit," he hissed, jerking the bread tray from the oven and staring down at it with deep betrayal. The tops of the rolls were a little too brown, the outer crust just a touch too thick. Not ruined-but not right, either. "Damn it, damn it-"

Wade was leaned in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow cocked, looking like he'd been holding in laughter for the better part of twenty minutes. 

"You gon' break my oven or just yourself?" he drawled. 

Ethan spun around. spatula brandished like a weapon. "Don't start with me, Wade-I told you not to let me forget about the bread-"

"I didn't forget," Wade said easily. "I reminded you twice. You told me to 'shut the hell up' and 'go play with my truck'." 

"Well, maybe you should've reminded me nicer," Ethan muttered, slamming the tray down and whirling back toward the counter. "Where's your-where's- Wade, where's the potato masher?"

Wade pushed off the doorframe, wandered over and picked the thing up from right beside the sink where it had been the entire time. He held it out with a lazy grin. 

"Do not smirk at me," Ethan snapped, grabbing it out of his hands. "This is your fault."

"Oh, absolutely," Wade said, not hostile or aggressive. "Me and my terrifying, supportive mother, ruinin' your life." 

Ethan didn't answer-just started folding a napkin for the third time, as if that would somehow make the world make sense. 

Wade watched him for a moment, soft amusement flickering into something gentler. "You know she's not comin' to judge us, right?"

"I know that." Ethan said too quickly. His fingers betrayed him though, creasing too sharp, then too soft, then starting all over again. 

Wade stepped in close, rested a steadying hand against the small of Ethan's back. "E-she's not comin' to see a perfect table. She's comin' to meet you."

Ethan didn't look up. His chest rose too fast, breath catching. "I just want her to like me."

"She will, cowboy. You'll see."

"I don't- Ethan's voice wavered. "I didn't grow up with this. We didn't do dinners like this. We didn't do...family. You got with who you got with and made do. If they hated you, you worked harder. If they loved you-" His voice cracked, soft and sudden. "-you worked harder." 

Something in Wade's expression broke wide open.

He caught Ethan's hands, stilled them gently. "She's not your daddy. She's not Cody. She ain't comin' here lookin' for somethin' to hate. I promise." 

Ethan swallowed hard. "I just wanna be good."

"You are good," Wade said quietly, pressed his forehead to Ethan's. "You're so damn good, Ethan. Even if the bread's a little crispy."

Ethan huffed out a laugh, wet at the edges. "God, don't remind me."

Wade smiled and kissed his cheek, slow and certain. "We've got time. She's not gonna be here for another couple hours. Let's slow down." 

Ethan exhaled a big breath, leaning against Wade for a moment, letting the world steady. Wade was warm and solid, the room filled with the smell of butter and burnt bread and something like safety. 

Then, the oven dinged. 

"Oh, hell," Ethan cursed, bolting upright. "My damn asparagus." 

Wade laughed, grabbing the towel off of Ethan's shoulder. "Alright, chef. You panic, I'll stir." 

And somehow, the kitchen's chaos turned into a kind of dance-messy, loud, shared. Not a performance anymore. Just supper. Just them two. 

And maybe, Ethan thought, that should be enough. 

***

The table looked...incredible. 

Ethan stood a few paces back from it, arms crossed, sleeves stiff from starch and overthinking. The button-up he'd chosen was clean, pressed, and tugged a bit too tight across his chest-like it didn't quite believe it belonged there. His jeans were his second best pair, his curls had been slicked back earlier with a handful of something Wade handed him. 

"It ain't grease," he'd said, laughing. 

Now a few strands of blonde had fallen loose anyway. 

He looked put together, if you didn't look too close at the eyes. 

Wade, of course, did. 

Wade, who looked like himself-boots off, sleeves rolled up, collar popped open, like this was any other night. He'd lit the candles Ethan had nervously arranged and set them beside the napkins Ethan had finally settled on folding into triangles. The kitchen still looked like a war had been fought-pots in the sink, flour on the floor Charlie was licking at, a spoon still half submerged in mashed potatoes-but the air felt warm. Alive. 

"You're vibratin'." Wade said from the doorway, nursing a glass of water like it was whiskey. 

"I'm fine," Ethan lied. "You said she'd be here at seven. It's 6:59."

"You gonna explode when the clock hits?"

"I might."

Wade chuckled, came over, and smoothed Ethan's collar even if it didn't need it. "Just breathe, cowboy. She's not showin' up with a scorecard." 

But Ethan didn't breathe right. His chest rose and fell too quick, jaw tight in that old way it used to be whenever someone told him to 'stand still and behave'. He tried to look calm, but his eyes kept darting toward the window, the stove, the clock. The food was ready. The table was perfect. And still, he stood there like a boy waiting for something to go wrong. 

Then came the knock. 

Not loud. Not urgent. Just a soft rap on the glass door. 

Ethan flinched. 

Wade gave his hand a quiet squeeze, murmuring, "You're alright," before heading for the door. "Hey, Ma."

The voice that answered carried sunlight and comfort in equal measure. "Well, don't just stand there. You invitin' me in or do I gotta camp out on the porch?"

Wade laughed and swung the door open.

Darlene stepped in with the evening breeze-short, silver haired, wearing a denim jacket over a strawberry-stitched dress. In her hands was a plastic container covered with foil, held like something precious. 

Ethan stood stiff behind the table, posture perfect, heart thudding. 

She spotted him right away. "So this must be Ethan."

Her voice wrapped around his name like a soft quilt. No sharp edges, no judgement. 

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a half-nod and a quiet, "Ma'am."

She tilted her head. "Lord, don't call me ma'am. Makes me feel ancient. I'm just Darlene."

Ethan blinked fast, unsure whether to smile or salute. 

Without missing a beat, she handed Wade the container, then turned back to Ethan, arms open.

"You cooked for me," she said gently. "I can smell it. You've been at it all evening, haven't you?"

He hesitated, hands twisting at his sides. "Yes, ma-uh-yes. Just thought it'd be polite."

"It's beautiful," Darlene spoke, eyes shining. "And way too much food. Which means you're already family."

Wade grinned behind her. "Told you."

And then she hugged him. 

It wasn't tight, not the kind that asked anything of him-just full, warm, honest. Ethan froze for a half second, then melted, slow and quiet. "Thank you." he whispered into her shoulder.

"There's a good boy," she murmured, pulling back with a smile. "Now, let's eat before it all goes cold."

Ethan exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours. 

He gestured toward the table, voice still soft. "Hope you're hungry."

"Baby, I was born hungry," she spoke with a grin.

For the first time in a long time, Ethan sat down for a proper supper without fear. 

Not because his nerves were gone, but because he wasn't alone.

Plates clinked softly, the light above hummed with moth wings, and the smell of garlic and cream wrapped the table like a blanket. 

Ethan kept his hands in his lap unless he was pouring sweet tea or passing bread-again. "Sure you got enough?" he asked her, halfway out of his seat already. 

Darlene looked down at her overflowing plate. "Honey, you ask me that again, I'll think you're tryin' to fatten me for market."

Ethan's mouth opened-then shut. "No-no ma'am. Sorry,-I"

She wagged a finger. "I done told you not to call me ma'am. You make me sound like I've got a switch in my purse."

Wade stifled a laugh beside him.

Ethan flushed beet red, trying not to smile. Or cry. "I just wanted to make sure you like it. Not too spicy or-or weird."

"Ethan," she said firmly, but not unkind, "this is better than anything your man's made me in twenty years." 

"Hey!" Wade protested. 

"Truth hurts." She spoke, taking another bite. 

Ethan blinked, unsure if she was joking-until Wade nudged him under the table, grinning. 

Still, he couldn't stop glancing her way after every bite, every pause. 

"Too salty?"

"No, sweetheart."

"Too dry?"

"No, darlin'."

"Too-?"

Darlene cut him off with a raised hand. "Wade, you better loosen this boy up or he's gonna chew a hole in his cheek by dessert."

Ethan flushed again, wide-eyed. He dropped his gaze, staring down at his fork like maybe it would offer him a way out. 

Darlene didn't laugh at him. Didn't scold him. She just picked up her fork and said, matter-of-fact as anything, "You're wound up like a colt under saddle in the winter time. I know that look. Ears twitchin', knees knocking', got no idea whether to bolt or buck." 

"But that's alright," she said, voice softer now. "You'll learn the feel of it."

Ethan blinked at her, eyes wet around the edges. "You ain't mad?"

"Mad?" she chuckled. "Baby, I've seen real trouble. Nervous boys with good hearts don't scare me none." 

He nodded, quiet, shaking. "Okay."

Wade nudged him again, harder this time. "You can breathe now, bud."

"I am breathing." Ethan muttered. 

"Not like a person you ain't." 

That earned an unexpected snort from Ethan-sharp and startled. Darlene smiled wide. "There it is. He laughs."

Ethan finally looked all the way up, eyes flicking between them both. He still sat stiffly, still not daring to touch Wade, still afraid that if he leaned too close, if his shoulder brushed too long, if he reached for Wade's hand on accident, Darlene would stiffen or tell him to get out. 

She didn't.

She just talked and ate and complimented the mashed potatoes like they were from heaven. And when Ethan made another offer-"Want more bread?"- she took it like it was a gift, not a nervous tic. 

Bit by bit, Ethan stopped sweating through his shirt. He still jumped when a dish clanked too hard. Still held his breath when Wade reached across him. But nothing happened. No punishment came.

Slowly, he began to believe that maybe this was real. Maybe he was just allowed to be here. With them.

Just as he was. 

***

She stood at the doorway now, her coat draped over her arm and her car keys jangling somewhere in her oversized purse.

It was late.

The porch light cast soft gold across her face, and the cicadas hummed like background singers to a lullaby.

Wade gave her a long hug-real, not the ones you do out of habit. The kind that says 'thank you' and 'I love you, old friend' without a word.

Darlene squeezed him tight, then pulled back and turned to Ethan.

He almost looked over his shoulder, like she couldn’t possibly mean him. But she opened her arms, not even hesitating.

“C’mere, boy.”

Ethan stepped forward like he was walking into fire. His body wasn’t built for this kind of affection-at least not from someone like her, someone with grown-woman kindness and mother-bear strength.

He walked into her arms, stiff at first, not sure where to put his hands. Then she wrapped him up-really wrapped him up.

One arm around his shoulders, the other cupping the back of his head like he was something worth cradling.

“There we go,” she murmured into his curls. “You did good tonight, sweetheart. You’re a good boy. I see that now.”

Ethan’s arms finally came up. Just a little. Enough to hug her back. She smelled like powder and cinnamon, and the hug lasted longer than he thought it would.

Then she pulled back, just a little, to look at him.

“You take care of yourself,” she said. “And keep cooking like that, you’ll have half the county wrapped around your finger.”

Ethan flushed, eyes dropping. “Yes, ma-I mean, yes.”

She smiled, gave his cheek a little pat, and finally stepped down off the porch.

They watched her walk to the car, wave once before climbing in, and drive off into the low moonlight.

The silence that followed was soft, not heavy. The kind that settled like a blanket, not a threat.

Wade leaned on the porch rail, arms crossed loosely. Ethan stood beside him, trying not to overthink the hug, the dinner, everything.

“She really liked the food?” he asked.

Wade glanced over. “She loved it.”

"She hugged me.”

“She does that.”

Ethan looked down at his boots. “Didn’t think she would. Thought maybe she’d shake my hand or… I dunno. Say ‘thanks’ and be gone.”

Wade huffed. “If Darlene didn’t like you, you’d have known before the rolls hit the table.”

Ethan smiled faintly. “You think?”

“I know. She’d have told me to pack up your things and mail you back to wherever you came from.”

“She would’ve said it like that?”

“Word for word,” Wade nodded. “Except probably louder and with a lot more cussin’.”

Ethan gave a small laugh, then looked over. His face was serious again, but it wasn’t fear this time—just nerves.

“She’s not gonna… say something bad about us? Will she?”

Wade didn’t answer right away. Just turned slightly toward him. “No,” he said. “She won’t.”

“You sure?” Ethan asked, hesitant.

“She’s known me my whole life. She knows who I am. If she had a problem, I’d already be six feet under. And if she had a problem with you, I promise you wouldn’t’ve gotten no hug.”

Ethan nodded slowly, letting that sink in.

Wade added, softer, “She just wants us happy, cowboy. That’s all.”

Ethan blinked. “Me too?”

“You made dinner, didn’t you? Cleaned up real nice? Set the whole damn table like we were feedin’ the mayor?”

Ethan shrugged. “Felt right.”

“She saw that. You’re on her list now.”

“What list?” Ethan asked, curious now. 

Wade grinned. “The good one. The don’t-mess-with-this-boy-he’s-family-now list.”

Ethan laughed again, quiet and uncertain but real. “That a long list?”

“Shorter than you’d think,” Wade said. “But you’re on it, bud.”

They stood in silence a little while longer, the night around them humming and soft.

Ethan didn’t say thank you. Didn’t need to.

Wade didn’t say I’m proud of you. He didn’t have to.

It was all there already-in the air between them, in the porch light glow, in the space where Ethan had finally started to believe he could stay. Safely. 

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Darlene hugged Ethan goodbye on the porch-and in that time, she’d called him four separate times.

Once to thank him again.
Once to ask how he got the biscuit tops that fluffy at dinner.
Once to say she was “just thinking about y’all, that’s all.”
And the most recent, to tell Wade she’d be dropping off a bag of home-sewn seat covers because ,“Those old things you’ve got in that trailer are an embarrassment to the Lord.”

Ethan had nearly dropped the phone when she asked if he needed anything.

He didn’t know what to say. No one had ever asked that and meant it.

Before hanging up, Darlene had added, almost as an afterthought, “Y’all better tell me what day you’re showin'. I’ll be there with a cooler and a chair-can’t miss my boys in the ring.”

Ethan hadn’t stopped thinking about that since.

***

Now, on a dusty Thursday morning, the sun barely peaking, Ethan stood in the middle of the drive like a man about to lead a military campaign.

It wasn’t a rodeo this time, or an academy little-kiddy show, it was the AHA Western Pleasure Extravaganza in Abilene County, and he’d been awake since before dawn making sure every single thing was packed, polished, and accounted for.

Clipboard in hand, an actual clipboard, rescued from the feed room and covered in dust, baling twine marks, and his cramped handwriting. He was ticking off boxes like his life depended on it.

“Coolers full?” he called over his shoulder.

Wade, leaning against the fence rail with a thermos of coffee and a piece of beef jerky, squinted under his hat brim. “Yup.”

“Show pads, chaps, number pins, tack box?”

“In the trailer.”

Ethan turned sharply, pen raised like a weapon. “Clean tack or the stuff that's all green?”

Wade’s grin widened. “You tell me, baby. You’ve had your nose in that tack room all mornin'.”

Ethan muttered something under his breath-something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer-and checked another box.

Behind them, the horses were loaded one by one. Three client owned pleasure geldings, two young ones Wade was looking to sell, a young client mare still getting her head around standing still, and one particularly mouthy colt who made his disapproval known with every kick against the divider.

“Make sure there’s hay between 'em,” Ethan spoke with a narrow breath. “I don't want to spend the next few hours listenin' to Thunder in there knockin' his teeth out on the divider.”

Wade raised an eyebrow. "I remember when I was the one barking orders 'round here."

"You still do," Ethan quipped, checking the ties in the trailer to make sure they weren't too loose. "Just when you're not drinkin' coffee and tellin' your momma you'll be out of here in twenty minutes, which we both know is a goddamn lie." 

Wade chuckled at that. “You always this nervous before a show?”

Ethan didn’t look up. “If we forget somethin', that’s on me. If we’re late, that’s on me. If someone breaks a rein-”

“Still not the end of the world.” Wade cut in.

Ethan shot him a look. “You ever seen me show up unprepared?”

Wade smirked at him. “Once. You nearly had a heart attack.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ethan said, flipping the page. His handwriting was tighter now, smaller-feed buckets, extra brushes, safety pins, backup lead ropes, polish, spare shirt, emergency vet box. Everything had a line. Everything mattered.

Wade took another sip of coffee and watched him for a moment.

He’d seen green kids before-wide-eyed and shaking before their first show-but Ethan wasn’t green. He just cared too much, tried too hard, wanted too badly for things to go just right. It wasn’t pride. It was fear in a pressed button-up and spotless boots.

“You’re somethin’ else, cowboy,” Wade said finally.

Ethan’s jaw flexed. “Just makin’ sure we don’t end up in the arena lookin' like amateurs.”

“Romantic.” Wade said, deadpan.

Ethan snorted, though his thumb kept twitching against the clipboard edge.

Another horse was being led out of the barn now by groom they'd hired to keep the barn in one piece while they traveled. The mare was glossy, groomed, ready to load. Ethan turned toward her like a commander awaiting his last unit.

“Don’t let her bump her hip,” he called. “And keep that tail bag clean, please. It’s white for a reason.”

Wade shook his head, set down the thermos, and headed for the truck. “You comin’? Or you wanna stand there organizing the trailer still?”

Ethan exhaled through his nose. “You’re lucky Darlene said she’s comin' to watch us or I’d let you go out there lookin' like a bum.”

“She said what?” Wade asked, pausing mid-step.

Ethan nodded. “Said she wouldn’t miss it. Wants to ‘see me in my element.’” He swallowed, staring down at the clipboard. “Don’t even know what that means.”

Wade smiled faintly. “Means she’s proud. You should get used to that.”

Ethan didn’t answer, a little red in the face. Just ticked one last box, shut the trailer door, and jogged to catch up.

Wade pat Ethan's thigh when he sat down and wrapped his arm around the blonde's shoulder, just for a second to keep him steady. 

Ethan melted into that touch with a big breath, relaxing for a half a second. 

The morning shimmered with heat, diesel, and anticipation.

And for the first time, Wade wasn’t heading to a show by himself-he had a partner beside him, clipboard in hand, ready for whatever the ring brought next.

Ethan would be Wade's organization, his control freak, his rock. All Wade had to do was keep that rock from shattering under too much pressure. 

The trailer rattled behind them like a thunderstorm against a tin roof. Every few minutes, one of the colts slammed the divider hard enough to make the whole rig lurch sideways. The jolt ran straight through Ethan’s spine. The metal shuddered, dust sifted down from the roof, and the air filled with the smell of sweat, old hay, and hot rubber on the road.

Wade didn’t so much as blink-just kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other tapping along to a slow country song bleeding from the truck’s speakers. The tune was low, lazy, the kind of sound that filled the spaces between words.

Ethan leaned against the center console, boots planted on the floorboard, legs stretched long. His hat was tugged low enough to shade his eyes, but sleep wasn’t anywhere close. The late morning sun poured through the windshield, bright and harsh, painting a thin sheen of sweat across his arms.

He was beat-physically, yes, but more so in the way that came from holding everything together since before sunrise. His shirt clung damp in the creases, sweat-stained at the collar. His knuckles were raw where a colt’s rope had burned him earlier, and his throat ached from hours of calling out commands.

Still, his brain ticked over every detail.

“So we’re in Row G, stalls forty-one through forty-eight,” he said tiredly, eyes fixed on the dashboard. “I wanna get Thunder out first. He’s been bashin’ that divider the whole way.”

Wade grunted in acknowledgment, the sound low and rough.

“Then I’ll take Raven down the far lane, tie him in his stall, and loop back for the other two good ones. Sound good?”

“Mhm.”

“Clients comin’ at one, right? Or was it noon?”

“Between twelve and one,” Wade grumbled not unkind, just sort of far away, easing the truck around a bend. The trailer creaked behind them. Another young one taking a hit at the side wall. “We’ll be all set up by then.”

“I’ll check the feed tubs before they get here. Make sure the water buckets are clean, no floaters.”

“You already washed ’em, kid.”

“I know, I just wanna make sure.”

Wade glanced over, one brow lifted beneath the shadow of his hat. “You worried we’re gonna be short hay or somethin’?”

“No.” Ethan picked at a loose thread along his sleeve, the fabric soft from too many washes. “Just… if we forget somethin’ stupid, they’ll notice.”

Wade huffed a quiet laugh. “Like what, a rope bein’ too stiff? Dust on the med box?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan muttered. “Just something. Something that makes us look like we didn’t care.”

The road ahead shimmered in the heat, a mirage rising from the asphalt. Wade didn’t answer right away. He shifted his grip on the wheel, the leather creaking softly. One hand moved to hold Ethan's gently over the center console.

“Y’know,” he said finally, “most folks would take a deep breath when the hard part’s over.”

“This isn’t the hard part,” Ethan said before he could stop himself. His voice came out flat, certain. “The hard part’s if someone’s unhappy. If a colt misbehaves. If a buyer says we look sloppy. I can handle loading. I can handle gettin’ dirty.”

Wade gave a slow nod. “But not bein’ told you missed somethin’.”

Ethan finally looked over. “Yeah.”

They sat with it. The only sound was the rattle of the trailer, the steady hum of the tires, and a faint squeal of metal whenever they hit a bump.

“My dad used to say you weren’t tryin’ hard enough unless you were worried sick about it,” Ethan said quietly. “I got that drilled into me pretty fast.”

Wade exhaled deep through his nose, eyes still on the road. “That man should’a been tossed into a cactus patch and left there.”

Ethan’s laugh came out small but genuine. It faded quick.

“You don’t have to run yourself ragged to prove that you care,” Wade spoke, voice steady but soft. “You’re not gon' get in trouble for forgettin’ a sponge or leavin’ a brush behind. This ain’t that kind of place.”

Ethan didn’t answer, but his shoulders eased. The air rushing through the cracked window lifted a stray curl from his forehead, and he leaned his elbow on the console, head resting against the seat.

“I’ll remember that,” he said after a beat.

Wade smiled faintly. “Good. Now tell me again how you wrestled that dumb colt in.”

“I didn’t wrestle him,” Ethan said, frowning. “He slipped his tie and bolted down the fenceline. I redirected him with my body.”

“Oh yeah?” Wade snickered. “Your body did all that?”

“It’s wiry, not weak.”

“You’re out here built like a fence post and tryin’ to square up with a two year old who thinks he’s God.”

Ethan cracked the first real smile of the morning, turning his face toward the open window where the wind licked at his jaw.

The truck rumbled over gravel as they turned into the show grounds. Dust clouds rose behind them, catching the sun like smoke. Rows of barns stretched ahead, metal glinting, and the air was thick with hay, diesel, and the sharp, familiar scent of horses.

Showtime, almost.

Wade parked and killed the engine. The trailer rocked once more, colts restless and stomping.

“You ready?” Wade asked, looking over with that calm, easy steadiness Ethan was still trying to learn to match.

Ethan reached for his clipboard, popped the door open, and felt the warm air rush in.

“Been ready since 4:45.”

***

The aisle was calm in that rare, fleeting way only a well-run barn can be. Dust hung in thin, lazy shafts of light that filtered through the old slats above, dancing over brushed coats and swept concrete. The horses had water. The hay was tossed in hay nets. Each stall bore a polished nameplate clipped to the bars, every halter hung in its place, leather soft and oiled. No more banging hooves. No teeth on metal. Just the rhythmic hush of breathing and the occasional flick of a tail swatting at flies.

RLA Back To Black (Raven)

WR ThunderStruck (Thunder)

Tough Love CF (Lovey)

HC Peachy Keeen (Peach)

Hennessy PH (Hennessy)

WR Red Hot (Red)

WR Carolina Blue (Blue)

TSB Kiss My Sass (Sassy) 

Ethan leaned against the post between stalls forty-three and forty-four, arms folded loosely across his chest. His hat was tipped low, shading his soft blues, but there was no rest in the way he stood. He looked like a man trying to hold himself still.

Wade stood beside him, one boot hooked over the rung of a bucket cart, posture easy but watchful. The faint scent of leather and hay clung to him, mixed with the dust of the road. Every now and then he flicked a glance toward Ethan, the way someone checks on a colt that’s been running too long-quietly, without making a fuss. He didn't touch him, didn't want to spook him. 

“You gonna pass out here or in the truck?” Wade asked, voice low, warm as gravel.

Ethan didn’t move. “Aisle’s cool. Might stay.”

“You could sit.”

“Might not get back up.”

A flicker of a smile tugged at both their mouths-brief, private, gone before it could become a grin.

The overhead fans buzzed and turned, dragging warm air through the aisle. The place smelled of horses and sweet feed, of sweat drying on skin, of dust too fine to see. It wasn’t cold, but it was steady. Predictable. The kind of quiet that made Ethan’s chest loosen for the first time all day.

Then came the sound of boots on the concrete-slow, deliberate clicks that broke the stillness like pawing hooves.

Not rushed. Not angry. Certain.

Wade’s head turned first. He straightened slightly, that subtle readiness born from habit, like he already knew who was coming.

“Ms. Kirsh,” Wade greeted, voice polite but casual.

Ethan pushed off the post and stood taller. He was still half a step back, though, close enough to feel Wade’s knuckles brush him once in reassurance before falling still again.

The woman coming down the aisle was in her sixties, maybe a little more, but she wore her years like pressed linen. Her blouse was crisp, her hair neatly curled beneath a straw hat that had seen more brunches than barns. She smelled faintly of roses and starch, her stride steady on the concrete. Wealth clung to her the way dust did to boots, but hers was the quiet, practiced kind that didn’t have to say a word.

Her eyes flicked over Ethan once before settling on Wade.

“Afternoon, Wade,” she said lightly. “Hope you’re settling in alright.”

“Stalls are good. Fans are workin’. Horses are settled.” Wade spoke, neat as could be. 

She smiled, the kind that was meant for show, not for comfort. “Wonderful. I was hoping to check in on Peach.”

Wade tipped his head toward the fourth stall. “She’s in here. Drinkin’ now, but she’s quiet. No kicks, no stall weaving.”

Ms. Kirsh stepped forward, her perfume just barely cutting through the hay-dust air. She peered in delicately. The filly inside wasn’t drinking, she was actually staring at her own reflection in the water bucket like it had insulted her. Her ears flicked toward the visitors, then back again, tail swishing in slow irritation.

“She looks perfect,” Ms. Kirsh said, her voice soft but empty of any horse sense.

Ethan didn’t mean to huff, but the sound escaped before he could stop it-quiet but noticeable. Wade nudged him with a knee, a wordless warning. This one pays for us to eat.

Ms. Kirsh turned, her eyes narrowing slightly as they landed on Ethan for a beat longer this time.

“I’m sorry,” she said with polite puzzlement. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Ethan gave a small nod. “We’ve spoken. I helped school Peach a couple times.”

“Oh, of course.” Her smile didn’t change. She nodded as if that closed the matter, like he was just another pair of hands in a long line of hired ones.

But then she hesitated. Her gaze lingered a beat too long, darting between the two men. Ethan’s shoulder nearly brushed Wade’s, one boot was scuffed back behind the other in a stance too familiar for strangers. Wrists touching, just softly. Wade didn’t step away. Didn’t tell Ethan to. Didn’t fill the silence with correction.

Ms. Kirsh’s hand adjusted the strap of her handbag, a faint click of metal buckles in the still air. She huffed a small puff of air.

“She’s been real good this week,” Wade said, breaking the moment smoothly. “Handled the trailer fine. Ate on the road. We’ll get her worked tomorrow after the mornin' rounds.”

Ms. Kirsh nodded, but her focus had shifted somewhere inward.

“I appreciate that,” she said. “She’s got some spirit, but she’s darling once she trusts you.”

Ethan bit back a smile, he could still feel the bruise where Peach’s teeth had caught his sleeve on the way here.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she said, taking a step back. “I’ll be around.”

“Yes ma'am,” Wade replied.

She gave a small, measured nod-this time to both of them-and turned away. Her boots clicked in a steady rhythm as she left, fading down the aisle until only the hum of the fans filled the space again.

When she was gone, Ethan let out a big breath.

“She thinks I muck stalls,” he said softly. 

“You do muck stalls.”

“Yeah,” Ethan muttered. “But she thinks that’s all I do.”

Wade smirked faintly. “Let her. What does it matter?”

“I’m gonna get asked to hold her purse next time.”

Wade chuckled, rubbing Ethan's back. “You’d probably do it too.”

Ethan sighed and leaned back against Wade's hand.

"Yeah, I would.”

Wade chuckled and squeezed his waist gently before patting his shoulder.

“You want a nap or a sammy first?” he asked.

Ethan didn’t answer right away. The fan buzzed overhead. Somewhere, a horse snorted and shook its head, hay rustling like soft thunder. He tilted his head toward Wade’s shoulder without quite resting it there.

“Both."

***

The breeze through the big open barn doors was hot, but steady, just enough to rustle the drapes hung on stall gates and carry the heavy scent of hay, sweat, and fly spray through the aisles. Dust motes drifted in the shafts of sun that cut across the floor, glinting off the metal latches and glimmering on the edges of horses’ coats. Somewhere, a fan hummed and clicked, blades cutting through the thick summer air.

Ethan sat slumped in a folding chair tucked back against the wall, half in shade. His hat was pulled low over his face, brim resting on the bridge of his nose. One boot was tipped onto its toe, the other lay flat, heel dug deep into the dirt. His hands lay open on his parted thighs, fingers twitching now and then like the nerves hadn’t gotten the message that the rest of him had given up.

He hadn’t meant to sleep, God, no. He just meant to sit. To breathe for one damn minute. Wait for Wade to come back with the back numbers and the shavings order and whatever else needed signing before they could actually call it a day. But somewhere between Thunder squealing in his stall and the rhythmic buzz of the fans that sounded too much like a lullaby, Ethan shut down.

He was out.

People passed. A few chuckled under their breath. A man in a sun-cracked straw hat muttered something like, “Rought morning,” as he walked by. A teenage girl leading a bay gelding giggled and pointed. One woman, halter and lead in hand, probably a trainer, bent down to make sure he was breathing. He twitched, grunted, and tipped his hat lower without ever waking.

Wade came down the aisle next, wiping his hands on a rag and muttering to himself about the pain in the ass the stewards were. He spotted Ethan slouched there and didn’t think twice.

“Hey, kid,” he called, stepping closer. “We still gotta move some hay around. I've got a buddy who brought some more timothy grass for Peach, Lord knows she don't need no—” He stopped.

No response came. Not even a hum. 

He frowned and tried again, “Ethan? You hear me?”

Nothing. Just the low hum of the barn fans and the lazy flap of the drapes overhead.

It took Wade another few seconds to realize the kid wasn’t ignoring him-he was sound asleep. Hat tipped down, chest rising slow and steady. Wade exhaled through his nose, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

He didn’t wake him-not yet.

Instead, he leaned against the stall across from him and looked at him with a kind of quiet softness he never wore when other people were around. The papers he had from entries dropped to his side.

Wade stepped forward and gently crouched beside him, close enough to block the view of nosy passersby. He tugged the brim of Ethan’s hat down a little farther over his nose and brushed a curl from his forehead, muttering through a smile, “You’ve got straw in your hair, cowboy.” Ethan didn’t stir.

He looked awful sweet like this, shoulders finally loose, lips parted just slightly. He looked young, too. Younger than he had any right to. Like someone who never got the chance to nap through childhood and was now stealing one on borrowed time.

Wade thought about waking him to stick him in the truck. But Ethan never liked being moved without a say-so. He’d wake up panicked, like he’d forgotten a deadline. So instead, Wade snagged a folded horse sheet from the tack stall and draped it over his lap. It smelled like horsehair and cedar shavings.

“You’ll thank me when the breeze turns, handsome.” he murmured. Then stood, turned to a gawking rider a few rows down, and snapped, “Ain’t you got somewhere to be?”

Ethan didn’t move.

Wade didn’t mind. Let the boy sleep.

He’d earned it.

***

It was the crash that woke him.

Not loud, not violent-just a hollow bang and the scrape of something heavy being dragged across cement. A fan maybe, or the edge of someone’s tack trunk catching on a stall post. It echoed down the aisle, sharp enough to cut through the fan’s hum and the rhythmic rustling of hay.

Ethan twitched, stiff and sweaty, hands grabbing at the arms of the chair before his brain had fully come back online. His hat slid sideways on his face. He pushed it up and blinked into the afternoon light, disoriented by how much quieter everything was.

The barn had settled.

Somewhere down the aisle, kids were still working their horses into a lather, letting reins drag too low and boots tap too hard. Around him, it was peaceful. The colts were resting. Peach was snorting at something in her hay but no longer pawing at the stall door like she’d been earlier. The air was thick with warm dust and the clink of chains on buckets. Slow sounds. Not the noise of morning chaos.

Ethan sat up, slow like he was afraid he’d dreamt it. His spine cracked. His shoulders protested. But God-he felt… better. Not fresh, not like he could run a marathon or work a dozen horses, but like a rubber band that had finally stopped being stretched to its breaking point.

Then his heart dropped.

Where was Wade?

His eyes darted around the aisle, suddenly wired again. He stood up too fast and had to press a hand to the chair back just to stay steady. If Wade had done the stalls without him, handled clients, filled hay bags and changed buckets while he slept like some freeloader in the aisle—

“Ethan?” came Wade’s voice, easy and low, from behind the last row.

Ethan turned so fast it made his ribs ache. Wade was there-sleeves rolled up, hay flecks in his dark hair, a little sweat on his brow. Calm as ever.

He was holding two plastic cups with condensation trailing down the sides.

“Iced tea,” he said, holding one out. “One’s sweet, one ain't. I forgot which. You're welcome to gamble.”

Ethan took a cup, still frowning. Still trying to read the situation.

“I didn’t mean to sleep,” he started quickly. “I just meant to rest a minute and—”

“I know,” Wade said, crouching beside a tack trunk to pick up what had fallen. “You needed it.”

“But I should’ve—”

“You didn’t miss anything,” Wade interrupted gently, voice lighter now. “Couple kids arguing over who gets the wash rack and Peach scarin’ a lady who thought she was a stud colt. Nothing that couldn’t wait.”

Ethan exhaled, long and low. He took a sip, he got the sweet one.

“I thought you’d be mad,” he mumbled. “Figured you’d think I was being useless.”

Wade didn’t answer right away. Just pushed himself to his feet, brushed his hands on his jeans, and looked down at him, not sharp, not disappointed, just steady.

“You’re not useless, cowboy,” he said quietly. “You’re tired. There’s a difference. You run yourself ragged tryin’ to keep up with folks who don’t expect you to.”

Ethan looked away. His throat tightened.

“I used to get smacked for napping.”

“Well,” Wade said, stepping closer and settling a hand on the brim of Ethan’s hat to tug it back down snug, “you don’t work for that hunk of lard anymore.”

He gave the hat a small pat, like sealing the words in place, then turned toward the next stall without asking for thanks.

Ethan stayed still a beat longer. The cup felt cold in his hands, grounding. The stall fans hummed. The colts shifted in their shavings.

And for once, he let it be easy.

Chapter Text

Night check was routine, but Wade didn’t let Ethan rush it.

One more tug on the water buckets. A last rattle of the stall latches. Kicking a lead rope out from under Peach’s dainty feet. Sassy had twisted her hay net again, and Blue was tossing his head to stir up Thunder, but otherwise the barn was calm. The lights above glowed soft and gold, catching flecks of dust that floated like fireflies in the warm air. The place smelled of cedar, fly spray, and horse sweat gone sweet with rest.

“I'm good if you're good,” Wade murmured, brushing dust from his hands.

“I just wanna walk a bit,” Ethan said, voice low, careful not to stir the half-dozing horses.

Wade nodded, grabbing his jacket but not saying much. Ethan led the way outside, into the hush that only a fairground could hold after hours. The night pressed cool and close, crickets humming under the hum of distant generators. The air was heavy with hay, diesel, and something metallic from the show pens. Ethan shivered once but waved off the jacket Wade offered-until Wade wordlessly set it over his shoulders anyway. It was too big, but extra warm since Wade had been wearing it. Ethan quietly tucked further into it. 

They walked the back stretch past the darkened concession stands and rows of trailers blinking with tiny red lights. The arena loomed ahead, half-lit by the leftover glow of overhead lamps.

Just as Ethan was about to say something about Peach’s jog improving that afternoon, he stopped short.

“…Y'see that?”

Wade followed his gaze.

Out in the main pen, one horse moved alone beneath the floodlights. A half-Arabian gelding, dam must have been a grand Quarter horse. Silver roan, delicate and proud-glided across the footing like he was skating on air. His neck arched, tail straight, every step a whisper of cadence and control. The light caught the fine dust around his hooves, turning it to gold fog.

The rider barely touched the reins. Just shifted weight, breathed, and the horse bent and floated like the two of them shared a secret language. Shoulder-in, jog, rollback-fluid, effortless. The kind of beauty that hurt to watch if you’d ever tried and failed to make it look that easy.

Ethan didn’t breathe. His fingers curled in the jacket pockets, shoulders tight, jaw set against whatever storm was moving behind his eyes. The sound of the horse’s hooves-soft, even, perfect-seemed to echo straight through his ribs. He stood so perfectly still like if he planted himself there, nobody would see how badly he ached.

That was the dream. The kind of horse his father used to point out in catalogs and say, “Maybe someday, if you’re worth a damn.”
The kind that lived in rings with better lighting, better bloodlines, better men.

Horses like that were the carrot on the stick his whole life. The promise and the punishment. Always out of reach. Not because Ethan wasn’t talented, not because he didn’t try hard enough- but because horses like that weren’t meant for boys like him.

Ethan tore his gaze away first, head low, boots scuffing dirt.

Wade didn’t say a word. He’d seen that look before-pride and hunger and hurt all braided together, too thick to untangle. So he just kept pace beside him, steady, the gravel crunching slow under their steps.

After a long stretch of silence, Ethan finally asked, voice soft as the night air, “Y'think a horse like that’s trained to be that way… or just born with it?”

Wade’s eyes stayed on the arena. “Both,” he said simply.

Ethan nodded once, more to himself than to Wade, and kept walking-hands still deep in borrowed pockets, breath still catching on the dust and the dream.

***

It wasn’t about wanting what he didn’t have.

It was about being seven years old, sitting on the splintered bench inside the feed store, legs swinging and too-big boots knocking together, eyes locked on the grainy TV in the corner as the Open championship played. Someday, he’d thought. Someday, that’ll be me.

About being ten and barely tall enough to tack up his dad’s gelding, standing on a paint-chipped mounting block, tugging at the cinch with raw, red knuckles-only to hear, stirrups too long, reins too short, shoulders all wrong.

Always something.

About being twelve and promising to God he’d never mess up ever again if it meant he could show-just once-on a horse like that.

It never happened. Not even close.

And that half-Arabian tonight-drifting and gliding under the lights like it was born from smoke-had cracked open something he thought was long since scarred over. He didn’t want that horse. Not really. He wanted to be the boy who’d still believed it was possible.

***

By the time they reached the hotel, the night had cooled and the air-conditioning inside bit cold against Ethan’s sunburned skin. He was quieter than usual. Wade didn’t push. Just tossed the room key on the nightstand, let Ethan take the shower first, and unpacked in silence.

The hotel bed creaked when Ethan sank into it. The sheets were stiff and smelled faintly of bleach, the kind of clean that burned the nose. But they were heavy, thick enough to press him down, to make him feel small and tucked away.

Water ran behind the bathroom door, steady and low. When Wade came out, he switched off the overhead light, leaving only the amber glow of the bedside lamp. It caught the corner of Ethan’s damp hair, the glint of the chain and cross he still wore around his neck.

Ethan didn’t speak. Just stared at the textured ceiling, watching the shadows move when the AC kicked on and waiting for the familiar weight of Wade to fall on the mattress.

Tomorrow would come early. Feed before sunrise. Coffee if the lobby pot hadn’t burned down again. He’d throw hay with bedhead, pull on his jeans one-legged, pretend the world wasn’t still heavy in his chest.

That horse from the arena-it’d fade. It had to. It’d turn to static, like dreams do when you wake too fast. That’s what he told himself.

He rolled onto his side, face half-buried in the pillow, voice a rasp more than a sound.

“…My dad told me I could show horses like that if I made him proud.”

Wade didn’t answer at first. Just sat on his own bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet pattern like it might give him the right words. When he finally spoke, it was quiet.

“Did you?”

Ethan turned further toward the wall. His voice came small, muffled against the pillow.

“No. I never did.”

The hum of the air conditioner filled the room again. Heavy silence followed—warm, not cruel, but full of everything neither of them knew how to fix.

Wade didn’t offer correction. Didn’t say he should’ve been proud anyway. He just laid a heavy palm on the boy's back, urging him closer. 

He let Ethan feel what he felt.

Because tonight wasn’t about patching holes.

It was about letting them show, and still staying.

***

Ethan was up before the sun.

Not because he’d set an alarm-he never needed one. His body just sort of knew. The sky outside was still navy and heavy when he blinked awake, already halfway dressed in his mind.

By the time Wade stirred, Ethan was gone.

He moved through the barns like a shadow, quiet and quick. Boots thudding soft in the sawdust, water sloshing into buckets, flakes of hay tossed clean and even. He gave the colts a glance, all still dozy and tangled in shavings. Peach let out a snort, still curled up like a dog in her corner. She’d get up when she was ready.

Thunder was already awake, ears pinned when Ethan opened the stall, then softening the moment he saw the halter. He wasn’t a morning horse. But he was Wade’s best one, and he knew it.

Ethan rubbed the bay gelding’s forehead, low and brief, like a secret passed between them. “Let’s get your stretchies in, big guy.”

Pre-working Thunder meant a light jog on the line-nothing rushed. Just enough to stretch his topline and loosen his hips before a long, slow ride. Ethan moved him in quiet circles, watching every step, every sigh. He didn’t believe in cranking a horse stiff before sunrise. Just get them breathing. Let them think.

By the time Thunder was cool and gleaming under the barn lights, Ethan had already fetched breakfast from a little food truck parked near the vendor tents. Two sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches and a pair of black coffees, both slightly burnt. He liked it that way. Wade wouldn’t complain either.

He passed one off without a word when Wade finally showed up, hair slicked back, show-shirt pressed, jeans still creased from the hotel chair. 

“This for me?” Wade asked, brow lifting.

Ethan just nodded, already halfway through his.

By then the barns had come alive in that steady, show-morning rhythm-bridles glinting in the sun, riders murmuring over checklists, the smell of polish and hairspray thick in the air. Horses shifted quietly in their stalls, tails brushed smooth, necks stretched long and relaxed. Every sound was careful-the soft pull of a cinch, the quick snap of a towel, the low hum of calm nerves.

Ethan kept to his corner, focused. He adjusted headstalls, wiped down reins, buffed Wade's boots until he could see himself in the leather. Every movement measured, precise.

Still, when he saw a few of the younger riders warming up-backs straight, reins light, their horses floating in slow-motion jogs-it tugged something in him. That ache, that itch.

He could almost feel the reins in his hands again. The steady rhythm. The quiet power.

But he shook it off. Quick. Firm.

He wasn’t here to show. He was here to help Wade. That was enough.

He drained the last of his coffee, tossed the cup into the trash barrel, and went right back to work. No drag in his steps. No pout in his mouth.

Wade was buttoning his shirt when Ethan came back from the groomstall, a bridle slung over one shoulder and a bottle of fly spray loose in his hand.

The gelding behind him was already brushed to a glassy sheen-every inch smooth and quiet, legs clean, mane pulled and tidy. No silver, no bands. Just a good horse made to glow under the lights by plain work and patience.

Wade grunted and nodded in thanks when Ethan passed him the bridle. He slipped it on like second nature, and Ethan turned to grab his chaps. Heavy show leather, thick with fringe and concho flare—Wade had barely broken them in.

“C’mere,” Ethan mumbled, holding them open.

Wade stepped in, and Ethan crouched, buckling the thick straps around his thighs. He struggled a little with the bottom one on the left—it always fought him.

“You gotta stop tightening these so damn hard,” he muttered.

“I don’t wanna ride out of ‘em,” Wade answered, half-smiling down at him.

Ethan snorted, giving the last buckle a firm tug before standing. He dusted off Wade’s hat with the flat of his palm-brim, crown, one light swipe-and handed it over. Wade set it on his head, the motion practiced and quiet, like a habit learned too young to forget.

Wade swung aboard like it was nothing, settling into the saddle with the kind of weight that made the horse drop his head without even a cue. Ethan stepped back as they jogged off into the warm-up pen.

It was packed.

Most of them were professionals-clean-shaven, crisp-shirted trainers on junior horses bred to jog and float and hang there like they were born doing it.

Some of the riders were older guys, heavier set, showing horses they bred and raised and still kept for the game. Then there was the occasional amateur, clumsy with their hands or bouncing at the jog, but proud to be there.

Ethan was one of the only ones not mounted. Just standing off to the side, dusty jeans, boots chewed at the heel, a soft-sided groom bag slung over his shoulder and a bottle of water in hand.

He leaned on the rail, eyes fixed on Wade’s every pass-watching for anything off, anything out of sync. When they paused, Ethan stepped in without a word.

He combed a bit of clear grease into the colt’s mane with his fingers, working quick and neat. He rubbed him down with a wet rag, got the dust off his flanks and over his back where the pad had kicked some up.

Then came the fly spray-Wade hated when they twitched during the lineup.

“You’re good,” Ethan said, slapping the gelding once on the neck. Wade didn’t answer, just breathed through his nose, adjusting his reins and settling in.

Ethan didn’t go anywhere. He wouldn’t-not while Wade was in the ring. He knew what this meant. Knew what it took to make it clean, to keep a horse straight and quiet and right under you in front of five judges and a crowd full of people who probably didn’t know what they were watching.

Ethan wasn’t watching the rest of them. Just Wade. And if he looked like some scruffy, ranch-hand hanger-on in a warm-up pen full of clean starch and thousand-dollar boots-well.

He didn’t care.

He had a job.

Not just because Wade was his partner.

But because Wade was the one showing.

***

Wade jogged in with the rest of them-just another set of hoofbeats blending into the soft rhythm of silver-shanked bits and arena dirt. The air shimmered faintly under the lights, carrying the clean scent of show sheen and dust. His gelding, Thunder, floated forward like breath and satin-ears pricked, tail gently swaying, muscles humming just under the surface.

A few horses were less composed. One bay mare tossed her head, mouth gaping against her curb. Another snorted hard at a banner on the wall, nostrils flaring. A young gray sidestepped near the banners, eyes rolling white before its rider coaxed it forward with a false smile.

Just nerves. Just noise.

Wade didn’t blink. He kept Thunder between his legs, jog slow and cadenced, the kind of movement that whispered control without stiffness. Every pass on the rail was measured-his seat deep but soft, his fingers feather-light. He looked like he was riding through fog, not a class.

From the stands, Ethan watched with a steady, unmoving gaze, forearms resting on his knees, calloused fingers laced together. The arena hum surrounded him-the shuffle of spectators, pens clicking, an announcer’s low voice echoing faintly against metal siding. The air held that strange, perfect balance of sweat, perfume, and hoof oil.

Thunder’s jog had a rhythm Ethan could feel in his chest-slow, floaty, like the horse had forgotten gravity.

Then came a voice beside him.

“Well, if it ain't Ethan Reyes.”

He turned his head slightly. Tanya Harper-every hair shellacked in place, lipstick the same deep red as her polished coffee cup lid-slid onto the seat beside him. Her denim jacket glittered under the lights, the logo of her training barn stitched across the back in silver thread.

“Tanya,” Ethan said quietly. He didn’t smile, just gave a polite nod. “Didn’t know you were still showin’ the circuit.”

“Oh, we’re everywhere now,” she said, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. “Hannah’s in the youth ranch classes. She’s nearly sixteen-you wouldn’t believe it.”

He blinked. She’d been ten last time he saw her-small, pink-cheeked, crying when her pony spooked. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“We moved barns,” Tanya went on. “Up near Kansas. Big trainer-worth every penny. You’ve gotta pay if you want the wins, right?”

Ethan hummed low, eyes shifting back to the ring. Wade and Thunder had drifted toward the far end, collecting themselves for the reverse at the walk.

“So who’re you with now?” she asked, tilting her head. “Still working under your dad? Or you finally got a lady keeping you busy?”

Ethan let out a dry breath that could’ve been a laugh. “Just helpin’ a friend show,” he said.

“That all?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes tracked Wade as the pair transitioned-Thunder lifting into a slow, rolling lope that made his mane flick like dark silk. His poll flexed just enough. His back stayed level. The kind of quiet brilliance Ethan knew judges loved.

“He looks good,” Tanya said, following his gaze. “That your friend?”

“Yeah, that's Wade.”

“He rides nice. Not many keep one that soft in the bridle anymore. Always good to see someone showing a true horse, not one of these over-framed, spur-jabbed things.”

Ethan grunted softly. “Mhm.”

Her perfume hit him next-sharp, floral, expensive. It didn’t belong here.

She crossed one leg over the other, sipping her coffee. “It’s good to see you, Ethan. You look well.”

He gave her a small nod. “Thank you ma'am.”

But the words didn’t sit right. Tanya didn’t know him. Not really.

She’d known the version that stood silent behind his father, boots polished, hands still, saying “yes sir” when told to. The version that loaded her daughter’s pony without being asked.

Not the one sitting here now-the one who breathed deeper when Wade touched the reins, when Thunder rounded softly under him, when everything in the pen went still and right for just a second.

That version wasn’t for Tanya.

Ethan kept his eyes on the arena. Wade was setting up for the lope the other direction now, seat deep, hand still, horse floating like a whisper.

He stayed quiet-polite, but distant. Not rude, just careful in that way that came from years of being watched and never seen.

The way his dad had trained him to be.

They came to a halt with the rest of them, a lineup of young horses with their ears twisting and tails twitching, each one tense with the last of the adrenaline. One colt half-reared when a banner fluttered above, another backed crooked into place, but Thunder held.

Wade didn’t over-cue. He just sat deep, one hand light on the reins, boots still. Waiting.

The announcer’s voice buzzed over the speaker, dragging out the placings. Ethan stayed up in the stands, eyes fixed on Wade, even as Tanya chattered faintly next to him about youth horsemanship patterns.

Second.

Not bad. Not bad at all in a pen like that.

But it wasn’t the ribbon that mattered.

The ribbon was a side note. What mattered was that Wade had brought Thunder in cool and got him out smoother. What mattered was that he kept the colt between his legs and ears-up the whole way around, didn’t melt down, didn’t throw his head, didn’t fall apart.

That kind of ride stuck in people’s minds. Not all of them-but the right ones.

By the time Wade jogged to the out gate, Ethan was already moving.

He was there waiting just off the ramp, calm and unreadable as ever, his hat tipped back a little from the heat. He stepped in, fingers already reaching for the bridle.

Wade exhaled, slow. “Felt green,” he muttered.

“Looked great,” Ethan answered, not missing a beat.

He took the reins and stroked a hand down Thunder’s neck. The colt was damp but not blown out, still breathing normal, ears flicking. Ethan gave him a pat and loosened the curb chain.

“You want him stripped now or cooled out first?”

“Let’s strip him,” Wade said, swinging down with that same easy, rangy motion he always had. “Get the saddle off and I’ll hand-walk him a bit.”

Ethan nodded and reached out to take his chaps as Wade unbuckled them. They were show-worn but still sharp-looking, tan with subtle stitching. He held them carefully at the waist, folding them across his arm so the legs didn’t touch the dirt.

“I’ll hang ‘em back at the stalls,” Ethan offered. “Still look new if you don’t let ‘em eat sand.”

Wade gave a low chuckle, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “That’s why I keep you 'round.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said under his breath, mouth twitching. “For my charm.”

He moved efficiently-unsaddling the colt, keeping the pad lifted to cool, then carrying everything back like it was second nature. He didn’t even think about it. It was just muscle memory now, and maybe something else too, something deeper, unspoken: you work for the horse, and for the man who rides him right.

Back at the stalls, Ethan set the gear where it belonged, still holding the folded chaps like they were glass. He brushed dirt from Wade’s pants without a word, like he always did, just swatting at the knees and cuffs, then stepping back so Wade could shift back into his usual self.

No more show polish. No more sitting still with his back tall and his hand pretty.

Just Wade again, sweaty and dusty, flexing his fingers and breathing easier now that it was over.

Ethan didn’t say much. He didn’t need to.

He just stood nearby, a quiet presence, grounded and ready for whatever Wade needed next. A drink, a lead rope, silence. He’d give it.

Because this wasn’t just a class. This was work. This was presence. This was putting Thunder’s name out there, and Wade’s too. And Ethan wasn’t about to miss a minute of it.not from the gate, not from the stands, not from the barn aisle after the fact.

He’d be there. Always. Just outside the spotlight, where he belonged.

***

The sun had started to dip a little lower, casting long shadows through the cracks in the barn siding, golden light turning the dust into glitter.

Back in their aisle, it was quiet. Most of the show traffic had moved on for the afternoon classes or toward the food trucks, leaving behind the shuffle of hooves, the occasional creak of leather, and the sound of fans clicking overhead.

Thunder stood calmly, his lead rope looped through the bars as he cooled off. His coat had that just-rinsed sheen, tail still a little damp and swishing halfheartedly. Ethan stood at his flank, brushing with slow, even strokes. Not for show now-just to make the colt feel good. Just care.

Wade was crouched nearby, repacking his show bag, flattening the curl out of his number. His shirt had come partly untucked. One of the buttons near the middle had popped open, likely from dismounting in a rush, and the fabric gapped just enough to show the sweat-darkened tank underneath.

Ethan saw it and, without a word, stepped forward.

“Hold still,” he murmured, fingers already reaching to clasp the button back through.

Wade looked up at him, a little surprised, but didn’t move. Just watched.

Ethan’s hands lingered a beat longer than necessary. Callused fingertips brushing cloth. And then-maybe just because Wade didn’t say anything, or maybe because he did say everything without a word, Ethan leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“Good ride,” he said, soft as anything.

Wade exhaled slowly through his nose, the kind of breath he only let out when it was just the two of them.

“Ya think?” he said, eyes not quite meeting Ethan’s, like if he looked too long, it’d break the moment open.

Ethan didn’t answer.

He just kissed him again, this time on the lips.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was like laying down after a long day. Familiar, grateful, earned.

Wade kissed him back, hand finding the edge of Ethan’s belt loop like he was grounding himself.

Their lips moved against one another, warm and soft. It wasn't the kind of kiss that lead to anything more just the kind that Brough love and affection forward again. 

For a moment, the world outside the stall didn’t exist-just the shifting of weight, boots knocking gently, a brush falling into a bucket behind them. Thunder huffed out a sigh and leaned into his hay, completely unfazed.

They pulled apart, just enough to breathe. Ethan’s hat had slipped a little in the shuffle and he took it off, handing it to Wade like muscle memory, then tugged Wade’s hat down over his own head in exchange.

It was dumb. It was nothing.

But it was theirs.

“You look better in mine anyway,” Ethan said, voice almost lost beneath the fans.

Wade huffed, something between a laugh and a sigh. He didn’t argue. Just leaned forward, resting his forehead against Ethan’s, fingers laced lightly in the hem of his shirt now, like he couldn’t stand to let go.

“We gotta get movin', baby.” he muttered eventually, throat thick.

“I know.”

Neither of them moved.

Not for another few seconds, until the world started trickling back in-the buzz of the next gate call, the buzz of radios clipped to trainers’ belts, the unmistakable cough of a diesel truck starting nearby.

Wade pulled back first. Ethan let him.

They turned toward Thunder, toward the gear, toward whatever came next-together, like always.

***

By the time the last class let out and the barns started to hum with night routines-wrapping legs, feeding, rinsing off sweat and grease-the air had shifted. The high heat had faded into something just shy of comfortable, with bugs starting to cling to the glow of the overhead lights and tired voices echoing down the aisles.

Ethan had helped wrap up Thunder's legs, cleaned the bit, set his pads out to dry. He worked quiet, the same way Wade did after a long day, both of them moving on the same wavelength now.

Everything tucked away, loosely in its place. Just how Wade liked it.

Ethan was sitting on the edge of the tack trunk, boot heel tapping against the latch, water bottle balanced on his knee. Just watching the goings-on. A few younger riders still buzzed with energy, parents corralling them toward trailers. A horse or two squealed down the back aisle, but for the most part, it was all winding down.

And then he saw it.

That horse again. The one that had caught his eye earlier.

He was shinier now, coat dark and sleek, mane damp and brushed flat. His head hung low and relaxed as he walked, no hint of the brilliance and blow-up he’d shown earlier. Just a good horse, doing his job. The kind of horse who knew the difference between when it was time to perform and when it was time to rest.

Leading him was a man Ethan didn’t know-but something about the way Wade stiffened next to him told Ethan he did.

“Shit,” Wade murmured, under his breath. Not in dread-more like disbelief.

The man had gray along his jaw and walked with that worn-out confidence only trainers really got. The kind of swagger that came from years of standing ringside and being screamed at by overinvolved parents.

And then the man caught sight of them. His face cracked into a grin.

“Well, hell,” he called out, stopping with the horse, who just blinked slow and patient beside him. “If that ain’t little Wade Ralston.”

Wade laughed-an actual laugh, almost caught off guard-and waved, stepping forward automatically.

Ethan stayed where he was for a beat. Half-up on his boots, unsure whether he was meant to follow or let Wade have this one on his own.

But Wade turned and looked back, nodding toward him. Come on, without saying it.

So Ethan stood, brushing dirt off his thighs, and followed, slower.

The man squinted at Ethan as they approached, then turned to Wade with a smirk.

“You bring your groom, or your boyfriend?” he asked, not unkindly, just straight to the point in that way old horsemen often were.

Ethan froze, the air catching right behind his ribs.

Wade didn’t.

“My boyfriend this time,” he said, no pause.

No stutter, no stumble.

The trainer raised his brows, impressed. “Well, alright then. You picked a cute one.”

Ethan flushed, looked down, half-grinning without meaning to.

The horse nosed into Wade’s arm, he let it happen, running a palm along the gelding’s neck with a familiarity that reached back years.

“You remember this guy?” the trainer asked. “He was new to the barn when you left, just barely broke then. Not a damn thing scared him.”

Wade smiled, the old memories surfacing behind his eyes. “Yeah. I remember him now. You let me sit on him once before finals. Told me not to touch a rein and just hang on.”

The man laughed. “Hell, sounds like me.”

They stood like that for a moment-Wade and this man from his past, this horse who’d made it, and Ethan standing beside him, not behind him.

And for the first time, Ethan realized Wade wasn’t hiding him. He wasn’t making excuses, wasn’t fumbling for a cover story.

 Wade wasn’t ashamed.

That changed everything.

The old man leaned against the gelding's shoulder lazily, the horse square beside him like he had nowhere else to be. It was the kind of horse that didn’t feel like it was waiting-just being. The type who knew how to live in the space it occupied. Confident. Settled. A horse that had seen the world and didn’t flinch anymore.

Wade stepped in close, reaching up to brush a bit of water from the gelding’s forelock. “He looks good. Real good.”

“He is good,” the man said, pride warming his tone. “Took us a while to find his rhythm, but once we did, oh man, he made all the other ones look like amateurs.”

As they talked, Ethan stood respectfully at Wade’s side. Not too close, not in the way, but within earshot in case he was addressed-which he was, now and then. And when he wasn’t, he looked the man in the eye anyway, nodded along like he’d been raised to do. His posture was good. His manners better.

But that horse.

That horse.

It turned its head slow and easy, looked Ethan over like it already knew something about him. Then, soft as breath, it reached out and nosed his pant leg.

Ethan blinked.

He let it happen.

Didn’t pull away.

The horse shifted closer, nudging again, then grabbed his sleeve-not aggressively, just with those curious, busy lips Ethan usually hated. But not this time.

This horse could’ve torn his whole damn arm off, and Ethan would’ve praised it.

Wade glanced sideways once, just enough to see Ethan’s expression-caught somewhere between captivated and reverent.

The trainer caught it too, smirk tugging at his mouth. “He’s always been a smart one. Choosy with who he likes.”

Ethan flushed. He didn’t want to be obvious, but hell-he couldn’t stop looking.

The trainer tilted his head toward him. “So. You’re with Wade, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said, quiet but sure.

“You working, or just hanging on for the ride?”

“I work,” Ethan said, barely able to keep the corners of his mouth from curling. “Sometimes I ride too.”

Wade snorted softly, but didn’t interrupt.

“How’s he treatin’ you?”

“Fair,” Ethan said. “Hard worker. He’s got me doing more than I thought I could.”

“That’s the Ralston way,” the man chuckled. “Bleed ‘em dry and then make ‘em grateful for it.”

Wade rolled his eyes.

The man leaned back, letting the lead rope slacken, and looked over to Wade again. “You still got those colts? The ones your daddy bred before he passed?”

“I do,” Wade said, tone shifting slightly. That subject always hit a little harder. “They’re comin’ along. Two are backed, third’s still learning to not kick a fence when she’s ticked.”

“Still as spicy as her mama?”

“Worse.”

The man whistled low. “You’re crazy for keeping that line.”

“Maybe,” Wade said. “But she’s big. Stupid big. And I’ve got Ethan now. He’s got a way with the hotter ones.”

Ethan blinked, surprised.

It wasn’t something Wade said often-out loud, around other people.

The old trainer looked back at Ethan with a little more weight in his eyes now. Not just measuring him as Wade’s partner. Measuring him as a horseman.

“Well,” he said slowly, “good horsemen don’t always come with the loud mouths. Sometimes they’re just the ones a horse picks. And I’d listen to a horse over a person any day.”

The horse had Ethan’s sleeve again, tugging softly.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t brush him off.

“Reckon this one’s talkin’,” the man added, voice dry.

Wade smiled, watching them both.

Ethan finally looked up. “What’s his name?”

“Don’t laugh,” the man said, but grinned. “His registered name’s High Noon Hitman. But everyone in the barn just calls him Chewy.”

Ethan bit down on his smile, trying not to show how much he already loved the damn thing.

They stayed a little longer in the aisle, long enough for the man to say his goodbyes and the gelding to lean one last time into Ethan’s space, brushing the boy’s ribs like he was already saying mine.

Ethan didn’t say it back.

Didn’t let on.

He just gave the horse's neck one last pat-light, so light-and stepped back.

***

The ride back to the hotel was dusty silence and cooled-off muscles, the kind of exhaustion that didn’t hurt yet, just clung. Wade looked good like that-sweaty and a little sun-pinked, talking with his hands as he rehashed the day, laughing over a colt who tried to climb a fence mid transition, or that client’s kid who got dumped and popped up with sand in every damn pocket.

Ethan kept up, smiling where he should, laughing soft where he meant it.

He didn’t bring up the horse.

Didn’t say a word about the slow-breathing gelding who watched him like he’d been waiting his whole life for Ethan to show up.

He wouldn’t. Not even now.

That kind of horse… it wasn’t something cowboys like him ever got. That was something you leased, or groomed for, or lunged before some rich man’s daughter came around with silver on her reins. That kind of horse didn’t land in a life like his. His daddy would’ve cuffed him in the side of the head for even looking too long.

So instead, when they got cleaned up, sun and dust washed off and skin cooled under too-crisp hotel sheets, Ethan leaned back on the pillows and spoke.

“That man was nice. Didn’t expect that.”

Wade had a towel looped around his neck, brushing out damp hair. “He’s always been decent. Taught me to ride straight before I could walk straight.”

“You were really small, huh?” Ethan teased, biting back a grin. “I mean, I know you say you were lanky and all knees, but that guy made you sound like a loose-limbed scarecrow.”

Wade snapped the towel at him, grinning. “Wasn’t that bad.”

Ethan ducked it, chuckling.

They talked like that a little while longer-old trainers, young pride, how Wade used to slide off the back of anything with withers too sharp. Ethan listened, not just to the stories, but to Wade’s voice, warm and low and content.

And still, he didn’t say anything about the horse.

Didn’t bring up the thick forelock or the way his sleeve had been mouthed soft as a kiss.

Didn’t mention how something had settled in him, from that moment on. Like a coin dropped down into a deep well.

***

The next morning started early—show day for Peach. She wasn’t built for elegance and she damn well knew it, strutting through the warmup pen like she had something to prove and teeth to back it up. Wade had entered her in anything she might vaguely qualify for: working ranch, a little junior western pleasure if she could remember to jog instead of launch.

She was fire under a too-polished saddle.

But that’s what today was about: making a little room for the misfits to shine.

And for Ethan?

That gelding wasn’t around-not that day. But his ghost was. In the corners of his eyes. In the low-swinging walk of a chestnut in the pen that wasn’t quite him, but close enough to hurt.

Chapter Text

The sun was barely up and already Peach was half-lathered and pissed. She danced in the cross-ties like a filly half her age, pawing the ground, tail swishing, eyes bright as glass beads.

Her breath came out hot and damp in the cool air, curling through the dim light of the barn aisle.

Every time her hoof struck the concrete, it echoed sharp and hollow-an impatient metronome counting down the seconds until Ethan lost his patience.

He didn’t.

He’d seen worse.

She wasn’t mean-just sharp. Too sharp for her own damn good. Her brain moved faster than her feet could sort out, and every time someone tried to ride the “pretty” into her, she lit up like a Fourth of July bottle rocket.

But today, she had to shine.

The arena lights would be white and merciless, the footing raked to perfection, the banners hung just so. It was a show day-the kind with judges who liked quiet hands, long drapes of rein, and horses that looked half-asleep but still alive with presence.

So Ethan got up before dawn and took her out where the fog still sat low on the fields. She'd been worked twice, once before bed last night, now once in the morning, then she'd be blown out enough to show. It wasn't normal, and it wasn't ideal, but that's how this one had to go. 

The world was gray and wet around them, her hooves made soft thuds in the dewy sand. A few laps on the longe line-just enough to take the edge off.

She blew hard when he brought her in, ears flicking, sides heaving, steam rising from her back in faint whorls. He was rubbing her neck when Wade came around the corner of the tack room, still buttoning his starched shirt.

The faint scent of leather soap and cologne followed him-familiar, grounding. Ethan didn’t say a word.

He just tugged the little paste tube from his pocket and held it up.

Wade didn’t say a word. Just gave a slow, subtle nod.

That was all Ethan needed.

The paste went in quick, clean. A touch of calm in a nervous world.

Peach worked her tongue, grimacing at the taste, but the lines along her jaw eased. Ethan wiped the corner of her mouth with his sleeve and gave her shoulder a pat, murmuring, “There you go, girl. Take a breath, huh?”

By the time Wade came back out-shirt crisp, hat in hand, belt draped over one shoulder-Ethan was already elbow-deep in the grooming box.

The barn lights hummed overhead, golden and low, catching the rising dust.

“C'mere,” Ethan said, motioning with two fingers.

“I can dress myself, you know.”

“Not like I do.”

Wade sighed but stepped closer anyway. Ethan switched his shirt for a cleaner one, tugged the necktie straight, and smoothed the collar until it lay perfect.

His hands were quick, precise-years of habit tucked into every motion. He brushed an invisible fleck from Wade’s shoulder, then gave him a whack square where his chaps met his back pockets.

“Hell was that for?” Wade asked, startled.

“Secures the chaps. S'what I'm told,” Ethan deadpanned, lips twitching into a smirk.

Peach stood quieter now, eyes half-lidded but alert. Her coat glowed under the lights, copper shot through with gold.

Ethan ran a final cloth over her flank, the scent of coat polish and sweet feed mingling in the air. Her tail had been brushed till it hung like silk; the silver on her bridle caught every flicker of dawn.

Their client hovered nearby in her sequined vest, crouched low with her phone to get “the perfect angle.”

She cooed into FaceTime, showing off “my sweet, sweet champion girl,” her voice pitched high and breathy. She didn’t even notice that Peach wasn’t pinning her ears or tossing her head like usual.

“Must’ve finally matured,” she said brightly.

Wade snorted under his breath. Ethan just kept brushing Peach’s flank, slower now, more out of habit than need. Truth was, Peach hadn’t matured.

But they had. He and Wade.

They’d learned that training wasn’t about breaking-it was about listening. About finding the stillness under all that fire.

Today wasn’t about winning; it was about showing the world that stillness could shine.

At least when it came to clueless clients and crazy horses. 

By the time Peach hit the warm-up pen, her little cloud of calm had burned off like morning fog. She curled her neck tight, every tendon in her body a bowstring drawn too far. Ethan could hear the grind of the bit in her mouth from across the fence, Wade working to soften her jaw, give her somewhere to go with all that tension. But she didn’t want to go anywhere-she wanted to fight.

“Jesus,” Ethan muttered, rubbing his temples.

Peach chucked her head at nothing, half-lifted her front end like she might stand. Wade sat deep, drove her through it. She threw her head again, and Wade gave one sharp jerk, enough to snap her attention but not her jaw.

It was all about timing.

From the stands, it looked like a war. Up close, it was worse.

“She’s just fresh,” her owner said, breezily. “She always needs to get her sillies out before she gets going. Don’t you think she looks good, though?”

Ethan turned halfway, kept his eye on the horse, but forced his face into something close to polite. “Sure. She’s got power, no doubt about that.”

He was holding her by the arm, not tightly, but with enough quiet force to keep her from rushing the rail. Every time Peach bucked or wrung her tail, Ethan talked louder.

“She’s forward, which is what you want. Look at her hind end-she tracks up when she commits.”

“She’s not square,” the woman said. “She doesn’t look square. Why isn’t she square?”

“She’s got a mind on her, that’s all. Wade’ll get her straightened out.”

Peach surged forward again, nearly ran up the tail of a gelding in a slow lope. Wade pulled her off, neck twisted like a rope. He said something-probably something Ethan was glad no one could hear—and kicked her through the corner like he was riding a damn rocket.

“She’s expressive,” Ethan tried, like that was a compliment.

Then came the gate call.

Peach strutted in hot, too fast, too tight. Wade dropped her into a jog just in time to avoid a whistle. She wrung her tail like a wild thing, then pinned her ears at a chestnut too close behind.

Wade didn’t fight her. He just let her move. Held the rail like it was a lifeline and asked for just enough.

Ethan didn’t breathe.

This horse had no business being in that class-not with the pleasure-bred, dead-headed saints already circling like halos. But Wade made her go. Made her look just soft enough, made the judges look twice without realizing they were being manipulated.

The owner was a storm of chatter beside him.

“Why is he on the rail like that? Shouldn’t he cut in? She’s tighter on this lap, look, her head’s not down, do you see that?”

“I see it,” Ethan said. Quietly. Carefully. “But she’s staying in her lane. You can’t fix everything at once. He’s letting her breathe, making sure she doesn’t pick a fight.”

“But she’s not loping like that sorrel.”

“She’s not that sorrel.”

He said it slow, like it meant something.

She wouldn’t stop. She was videoing. Yapping. Waving to someone across the arena. Ethan kept his mouth near her shoulder so he could interrupt without being rude.

“Your girl’s trying. That’s all you can ask.”

She looked at him like that wasn’t good enough. Like this horse had to win a national title to be good. 

But Ethan didn’t waver. He kept watching the ring. Watched Peach flick an ear back at Wade, tail a little quieter, jaw a little looser. She dropped her nose just one inch-barely-and Wade gave her a breath of rein, made it feel like it had been her idea.

He made it work.

Not pretty. Not effortless. But possible.

Ethan didn’t say much else. Because he knew this would never happen again.

Not with this mare. Not in this class. Not for this owner, who’d go back to blaming the weather or the footing or Wade’s “lack of connection” the minute it all went south again.

No, Peach would go back in the barn.

Would get ridden another three hundred times-if she was lucky-before someone tried again.

But Wade?

Wade would walk out of this arena looking like a miracle worker.

And Ethan would be the one who watched it happen, knowing just how close it all came to breaking.

Peach didn’t come in dead last-thank the lord for the old bay in the corner who missed his lead twice-but she wasn’t first on anyone’s card either. She walked out hot, not flaming and mean, but not happy about all the noise and motion pressing in from every side. Wade swung his leg over and dropped to the ground with the easy snap of someone used to jumping off horses before they’d fully stopped.

Ethan caught his eye just as Wade’s jaw ticked. He gave him a look-steady, deliberate-the one that meant don’t. Not here, not now. What Wade had done was enough. More than enough for Peach’s owner. He’d made chicken shit look like a halfway decent meal, and in Ethan’s book, that was winning.

Ethan took Peach’s bridle off, sliding his hand down her sweaty neck, letting Wade square up with the woman. She was already frowning, demanding to know why her precious mare wasn’t wearing a blue ribbon, but Wade held his voice flat, explaining how he wanted to school her next, what he’d worked on in the ring. The lady half-listened, half-smothered her horse-grabbing Peach’s face, her mane, her shoulder-cooing sweet nothings like the mare hadn’t just spent ten minutes giving Wade the middle finger in front of a judge.

They headed back through the warm-up pen, the noise dimming with each step toward the barn. Ethan ducked into their aisle, peeling the wraps off Peach before her owner could wander in and start “helping.” Wade was right behind, already pulling off his show chaps.

“Go strip,” Ethan said without looking up, loosening the cinch. “I’ve got her.”

And if Wade could get that lady off his back long enough to actually get undressed, maybe they’d both survive the rest of the day.

Wade had swapped the show shirt for his usual- sun-bleached jeans with a tear at one knee, a faded shirt missing a button near the collar, sleeves rolled once. No pretense now, just the man Ethan knew from the barn aisle.

Peach stood in the wash rack, sides still damp with sweat, ears flicking as Ethan slid the saddle from her back and set it neatly aside. The mare’s owner hovered close enough for him to smell her perfume-something sharp and powdery that clashed with the hay dust in the air.

“Don’t spray her face,” she reminded for the third time, voice carrying that brittle edge.

“I won’t,” Ethan murmured, steady with the hose, starting low on the mare’s legs. He could clean her face later, when the chestnut-coloured queen wasn’t ready to pin her ears at the world. It wasn’t worth a scene.

He was halfway down her flank when Peach tossed her head in protest, a sudden flick that sent a mist of cold water right into the woman’s cheek and hair.

It was instant-the mare gave him a dirty look, like she knew what she'd done, the woman gasped, and Ethan’s stomach sank.

“For heaven’s sake!” she snapped, dabbing at her face like he’d done it on purpose.

“I—” Ethan started, but she was already talking over him, fussing with the mare’s mane, shoulder, face-cooing to her like she hadn’t just nearly tossed Wade earlier. Ethan’s grip tightened on the hose, jaw locked. He’d never been good with women, especially the kind who knew they could put a man in his place with a single glare.

Wade appeared then, lingering just outside the wash rack. He clocked the scene in a heartbeat-Ethan cornered, the mare rolling her eyes, the owner halfway to breathing fire.

“You want me to take her?” Wade asked, voice deceptively casual.

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, eyes saying exactly what his mouth didn’t: get her off me. But aloud, he was polite as ever.

“I’m fine. If you want to grab a water or clean up the aisle, I’ll finish here.”

Wade didn’t move right away-just studied Ethan for a beat, like he knew the younger man was more rattled than he let on.

Wade didn’t wait for Ethan to finish rinsing Peach’s hind legs. One step into the wash rack and he’d taken the hose from Ethan’s hand without ceremony, his other palm landing heavy and steady between Ethan’s shoulder blades.

“I’ll finish,” he said low enough that only Ethan heard. “Go on.”

Ethan didn’t argue. He knew that tone -not quite angry at him, but wound tight enough to snap. He slipped past the mare’s haunch, brushing the water off his forearms, and let himself disappear into the barn aisle with the excuse of picking up.

Wade stayed with the woman just long enough to redirect her. She was far less sharp with him-still chirping about Peach’s potential while she stroked the mare’s nose like they hadn’t just come out of a train wreck of a class. He nodded when necessary, let her chatter fill the space until he could step away without being followed.

When he finally found Ethan again, the younger man was crouched by a tack trunk, stacking brushes with the neat, mindless precision of someone trying not to think too hard. The aisle was quiet-everyone either at the next ring or fussing over their own horses.

Wade didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped close enough that their boots knocked, and Ethan looked up at him.

It wasn’t a good job kind of look-no quiet pride, no small smile like in the Thunder moment earlier that week. This was relief edged in frustration, the unspoken, you kept me from losing it out there.

Wade reached down, hooked his fingers under the back of Ethan’s shirt, and hauled him up enough to close any space between them. The kiss was rougher this time-nothing careful or staged for the safety of public eyes, just pressed heat and a low sound caught in Wade’s throat. Teeth clashed, Ethan tried gasping for air Wade didn't budge enough for it. 

Ethan’s hand found the missing button on Wade’s shirt, thumb brushing it like he meant to fix it, but instead it curled in the fabric and held him there.

They stayed like that- pressed into the narrow corner, out of the sightlines, letting the smell of hay and leathernew and the hum of the fans drown out the chaos outside. No words, just that shared understanding that they’d go back out there in a minute, professional as ever.

At least Ethan thought that was the plan.

Wade had made it almost the whole day without cracking, but Peach’s owner was grinding him down like sandpaper. Every step she took was too close, every comment about his training choices or why he didn’t ride her more forward just another flick at the back of his skull.

He wasn’t going to tell her off. Not in the middle of a horse show, not with every barn gossip vulture circling for a story. But he was one sharp word away from telling her to pack it up and go home.

Instead, he found Ethan.

The tack room door clicked shut behind them with a decisive thud. Wade didn’t care who might notice. He had Ethan’s shirt in his fists before either of them said a word, hauling him forward until the backs of Ethan’s legs hit the tack trunk. One firm shove, and Ethan was perched on it, blinking at him in that what are you doing way.

Wade didn’t answer. He leaned in, catching Ethan’s mouth in a kiss that was even less gentle than the last-mumbling complaints and low groans against his lips as his teeth searched to bite. Half of it was words, half of it was just noise, too close and too quiet to make sense of. It didn’t matter.

Ethan’s thigh was caught between Wade’s larger ones, belt loops hooked in big, callused hands. The older man moved like an old bull-head down, stubborn, pushing forward no matter what.

“Not now,” Ethan tried, low.
“Calm down,” he added when Wade’s breath caught rough against his jaw, biting at it rougher than he used to.

Neither landed. Wade’s teeth found the side of his neck and Ethan’s inhale was sharp, fingers twitching against Wade’s ribs. 

He threw his head back, Wade's thigh moving firmly between Ethan's as Wade captured his mouth again. Wade started to move himself over Ethan, hiding the blonde's whines in his broad shoulder. 

And then—

“Wade!”

The woman’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot.
“Her nose looks snotty, is she ill?”

They broke apart fast. Wade smoothed his shirt with the flat of his hand with a growl; Ethan straightened his collar, brushing at invisible dust.

“Looking for something!” Ethan called, buying them a few seconds as he bent to rummage in the trunk for no reason at all.

Wade gave him a look that said they weren’t done. Not by a long shot.

Wade stepped out first, jaw tight but expression even. Professional.
For his own sake, if not hers.

Peach’s owner was hovering at the mare’s head, one hand cupped under the muzzle.
“She just sneezed,” she said, wide-eyed. “There’s-look-”

Wade sighed through his nose, crouched, and took a look.
A smear of snot clung just under her nostril.
Not plague. Not a death sentence. Just gross.

“She’s fine,” he said, fishing a rag from his pocket. He wiped her nose clean, gave the mare’s jaw a pat, and stepped back before he said something he’d regret.

But the woman didn’t go.

She lingered.

Talked.

Repeated herself.

Minutes stretched into forever, and Ethan stayed tucked in the tack room like he was hiding from artillery fire. Wade half wished he could join him. The tent that had grown in his jeans was slowly going down, thank the lord above. 

At last-tack was put away, aisle swept, horses settled-Wade had nothing left to do but endure. The lady was still leaning on the wash rack post, telling some meandering story that had nothing to do with anything.

Wade caught Ethan’s eyes through the tack room doorway, gave him the smallest tilt of his head. Come on.

Ethan hesitated, then stood, dusting his hands like he’d been busy. Wade met him halfway, resting one palm at the small of his back in that we’re leaving now kind of way.

“Alright,” Wade said to her with a trainer’s polite smile. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening.”

She just kept talking, but Wade was already steering Ethan toward the truck.

She didn’t get it.

Someone like her might never get it.

What mattered was that they were done. Finally.

And tonight, Wade was going to make sure every ounce of pent-up frustration had somewhere to go.

***

They finally made their escape.

She was still at the wash rack, cooing at Peach and fiddling with the mare’s forelock like she had nowhere else to be.

Wade and Ethan gave her the same courteous nods and thank yous they gave their best-paying clients, even if inside they were hanging by a thread.

The truck door shut with a solid thunk that felt like freedom.

Wade gripped the wheel tighter than he needed to, knuckles pale. “I swear to God, when we get home, I’m hookin’ that mare to a tie line for three straight days,” he muttered, voice low and edged.

Ethan looked out the window, smirking a little, just enough to soften it. “Better not tell her that. She’ll accuse you of torture.”

Wade huffed. “If I have to listen to her another hour, I’ll be the one on the damn tie line.”

The drive blurred by, Ethan filling the silence with light conversation-little stories, small jokes, anything to keep Wade from running over a curb in a fit of post-client rage. But the closer they got to the hotel, the heavier the air in the cab felt. Wade’s knee bounced. His fingers tapped the wheel.

By the time the parking lot came into view, Ethan could see it-he wasn’t going to have much time to think before Wade acted.

They barely spoke from the truck to the door.

Then the lock clicked behind them, and Wade was on him.

It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t careful in that sweet, coaxing way Wade sometimes had.

This was all teeth and tongue, hands gripping like he was afraid Ethan might vanish if he didn’t hold tight enough.

Ethan made a muffled sound against his mouth as he was shoved to the bed, palms pushing lightly at Wade’s chest. “Hey-” he tried, “-calm down-”

Wade ignored it, pressing his back toward the bed. “Not calm,” he muttered, voice rough, almost a growl. “Not after that bullshit.”

Ethan understood it then-this wasn’t anger at him.

If anything, he was the reason Wade hadn’t blown his whole career in the wash rack an hour ago.

Wade kissed him again, harder, and Ethan just let him, steadying him the way only he could. Wade had Ethans bottom lip between his teeth, not chewing, but something close. Ethan had never heard the man growl like he was, like a mean dog his dad used to have to keep coyotes away. He only pulled away to breathe so Ethan didn't suffocate, he'd rather not kill the boy now. 

It was clear, tonight wasn’t about romance.

It was about relief.

Wade’s mouth crashed against his again, the heat of it almost startling. He didn’t just kiss-he consumed, teeth catching Ethan’s bottom lip until it stung, tongue sweeping in like he was trying to erase the day from his own memory through sheer force. His teeth clashed with Ethan's, fighting him for what he knew he had anyway. 

Ethan’s back hit the mattress. Wade followed him down, caging him in, one knee pressing between Ethan’s legs, firm and rough.

“Wade-” Ethan tried again, voice muffled in the tangle of lips and breath. He wanted to talk him down, pull him back into that patient Wade he knew so well. But the grip on his belt loops tightened, yanking him closer, and all thought scattered.

“I was this close,” Wade rasped against his mouth, his forehead pressing to Ethan’s for a beat. His breath came fast, the frustration vibrating through every muscle. “One more minute with her and I’d have-” He cut himself off, jaw tight, kissing Ethan again like punctuation. He grumbled and growled, leaving Ethan to gasp and whine under him, taking it in a way he wasn't used to.

Ethan could feel it, the way Wade’s body thrummed, every bit of control he’d kept in the arena and at the wash rack now unraveling in the dim hotel light. His hands skimmed up Wade’s arms-solid, tense, shaking just enough to give him away.

“Let it go,” Ethan murmured. “You’re here. She’s gone. Just… breathe for me.”

Wade shook his head, a humorless huff catching in his throat. “Don’t wanna breathe.” His mouth was back at Ethan’s neck, teeth scraping in a way that sent a shiver racing through him. He sucked a mark where his Adam's apple sat, eliciting a soft moan from the blonde. 

"Want you."

Ethan’s breath hitched despite himself. “You-"” he started, then cut himself off, because Wade’s hand slid under his shirt, palm hot against his skin. He pinched and rolled Ethan's nipples between his fingers, struggling to take the fabric off of him. Ethan eventually had to rip his shirt off before Wade did and mangled the thing. That only encouraged Wade as his lips moved lower to Ethan's chest. There, he pressed open mouth kissed across his pectorals and nipped at the small amount of hair he kept near his sternum. Ethan reached down and gripped the older man's hair, remembering he liked that. He tugged gently when Wade bit down too harshly, all it did was make the next bite or suck rougher. Wade sucked at Ethan's pink nipples, Ethan squeaked and tried to push him off. Wade didn't budge.

The room was still humming from the long day-the air conditioner clicking to life, the faint scent of sweat and soap, leather and horse dust clinging to their clothes. Ethan could still smell the hay from the showgrounds, the ghost of adrenaline that hadn’t yet burned away.

Ethan’s heart thudded hard enough that he could feel it against Wade’s lips. The older man’s eyes searched his face like he was making sure he was still with him-still safe. The room felt smaller somehow, all edges and heartbeat and the faint rattle of the window AC unit.

"Tell me to stop. With your mouth, Reyes."

Ethan didn't say a word, just arched off the bed when he felt teeth graze where lips were sucking. He crooned and whined, pulling Wade even closer once he got used to the sensation of having his chest pulled and sucked and bitten at. The air already was getting thicker, surely the people in neighboring rooms could hear them. Neither man minded. 

Outside, someone passed by in the hallway, laughing, a distant door shutting with a muffled thud. Inside, the quiet stretched, heavy and electric. The only sounds were their breathing, the faint creak of the mattress when Ethan shifted, the dull rhythm of Wade’s heartbeat under his palm.

Wade continued his assault on Ethan's pale body, moving lower and lower until he reached the trail of hair leading to Ethan's naval. He stuck he nose to the flesh, breathing his boy in. Ethan could've came in his pants. Wade's teeth nipped little marks all around, marking him so no one spot went without his claim. Ethan's body grew hot, he couldn't take his eyes off Wade. Both men had grown budges where their belt buckles would sit, Wade's always the larger tent. Ethan could hardly handle himself, Wade hadn't even pulled his pants down and Ethan was getting close to climax. He moaned out load and tugged again at Wade's subtle sweaty waves, wanting more or something else, or whatever Wade wanted to give.

"Wade, please." Ethan whined, arched to his full potential and still trying to reach him more. 

Wade paused, catching his breath in ragged gasps. He kissed along Ethan's waistline while he breathed, then pulled away completely. Ethan whined like a child, reaching for him, for anything. 

Wade didn't leave him hanging for long, he grabbed the boy's arm and hauled him into a sitting position. Ethan was confused, surprised too as his breath caught and he moved to be seated. 

"I'm gonna teach you somethin' now. You're gonna learn, but you gotta tell me if you wanna quit." 

Ethan nodded, he'd learn to tame a lion if it made Wade happy. 

That was all Wade needed to move further. He gently helped Ethan down to the carpeted floor, tucking his knees under him. He unbuttoned his own jeans, then Ethan's.

"Take 'em off, I wanna see you."

Ethan's stomach did a summersault, he was quick to take off his jeans and strip his boxers, his length already hard and perky. He didn't know why he was down here, or what exactly Wade wanted to watch, but he was ready to please. 

"What do you want? How can I help you?" It was music to Wade's fucking ears. 

Wade was quick to toss his jeans to the other end of the room and throw his boxers, unable to keep himself from stroking himself when Ethan spoke. 

"You're gonna open," he began, holding Ethan's chin and tilting it up so they could make eye-contact. "and you're gonna suck me. Understand?"

Ethan did not, but he was eager to try anyway. He'd watched Wade do it, granted, through very love-drunk and squinty eyes. It couldn't have been hard, Ethan had done harder things than give his boyfriend a blow job. 

He nodded and leaned into Wade's hand seeking out that contact. Wade took a breath and tapped at Ethan's bottom lip, signaling him to open his mouth. He did.

"Practice, go slow. Exactly how you think you're supposed to." Wade spoke, sticking his pointer and middle finger into the boy's mouth. 

Ethan flushed red, but he did what Wade had asked. He tried to mimic when he thought Wade had done to him. Swirled his tongue around his fingertips, smoothed it around his knuckles and closed his mouth around his digits more. He teethed at the fingers in his mouth and Wade immediately pushed him away. He was only caught from falling over when Wade grabbed his shoulders to keep his back from hitting the ground. 

"Don't use your teeth, E. Don't bite my dick."

Ethan flinched, he didn't realize what he'd been doing really, he was only trying to please. He nodded, real soft.

"Sorry. I'm tryin'." Ethan admitted, nervous to try again. Maybe he shouldn't do this, maybe he should just let Wade do something else. Anything else. 

Wade didn't let him give up so easy, didn't let him panic or shy away. He inserted his fingers back passed Ethan's lips, rubbing his jaw softly with his large thumb.

"You're okay, you're doin' fine. Best way to learn is do it wrong first." He made it sound like he was teaching Ethan to back a colt.

Ethan did try again, and he didn't teethe at Wade anymore. He gently sucked, ran his tongue up and down the length of the digits. Wade groaned and looked at Ethan like he'd hung the stars, setting his free hand on the boy's head and gently playing with his curls.

"Much better, E. Atta boy." 

He pulled his fingers from Ethan's mouth after another moment, sudden but far from harsh. He couldn't hurt his poor boy's mouth. A string of saliva connected Ethan to him for a minute longer until it was broken deliberately by Wade. 

Ethan looked nervous when he realized what Wade was up to now, he didn't want to hurt him or do something wrong. The last thing Wade needed was to hurt below the belt after such a bad day.

"I don't know, Wade, I don't wanna hurt you." Ethan admitted, sheepish as he looked to Wade's length, he couldn't take his eyes away. 

"You won't, I know you won't." Wade assured him, rubbing his jaw and leaning down to kiss his nose. "You did just fine, just do the same thing. If you choke, I'll help you." 

That gave Ethan some confidence, enough for him to nod and look up at Wade, waiting to be used. Wade didn't right away, he held Ethan's face and rubbed his cheeks, his jawline, his temples. Then he played with his hair some more, the way Ethan liked, how he did when he put him to sleep. When he let go, his hands went to his own length and he held it up, resting it against Ethan's cheek.

"Ask for help if you need it. Hit me, pinch me, scream at me, don't go silent if you need to stop. Got it?" Wade asked, making it very clear that Ethan's job was not to be hurting. 

Ethan nodded, then replied with a hoarse, "I got it. I'll tell you."

Wade let Ethan take him when he was ready, allowing Ethan to guide his member passed his lips. Already Ethan struggled, trying not to let his teeth scrape against it. He went slow, gagged twice before Wade made him just handle the tip, baby steps. 

Wade watched him, held his face and just let him relax, all he needed to do was relax his throat and suck. 

Ethan appreciated that, it gave him more confidence when Wade rubbed his jaw, stroked at his cheeks, played with his messy hair. Ethan did just as he'd been taught, sucking gently at the head and running his tongue along a vein that made Wade throw his head back and groan. Wade tasted like salt and when Ethan would get alfalfa in his mouth, earthy and masculine. He smelled dirty, smelled like sin. Ethan kept up his rhythm, sucking, swirling, humming softly when Wade would pull on a curl. He slowly took more and more of Wade until he was halfway up his length. That's where he choked again and Wade let him pause right there. Every gag and hum and moan Ethan let out was heavenly, it was taking all of Wade's strength not to just thrust into Ethan's face. 

When Wade felt warmth pool in his stomach, he couldn't hold himself back anymore, he couldn't keep playing nice. He didn't hurt Ethan, never, he just hummed to get his attention. 

"Look at me," Wade began, breath ragged. "Relax your jaw, all the way. You hit me if you want to stop. Hard, Ethan."

Ethan caught his gaze and nodded with Wade's length in his mouth. He trusted Wade, fully. He knew how to get help, he knew Wade would never hurt him. 

Wade just took a breath and waited until Ethan was fully relaxed, making sure his jaw had no tension. Once he was satisfied and frankly couldn't hold himself back anymore, Wade held Ethan's jawbones, one in each hand, and moved against his mouth. He started slow, watched Ethan's face, his expression. Ethan looked surprised at first, then his eyes rolled back, softly gagging but regaining his composure. Wade could've emptied his load right then, but he needed to hold off, he wasn't a one-pump-chump how he used to be. Keeping watch of Ethan's face and feeling for any tap, any squeeze too hard, any pull away, Wade continued. He used Ethan's mouth fully, hitting the back of his throat with almost every thrust, his groans were no longer soft like they had been. Ethan would cough and gag, but he never pulled back, it felt good to have purpose and pleasure Wade all at once. He learned how to relax and take him, use his tongue even as Wade was in motion, he was a quick learner. 

"Holy hell, Ethan. You were fuckin' made for me." Wade groaned, rocking into him rougher. 

It was somewhere in that moment that he glanced down at the boy below him and caught a sight that raised a red flag for him. Tears. Not rolling down his face, but Ethan was teary-eyed.

Wade immediately felt like a total asshole, stilling and holding Ethan's face more gently. 

"Hey, you okay?" he asked first. "Did I hurt you? Can you breathe?" He soothed him with hands over his cheeks, rubbing his temples and down the bridge of his nose. 

Ethan let go of him, catching his breath. But he didn't look upset, he didn't look scared or hurt either. He looked pleased.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I don't know-I just...I like being useful to you. I shouldn't be a baby about it-that's weird." 

Wade sighed in relief realizing he didn't just skewer his boyfriend into tears. He smiled softly down at him, chuckling dryly.

"That's okay, E. Shit, I thought I hurt ya." Wade spoke, not taking Ethan for a crier until now. Granted, this was new to him and he'd gagged about five times consecutively. Wade didn't interrogate him anymore, and he didn't tell him he found it incredibly attractive that he was a crier now knowing he wasn't in pain. He waited maybe a minute before he eased himself back into Ethan's warm mouth, going slower before he went back to his normal rhythm. Ethan held still and steady, taking it like the trooper he was, and he appeared to enjoy it. Tears moved down his cheeks as Wade got more aggressive with his thrusts, getting closer. He looked down at the blonde, only to receive a gag and a nod in return, Ethan was okay, he was just a teary guy. It didn't take long for Wade to get too close, almost falling over the edge before he pulled Ethan off, huffing air and having to compose himself. Ethan was made to give head, he just had to figure out how to do it right. When he was pulled away, Ethan's lips were swollen and pink, he too couldn't catch his breath.

"Swallowing is a lesson for another day, you'll get there. I'd better let you breathe." Wade gasped, hoisting Ethan up and back onto the bed. Ethan was painfully hard, throbbing and red as he was laid back on the bed. 

"It was fine? That was good?" Ethan asked, genuinely thinking he'd made a fool of himself.

"Ethan." Wade began to reply, laughing a little as he scooted Ethan below him and into a comfortable position. "I nearly came in your mouth. It was more than fine." 

Ethan flushed and looked away, he wasn't used to dirty talk yet. He'd get there. With Wade, he'd get there quick. 

Wade didn't waste any time moving to please Ethan too, still pent up and irritated, but not enough to hurt his boy. He thought about flipping Ethan over, but he couldn't rationalize it. Ethan did better when he could see, felt safer that way. Wade spit in his hand and rubbed Ethan's length in his palm, soaking it as best he could. Ethan moaned high, so sensitive from waiting so long. Wade kept at his ministrations while he slowly inserted himself into Ethan's hole, he didn't have the gift of any lube to give him other than saliva.

"I know, I know, just let me take care of it." Wade cooed, stroking Ethan softly to dull the sharp stretch. Ethan whined, looking at Wade for both help and assurance. He got both in the form of Wade kissing at his nose, rubbing his thighs, going slow until the stretch faded. He praised Ethan the entire time, low and soft, like how you'd call a small stray cat. Ethan relaxed when the pain faded, holding onto Wade's shoulders for support as Wade's pace increased. The noises being made were obscene, loud and wet, but neither male cared at all. The room reeked of sex and boy, it was the best scent Ethan could think of. Wade continued his pace, only getting faster and harder, grumbling about his shit day and his shit horses and his shit clients, Ethan hardly heard it. He was in his own world of pleasure, leaking precum all over his own stomach. 

"Wade-" It came out as a whine, high pitched, a mewl.

"You close, cowboy?"

Ethan only nodded, trying to hold out, but that was a cruel joke. He finished hard and sudden, Wade climaxing almost immediately after when Ethan clenched his hole. Both spent, both wrecked in the best way. 

Wade stayed close, not pushing, just being. His thumb drew slow, steady circles where it rested on Ethan's sweaty hip, grounding them both.

"Okay, baby?"

Ethan nodded, nuzzling into Wade's chest, seeking the comfort his body gave. 

Ethan felt the tremor still moving through the older man-not anger now, just the frayed remnants of everything he’d been holding in. The kind of exhaustion that sits in the bones and makes the smallest kindness feel like rescue.

Ethan tilted his head back slightly, eyes closing. He let the sound of Wade’s breathing fill the space where words used to be. There was something sacred in that silence-in knowing neither of them had to perform or explain.

For the first time all day, the tension began to slip away.

When Wade finally spoke again, his voice was hoarse, stripped of its earlier edge. “You’re the only reason I didn’t lose it today,” he said, almost to himself.

Ethan’s lips curved faintly, lazy in his sex-drunk stupor. “Guess that makes me a pretty good groom.”

That earned him the smallest laugh-barely a sound, but enough to ease what was left of the storm between them. Wade let his forehead rest against Ethan’s temple, eyes closed, breath slow and even.

The world outside kept moving-the hum of cars in the lot, the soft knock of pipes through the wall-but for a long, steady moment, it didn’t matter.
Here, in the dim hotel room that still smelled faintly of dust and summer heat, they both just existed-tired, alive, and safe enough to breathe again.

Chapter Text

Morning light seeped through the hotel curtains, thin and dusty gold. Ethan was still halfway tangled in the sheets when the smell of coffee hit him-burnt but drinkable.

Wade was already up, jeans and boots on, shirt wrinkled like he’d slept in it, leaning against the little table by the window.

“You gon' make it outta bed before the show’s over?” Wade asked, pushing a paper cup toward him.

Ethan squinted, stretching until his back popped. He was sore in all the right places, but he'd always be up for coffee. “If I knew coffee was the prize, I’d have moved faster.”

“You’re slow no matter what the prize is,” Wade said, but there was a faint smirk under it.

They sat at the small wooden table, both of them hunched over their drinks like it was a survival tool rather than a luxury. It didn’t take long before the client from yesterday came up-because of course she did.

“She texted me last night,” Wade said, deadpan.

Ethan nearly choked. “What, to apologize?”

“No,” Wade said, “to send me a blurry picture of her mare eatin' hay. Said she ‘missed our energy.’”

Ethan grinned into his coffee. “Your energy, maybe. Pretty sure she thought I was just the help.”

“You are the help.”

“Yeah, but I’m your help. Big difference.”

Wade snorted, shaking his head, and for the first time since yesterday, his shoulders seemed a little looser.

Halfway through the coffee, Wade slid something across the table-Ethan’s back number for the day. Ethan blinked at it.

“Uh… this yours?”

“Nope.” Wade leaned back, arms crossed. “Scratched Red from my class. You’re up instead.”

Ethan’s head shot up. “Wait, what? You—why?”

“Because it’ll be good for you. You haven’t been in the ring in a while, and Red’s got the movement for it. Figure you two can learn together.”

Ethan stared, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You just don’t want to get beat by some twelve-year-old in sequins.”

Wade smirked. “That too.”

Ethan rolled the number between his fingers, already feeling the buzz in his chest. It wasn’t a huge class, nothing high-stakes, but still-Wade giving him the ride meant something.

It was trust, plain and simple.

“You’re sure you ain't worried I’m gon' mess him up?”

“You’re not gonna ruin months of work in one ride,” Wade said. “Worst case, you lope the wrong direction. I’ll still buy dinner.”

Ethan laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”

“Yep. Finish your coffee, cowboy-you’ve got a nutbag to ride.” 

***

Red stood tied outside the stalls, ears flicking, tail swishing lazily while Wade tightened the cinch with practiced efficiency. The gelding’s copper coat gleamed-partly from the bath he got yesterday, partly because Wade just had a way of making a horse look like he’d stepped out of a show catalog.

Ethan, on the other hand, looked like a cautionary tale from the “before” photo.

“Need some help?” Wade asked, not looking up as he slid the silver-detailed latch into place.

“I’m fine,” Ethan grunted, trying to tuck his crisp show shirt into his jeans without holding his breath. “Just… these shrunk.”

Wade’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. That’s what happened.”

Ethan shot him a look through the makeshift changing room, it was really just a stall with some drapes over the sides, but kept struggling. His toes were curled so hard in his boots they might break, the zipper on his old chaps had given up before it even reached his thigh, and now he was waddling around in Wade's. They were broken-in and comfortable-on Wade. On Ethan, they slid low on his hips and made him feel like a kid in hand-me-downs. Finally, he smoothed his hair, fastened his hat, and stepped out into the aisle. His shirt was a deep teal with subtle shimmer under the barn lights, his boots freshly polished but a little too stiff.

Wade stopped mid-step, giving him a slow once-over and a wolf-whistle. “Well, you look the part. If the part was… youth division, circa 2012.”

Ethan laughed under his breath, but something in the way the clothes fit-or didn’t-brought him back. Back to early mornings in half-empty barns, scrambling to get his own horse ready before his class. His dad would’ve been leaning on a fence, cigarette or beer in hand, watching but never offering to help. Some other parent would inevitably chase Ethan down to straighten his number or brush shavings off his hat before he jogged into the ring.

He’d been alone then, even when someone was standing right there.

Now, Wade was at his shoulder-checking Red’s tack without a word, making sure every strap lay flat, every buckle shone. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. Ethan knew he wouldn’t go in that ring with anything less than perfect because Wade wouldn’t allow it.

Ethan blew out a breath, rolling his shoulders. “Alright,” he said, tugging once at the waistband. “Let’s go embarrass ourselves.”

Wade patted Red’s gleaming neck and stepped back, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Speak for yourself. I’ve got the easy job-I just get to watch.”

The warm-up pen was alive with quiet tension-sleek, silver-shod Arabians circling in precise, measured strides under the glow of the arena lights. The air smelled faintly of hoof oil and dust.

Riders murmured soft cues, shifting their weight, adjusting reins so delicately it barely showed. Every tail flick, every ear twitch seemed amplified in the stillness between patterns.

Ethan guided Red in at a jog, giving the gelding a chance to look around and breathe it all in. The colt’s neck arched high, nostrils flaring as he took in the shimmer of sequined jackets and the faint clink of silver bits. He wasn’t misbehaving-just alert, keyed up, like the arena buzz had crawled right under his skin. He'd been off property before with Wade, but not like this. 

Wade leaned against the rail, hat low over his eyes, one hand hooked in his belt loop. From a distance he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, but Ethan knew better. That stillness meant focus. Wade was tracking every stride, every shift in Red’s body.

Ethan sat deep and steady, keeping his hands light as he asked for a lope. Red hesitated, his stride uneven for a beat, but Ethan waited him out. The moment the gelding found rhythm-soft, rolling, balanced-Ethan exhaled and brushed a hand down his neck. “Good boy,” he murmured. Quiet, meant only for him.

A grey mare and her rider glided by, their tack polished to a mirror shine, rider’s posture crisp and elegant. The pair exuded control, every cue invisible. Red flicked an ear toward them, tried to lift his head higher, but Ethan steadied him with a small squeeze of his leg and a calm breath.

He didn’t rush to keep up. This wasn’t about speed or flash; it was about presence. About making the judge believe horse and rider were one thought, one breath.

Every few circles, Ethan glanced toward Wade. The question was always the same, unspoken: Do I look like an idiot out here?

And Wade always answered without words-just a slight nod, subtle as a sigh. Approval. Keep going.

The hum of the pen went on: horses circling, silver catching light, riders passing in a rhythm older than the show itself. Ethan kept Red between his legs, focused on the smallest details-the give in the bit, the lift of the shoulders, the quiet that came when everything clicked.

Because that’s what mattered here: calm, balance, and trust.

And Wade watching from the rail-steady, silent, was all the proof Ethan needed that he was getting it right.

***

Wade had brushed Red until the gelding’s coat gleamed like burnished copper under the arena lights. He smoothed down his mane, polished the silver conchos on Ethan’s saddle, and ran a cloth over his chaps until they caught the light just right. He straightened Ethan’s hat, tightened the cinch one last time, and stepped back with that same steady look that said, you’re ready.

Ethan wanted to believe it.

The gate swung open, and the muffled hum of the crowd melted into the rhythm of hooves on packed dirt. He guided Red into the pen, settling him at a jog. The gelding’s ears flicked forward, his muscles alive beneath the saddle-not tense, just aware, reading the ring the way Ethan did.

At first, everything clicked.

Red floated through the transitions, soft in the mouth, easy under leg. The pair curved along the rail in sync-Ethan breathing with him, every stride smooth and measured. He could almost forget anyone was watching, except for Wade leaning on the fence, hat tipped low, a faint approving nod hidden under the brim.

Then what little luck Ethan had, ran out.

As they came out of a lope transition, another rider cut in too close. Red startled-one sharp sideways jump that sent Ethan’s stirrup sliding out from under him. He caught himself before he went off-balance, but Red’s body slammed against the siding, crushing Ethan's leg with it. Ethan’s leg took the brunt, the metal ringing out like a gunshot. Pain lanced up from his ankle so sharp he almost swore out loud. He grit his teeth, sucked in a breath, and refused to look down. Just kept his seat, eased Red forward again.

He didn’t cry out-just hissed in air and forced his heel back down, trying to make it look like nothing had happened. But the pain was bad, blooming hotter every stride, like fire licking under his boot.

He kept riding anyway.

Every corner, every change of gait, he made himself focus on Red’s frame-hands low, seat steady, smile fixed. The crowd would never know the difference.

Wade would. Wade always did.

When Ethan finally risked a glance his way, Wade’s expression had changed-no longer soft, just assessing, unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t signal, just watched. That was worse somehow.

That meant he knew.

Still, Ethan pushed through.
Because leaving now, limping out of the ring, would mean giving Wade that image: a green rider who couldn’t hold it together when it counted.

By the time the final halt came, Ethan’s vision had gone gray at the edges. He tipped his hat to the judges, eased Red into a walk, and kept the reins loose so no one would see how carefully he was holding his injured foot away from the stirrup.

He didn’t look toward Wade again. He didn’t have to.

If Wade had seen it-and Ethan knew damn well he had-he’d wait until they were out of the arena. Then he’d say something quiet, the kind of thing that stung more than any scolding could.

Ethan went eighth. Out of nine. 

He should've been last, but apparently one of the judges was both blind and deaf and had him third on her card. 

Ethan kept his back straight all the way to the out gate, tipping his hat to the judge like his ankle wasn’t burning with every step Red took.

Wade was there before the latch even clicked shut, catching Red by the bit without a word. That silence was heavier than any lecture-because Wade’s silences were never empty. They meant he was thinking. And when Wade started thinking, it usually turned into action before long.

They didn’t speak as they made their way down the line of stalls, the echo of the announcer fading behind them. Wade led Red with a steady hand, keeping him straight so Ethan didn’t have to steer-didn’t have to do anything but sit up tall and pretend nothing was wrong.

But Wade wasn’t looking at him. He was watching Red-the gelding’s tense ears, the scuff in his rhythm-like the horse had just undone weeks of careful work. Like he might haul him back to the trailer and start rethinking everything they’d planned.

When they reached the shade of the barn, Wade’s voice came, low and clipped. “Hop off. Slow.”

Ethan swung his leg over carefully, trying to make it look natural. The moment his boot hit the ground, a jolt shot through his ankle, hot and mean. He winced before he could stop himself.

“Let me see it,” Wade said.

The words weren’t loud, but they carried that edge Ethan knew too well-the kind that didn’t need volume to hit hard. He shook his head, stepping toward Red’s shoulder instead.

“I’m fine,” he said, reaching for the reins. “I’ll cool him out.”

“Ethan.”

“I said I’m fine.”

He bent to loosen the cinch, but his ankle gave out halfway down. The ground tilted under him, forcing an awkward hop that pulled a hiss from between his teeth. The angle of his boot told the truth his words couldn’t.

Wade’s jaw flexed-not anger, not really-but Ethan’s pulse still jumped like it was. Old reflexes didn’t care about good intentions.

Wade didn’t say another word at first-just reached up, tied Red off to the nearest ring with quick, hard motions. The kind you’d use if you didn’t trust the horse not to wander.

Then he turned.

It wasn’t a lunge, not even a rush, but there was something in the way he closed the space that made Ethan’s stomach knot. Measured steps. Straight line. Predator focus.

“Let me see it,” Wade repeated.

Ethan’s hands twitched toward the reins again. “I told you, I’m-”

“I’m not mad at’cha,” Wade cut in, voice still iron, still clipped. “Let me look.”

Ethan froze. He didn’t know what to do with that. With someone sounding that stern but not meaning harm. It went against everything his body had been taught to expect.

Wade crouched, hands steady as he worked the boot off, slow enough that Ethan barely had time to brace. The leather peeled back, his ankle blooming ugly under the sock. Wade’s thumb pressed along the bone, then around the joint. Ethan hissed, but Wade didn’t stop-just kept testing until he seemed satisfied.

“Not broken,” Wade muttered. “But you’re done for the day.”

Ethan opened his mouth to argue, but Wade was already steering him toward the dressing room, a hand braced at the back of his neck in a way that left no room for sidestepping.

Inside, Wade helped strip away the sweat-damp shirt, the chaps, anything that would make icing easier. It was businesslike, but not cold. His palm lingered on Ethan’s jaw for a moment, thumb brushing just enough to anchor him.

“Sit,” Wade ordered, setting the ice in place. “Stay.”

Out in the aisle, he untied Red and set to work with the kind of force that made the brushes thump against hide. The colt flicked an ear and sidestepped, earning himself a sharper tug. Wade worked like he was the one hurting-like every knot in the horse’s coat was his own.

And from his seat, ankle throbbing under the ice, Ethan realized-Wade was still silent, still tense, but none of it was aimed at him. 

The ice pack bit at his skin, sharp enough to make his toes curl. Wade had told him to sit, so he sat. He sat and thought.

It started as a low, dull throb in his ankle and a faint embarrassment in his chest. That should’ve been it. But it never was, not for him.

He should’ve pushed Red harder. Should’ve seen that other horse coming. Should’ve-what? Flown off the wall like some damn superhero? Wade had given him the reins in more ways than one, trusted him in that pen, and he’d gone and let the gelding make a fool out of them both.

The rest came fast, tumbling over itself like barbed wire unspooling. Wade would never trust him with a horse like that again. Why would he? His dad would’ve called it right there-one and done, boy. You mess it up once, you ain’t doing it twice.

By the time Wade came back in, Ethan had already mapped it out. He’d be stuck with muck duty and stall sweeping. No more training rides. Maybe not even a spot in their bed-why waste the warmth on someone who couldn’t even keep a broke gelding off the damn wall?

The ice burned now, but he didn’t move it. Didn’t dare. His mind just kept running, hamster wheel spinning faster and faster until the sound of Wade’s boots brought it to a grinding, squeaking halt.

Wade didn’t say anything at first-just set Red’s tack down a little harder than necessary, the bridle’s bit clanging against the saddle horn. Then he looked at Ethan.

One look, and Ethan’s mouth jumped ahead of his brain. “I’m sorry.”

Wade’s brows pulled together, more confusion than anger. “For what?”

“I-I just…” Ethan swallowed, eyes darting to the floor. “Messed it up. Got hurt. Should’ve—”

Wade cut him off with a shake of his head, crossing the room in a few slow strides. “You stayed on and finished your go with a horse that panicked on you. You didn’t mess up.”

Ethan blinked, the words snagging in his chest like they’d been thrown too far for him to catch.

Wade crouched again, his palm finding the back of Ethan’s neck-not squeezing, just holding, grounding. “You’re hurt, and we’ll fix it. That’s it.”

It was blunt, stripped of frills, but it was more comfort than Ethan knew what to do with.

Ethan didn’t say a word when Wade took the ice from him and set it aside. Just let himself be pulled to his feet, limping slow beside him out to the aisle.

Wade parked him in front of the big box fan, the air roaring against the sweat on his face. A tack trunk slid into place under his heel, raising the ankle just enough to ease the pull. Water bottles appeared at his side. His boot stayed off.

“You stay here,” Wade said, giving the fan cord a tug to keep it from rattling. “Cool down. Don’t move unless you have to.”

It was such a simple thing-setting him up out of the way, in the cool, with everything he’d need. Nobody had ever done it for him before. Nobody had ever thought to.

He sat there for a minute, head tipped back, ankle throbbing less now. The thoughts that had been chasing each other in circles just… slowed. Maybe the world wasn’t out to get him for one busted run.

Still, the words came out before he could swallow them.

“It’s really okay? You’re not sendin' me packin'?”

Wade, mid-step toward the tack room, stopped and looked back. “Why would I do that?”

Ethan gave a weak shrug, staring at the toes of his sock. “Just… figured I made a mess of it. My old man—”

“I’m not your old man.” Wade’s tone was flat, no edge. “You got hurt. We’ll fix it.”

Ethan blinked at him, like he couldn’t quite fit that answer into the way the world worked. Wade just gave the saddle in his hands a pat and went about hanging it up, like the conversation was over.

But for Ethan, it was the first time “messing up” hadn’t come with the threat of losing everything.

Ethan stayed where Wade had left him, socked foot propped on the tack trunk, the fan pushing the heat off his skin in slow, steady waves. The barn was quiet except for the occasional hoof shifting in a stall and the swish of water in a bucket as Wade bathed Red.

He could hear the low murmur of Wade’s voice now and then-nothing for him, just those quiet, absent words some horsemen spoke while they worked.

When Red was led down the aisle, clean and damp, Wade gave him a final pat and shut him in with a neat clink of the latch. That was when the silence broke.

Bootsteps, unhurried but with a certain old rhythm, came down the row. Wade’s old trainer appeared, hat tipped back, eyes taking in the barn like it hadn’t changed a lick. He wasn’t a stranger to Ethan, but they’d never talked much.

“Well now,” the man said, mouth curling into a crooked grin as he stopped in front of Ethan. “Heard you got into some trouble, cowboy. Let’s see what we got-old colt thought this was WWE and not a pleasure class.”

Ethan gave a small shrug, sitting up a little. “I’m fine. Just sore.”

“Mhm,” the trainer said, crouching anyway to give the ankle a once-over. “Sure you are.” His tone wasn’t pushy, just comfortable, like a man who’d seen a thousand rolled ankles and a thousand boys trying to play them down.

When he straightened, his gaze slid toward Wade. “No wonder you ain’t never had yourself a lover when you was with me-can’t even keep ’em from gettin' hurt on your colts. You’re lucky this boy hasn’t chewed your chaps.”

It was all in good humor, his eyes bright with the tease, and even Wade’s mouth twitched. The air between the three of them felt lighter for it.

Ethan leaned back again, letting the fan work over him, and for the first time since hitting the dirt that morning, he didn’t feel like running.

Wade was toweling his hands dry, watching the exchange with that quiet half-smile he got when someone else was doing the talking for him. The trainer’s jab hung there in the warm barn air, and Wade snorted through his nose-sharp and dismissive in a way only someone who’d grown up under a man’s eye could manage.

“Yeah, and you were such a saint, boss,” he drawled, folding the towel over the rail. “Half the reason I learned to ride was so I could get away from your mouth.”

The old man barked a laugh, tipping his head back. “That so? Guess I didn’t talk fast enough, then.”

Ethan couldn’t help it-he laughed too, the tension unspooling out of his chest in an easy rush. It wasn’t forced anymore, wasn’t covering for embarrassment. Wade glanced his way, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, and Ethan caught the flicker of approval there.

The trainer shook his head, clapping Wade on the shoulder. “You two’ll figure it out. Just keep him off the broncs for a bit, huh?”

Wade didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was easy now, his eyes still warm on Ethan. Even Red gave a lazy snort from his stall, like the barn itself had decided to let it go.

Ethan leaned back against the tack trunk, ankle propped, smiling without really meaning to. The mishap felt smaller now-something that happened, not something that defined him. Just like that, the old man had done what he always did.

The old man finally pushed himself upright, grumbling as he brushed off his jeans. “Alright, I’ll get outta here before you two start starin’ at each other like you’re in a soap opera. I’ll come back later, make sure you ain’t killed your boyfriend yet.”

Ethan ducked his head, hiding a smile. Wade just rolled his eyes, a smirk twitching at his mouth.

When the trainer’s boots faded down the aisle, the barn breathed again-just the fan humming and a soft rustle from the stalls. Wade came over slow, dropped down on the tack trunk beside Ethan with a cold water in his hand.

“Hungry?” he asked, passing the bottle over. “Could grab us somethin’ from the hotel.”

Ethan shrugged, twisting the cap. “Maybe.”

Wade leaned forward on his knees, not staring him down, just glancing at his ankle in the lazy way you check a horse’s leg after a trail ride. “Still sore?”

“A little,” Ethan admitted.

“Alright,” Wade said simply, leaning back again. No lecture, no tsking- just that steady presence, like the whole thing was no more complicated than a splinter in a fence post.

“We’ll keep it up, get you right.”

And for once, Ethan let himself believe that was all there was to it.

***

They didn’t go far-just enough to put the showgrounds behind them, the noise traded for the hum of the truck’s AC. Wade pulled into a place that smelled like hickory smoke and grease, the kind of cooking that wasn’t fast food but didn’t pretend to be fancy either. He came back with a bag of ribs and a carton of pulled pork, passing Ethan the heavier box without a word.

They ate there, windows rolled up, Dolly Parton lilting through the static until Wade groaned and flicked the dial.

“One more,” Ethan said through a mouthful of pork.

“You’ve had four ‘one mores,’” Wade replied, but he turned it back anyway.

The edge was gone now-no crowd, no judges, no old man circling the pen. Just them, paper napkins crumpling on the dash and barbecue sauce staining the corners of Ethan’s mouth. Wade leaned back, sipping his sweet tea, side-eyeing him.

“A cowboy who grinds dirt in his teeth can’t stomach a splash of cream,” he said, shaking his head.

Ethan huffed a laugh, licking sauce from his fingers. “It’s different.”

Wade didn’t argue. He just smirked, and that was enough for Ethan to know-he wasn’t mad. Maybe frustrated with the morning, sure. But not mad at him. The air was steady again, and Ethan could feel his own pulse finally slowing, syncing to the calm in Wade’s voice.

The ride back from lunch was slow and heavy, the kind of quiet that came with full stomachs and too much sun. Ethan finally let Wade change the channel, and the old barbecue boxes got folded down into neat little squares on his lap. Napkins swiped across stubbled faces, the crumpled ones dropped into the empty bag on the floorboard. Hats tipped low.

If they’d been home, both of them would’ve been in bed by now-Wade stretched out, Ethan curled against him like some cat who’d been fed too much. But they weren’t home, so it was just that lazy silence, warm and sluggish.

Ethan leaned over the center console like he always did, head tucked into the crook of Wade’s elbow while Wade drove. The hum of the tires, the low twang on the radio, the gentle shift of the truck-it all blurred into something easy.

When they pulled into the grounds, Wade shut the engine off, slid out, and waited for Ethan. But the door didn’t slam behind him like usual.

“Ethan?”

Ethan finally dropped down from the height of the dually, forgetting for one blissful second that he’d busted himself up earlier. The reminder came like lightning up his leg. His spine lit up, the pain sharp enough to pull a ragged sound out of his chest.

He stood there on one leg, hissing air through his teeth. “Son of a-” The words that followed could’ve singed paint.

Wade rounded the truck in three strides, took one look, and sighed through his nose like he’d already guessed. Once he’d got Ethan settled, confirmed the thing wasn’t broken, he steered him toward the stalls.

Wade wasn’t a man to carry his cowboy often, but when he could, he would. Ethan shut down the bridal carry instantly-too much, too soon, too many potential eyes. So they settled for something far less dignified: piggyback.

It took some wrangling to get Ethan up there-twiggy little guy didn’t have much to hold on to, and Wade wasn’t exactly standing still-but once he had him, they were moving.

Halfway down the row, Wade tossed out the kind of joke nobody really wanted to hear.

“Why’ve you got your phone in your front pocket, E? You’re taking out my spine.”

“I left my phone in the truck, Wade.”

They both laughed. Ethan smacked him on the shoulder, and Wade spun like he might dump him right into the dirt. Ethan clung tighter, grinning like a child again.

Wade had that effect on him. Always did. 

Chapter Text

Wade made sure Ethan was comfortable first—propping him up on a hay bale in the corner stall with a rolled blanket under his sore leg, handing over a bottle of water like he was something delicate that needed pampering. Ethan tolerated it, mostly because Wade looked too pleased with himself to argue, but after a while, the itch to move got to him.

“Foot’s fine,” he muttered, even though Wade gave him the same look he used when Red tried to fake calm during saddling. Still, he let Ethan limp beside him out toward the arena.

Wade got them both safely to the main arena, lights blaring down as the trainers pre-worked horses for the next morning. No more classes were scheduled for today, just the quiet work of people preparing for the next day.

“You good to sit for a bit?” Wade asked, nodding toward the covered stands by the show ring.

Ethan nodded, and soon they were side by side on the faded metal bleachers, Ethan’s foot stretched out on the bench in front of them. Wade, predictably, couldn’t keep quiet for long—muttering under his breath when a narrow-chested bay drifted into the ring, head bobbing too high.

“Where’d they find that thing? Bus stop?”

Ethan snorted, hiding his grin behind his hand. Wade’s attention sharpened when a silver-gray mare glided past—neck arched, tail flowing like silk, every step light and collected.

“Now that’s a horse,” he murmured, leaning forward like he could feel her cadence in his bones.

Then another came in—a dark blue roan gelding, balanced, floating across the rail as if the air itself carried him. He didn’t just move; he performed—each stride measured, elegant, alive with precision. Ethan went still.

His gaze fixed on it the way someone might watch a fire—soft, almost reverent. He didn’t smile, didn’t move, didn’t even nod along like he sometimes did when a good one came through. Just… quiet.

Wade glanced sideways, ready with a teasing remark about Ethan falling in love again, but the look on his face stopped him.

That horse wasn’t just beautiful—it was the kind Ethan had spent his whole life watching from a distance. The kind his father said wasn’t "for people like him." The kind that made something inside him ache and reach all at once. And yet here it was, under his nose, moving in a way that made him forget about everything but the way it handled itself.

When the gelding left the arena, Ethan blinked, his breath hitching a little. He looked down at the dirt, fingers tightening on the bench.

Wade didn’t say a word. He just stayed there beside him, letting the hum of the announcer and the rustle of programs fill the silence. Ethan leaned back after a while, quiet again—but his mind was still out there on the rail, chasing that blue roan's shadow.

Wade leaned back in his seat, arms folded, watching another horse glide past in the soft haze of dust and sunlight. His eyes kept flicking toward Ethan, who hadn't moved much since that big roan slid out of the arena. Kid’s been still as a fencepost, like he’s trying not to let anyone catch him thinking about it.

“Did you like that one?” Wade asked finally, voice low, smooth—like the question wasn’t meant to corner him, just settle between them. “You’ve been watchin' it every time it goes in.”

It’s not a test, not an accusation—just a casual remark, like they’re talking about the weather. But there’s a glint there, something tucked behind the tone, like he’s already thumbing through numbers in his head.

Ethan shrugged, gaze still on the arena dirt. “It was nice.”

Wade hums, like that’s all the answer he needs. He wasn't gonna tell Ethan right now that he’s got the old man’s number still saved, or that he’s already figuring what he could sell to make that horse his. No point in getting the kid’s hopes up until he knows if it’s even possible.

But hell—if Ethan wanted it, really wanted it—Wade was damn sure gonna find a way to make it happen.

***

Wade wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and nodded toward the tack room.
“Go on, top off all the waters,” he said, easy as breathing. “And while you’re at it, find the show director—ask if they’re runnin' an open pleasure pattern this year.”

Ethan frowned. “Thought you weren’t—”

“Just ask,” Wade cut in, gentle but firm. “Humor me.”

Once Ethan’s boots crunch off toward the barns, Wade waited—counting a good thirty paces until the kid’s out of sight—before he stands, stretches his back, and heads the opposite way. He spots the man easy enough, leaning on a fence rail, same as he’s done for forty years.

He didn't waste a second. “That roan,” Wade said by way of greeting. “What’s he doin' here?”

The old trainer’s mouth twitched, sizing him up playfully. “Why? Got a client?”

Wade shook his head. “Not a client. For Ethan.” He says the name plain, no dressing it up, like the man should already know who he means. “Kid’s been watching that horse every trip he’s made in, and I’m thinkin’ he’d do right by him.”

He shifts his weight, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “I got a couple I could part with. Things I can do without. I’m not askin’ for a handout—just a fair shake. You’ve known me since I couldn’t button my own damn jeans, so I’m hopin’ maybe you’ll keep that in mind when you tell me your price.”

The old man didn’t answer right away. Just kept his eyes on the gelding getting cooled out, head low and ears flicking around kindly. 

The old man didn’t rush an answer. Just leaned on the rail, eyes on the gelding getting cooled out, the horse licking his floppy lips to get all the water off that landed on them. 

“Well,” he said at last, slow as a summer evening, “let’s just see how the week shakes out.”

It wasn’t a yes. Wasn’t a no either.

Wade knew the game—there were people lined up for that horse, eager to put their kids on him and sweep the junior classes.

But the old man wasn’t a man who sold just to watch ribbons pile up. He wanted that horse happy, and for a horse like this one, happy meant more than a shiny stall and a trophy case.

From the far side of the barns, Ethan was making his way back, limping slow but steady, a paper cup of water in each hand like they were worth more than gold. The old man caught Wade's eye, gave him a shove on the shoulder—half jest, half promise—and a wink that said he’d see what he could do.

Maybe even find a number that wouldn’t leave Wade eating beans out of the can for the next two years. Wade just grinned, stepping away before Ethan could see them talking.

Wade walked up like he’d never left, plucking the paper cup from Ethan’s hand without so much as a thank you.

“How’s the pattern feelin’?” he asked, casual, like he’d been leaning on the rail watching the whole thing.

Ethan shrugged, downed his own sip of water. “It’s fine. Lots of pole work this year, tighter turns. Think we’ll make time easy enough, though.”

“Mm.” Wade nodded like that was all he needed to hear.

Ethan didn’t ask where he’d been. Didn’t think about the sorrel or what might happen to him after the show—never had been worth it to let his mind wander that way.

Some things were just out of reach, always had been.

He set the empty cup aside, went back to work. Wiping sweat from bridles, checking cinches, feeding the geldings tied along the fence. Just another quiet rhythm of the day. He didn’t have a clue what Wade had brewing. Somewhere behind the barns, Wade had his phone out. Not begging—he’d never been one to grovel—but calling his mom, an old roping partner, a cousin who owed him a favor or two. Telling each of them the same thing: he had a plan for the boy he loved, and he might need a little push to seal the deal. 

***

For a while, it was like they were running two separate barns under the same roof.

Ethan kept the days moving—feeding on time, clients happy, horses slick and ready for their client's classes. He exercised what needed exercising, fixed what needed fixing, and never left a stall door half-latched.

Wade… well, Wade seemed to be working on something else entirely.

It started small. Red sold. Ethan only found out when he noticed the halter was gone from its hook and the stall swept clean. No word on the price, no discussion first. Just gone.

Then the old bridle they never used—the one Ethan kept mostly because the browband had a bit of character—was suddenly missing from the tack room.

“Sold it,” Wade had said when Ethan asked, like he was talking about an extra bucket or an old lead rope.

At the arena, Wade’s phone was out more than usual. Normally he’d keep it tossed on the truck dash, untouched unless a client called. But now he was stepping away mid-morning, checking messages, making quick calls between classes. Always short, always clipped.

Nothing about it was dramatic. No rushing, no obvious secrets. It was all moving quiet, fluid, like Wade had been running deals like this his whole life.

Ethan just kept doing the work. He didn’t think much about what was odd—Wade could be a little odd sometimes. He figured if it really mattered, Wade would tell him. 

Ethan didn't question it, even at night when they both washed up and went to bed. Wade held Ethan a little tighter at night, Ethan assuming it was because the AC was kicking on harder. 

***

The next morning came early.

Wade softly shook Ethan awake just before dawn, voice low but urgent. “Get up, kid. Time to get dressed.”

Ethan blinked blearily at the request, still foggy from sleep and soreness gnawing at his ankle. Wade held up a splint, thick and firm. “Gotta keep pressure on that.” He bundled it tight, then tossed over a pair of show clothes—more polished than Ethan’s usual gear, a little stiff, a lot fancy.

“You’re showin’ a horse for me today. Client wants to see it move.”

The words sank in slow and strange. Ethan didn’t question it, just slid his feet into the new boots, slicked his hair back the best he could, and spread out his clothes like a good soldier taking orders.

“Put your damn clothes out, slick your hair back. We gotta move.” Wade’s voice wasn’t sharp, but it carried no room for backtalk.

Ethan did, he put on the dress shirt and zipped up the chaps, he wanted to question what all this was, but Wade never gave him the chance. He grabbed a banana on the way out, Wade practically tossing him in the truck.

Down at the warm-up pen, Ethan’s heart caught when he saw the horse waiting for him.

High Noon Hitman—or Chewy, as the old trainer had half-jokingly dubbed him—stood quietly, ears flicking toward the stirring horses around him, muscles smooth and ready beneath that smoke-colored coat. 

Wade didn’t say a word about it being Ethan’s horse. Just, “He’s for a client. You ride him, see what ya think.”

Ethan swung up into the saddle and everything shifted.

There was a slow rush of wow, and even if Wade tried to keep it low-key, Ethan could feel the weight of what was happening. This was more than just a ride. It was a test, a chance, a dream Wade had quietly helped make real—even if money didn’t matter, happiness did.

And in that first stretch, with the sun warming their backs and the pen opening wide before them, Ethan knew: this was the start of something different. Something worth chasing.

***

At first, Ethan sat on High Noon like the gelding might shatter under him. Shoulders locked, jaw tight, eyes flicking to Wade every few seconds like he was waiting for permission to breathe. He walked the gelding slow, almost ginger, and when he asked for a jog, it was as though he thought the horse might explode beneath him.

This wasn’t a green colt you could bounce around on and call it “desensitizing”. High Noon had a job, and he knew it. All he needed was a guide. But Ethan had never been a guide—only a helper, a teacher’s hand. Now, the reins were his alone, and he seemed convinced that one wrong cue might ruin the horse forever for whatever client he was for.

Wade let it go for a minute, then finally called out, voice calm but sharp enough to cut through Ethan’s fog.
“Get out of your head, cowboy. Just ride.”

Ethan blinked, took a breath, and for the first time since climbing into the saddle, he stopped thinking about what might go wrong.

From there, the warm-up shifted. High Noon rolled into a smooth jog, stopped clean, arched his neck soft and neat. The gelding seemed to know what Ethan wanted before Ethan did—and did it gently, so the boy didn’t jolt or lose his seat. He knew his rider wasn’t going to push, wasn’t going to drive him hard, but he did the work anyway.

The horse asked only one thing in return: that Ethan ask correctly.

The first time Ethan got sloppy, letting his hands send two signals at once, High Noon slammed his feet in the dirt and chucked his head quick, hitting the roof of his mouth against that big curb. Wade barked something across the pen, and Ethan corrected himself fast. After that, every cue was more careful, more deliberate.

On the rail, Wade’s trainer watched closely. He saw Wade’s jaw tighten when Ethan made a small mistake—the flicker of frustration, the urge to correct too hard because he knew the boy could ride better than that. But the old man kept him grounded, murmuring low.

“He’ll get it. Just give him a minute.”

And Ethan did get it. Not perfectly, not polished, but enough for the gelding to listen to him like a soldier listens to a general—quiet, certain, without question.

When they moved from the warm-up pen into the big ring, Ethan’s shoulders didn’t bunch up like Wade half-expected. High Noon jogged in with his ears forward, like he was clocking in for work, and Ethan… followed his lead. The ring wasn't wild today, just a few other riders. Ethan was still considered an amateur, so he was showing with clients and younger riders who hadn't yet earned higher titles. High Noon just  jogged along, guiding Ethan like he knew the boy was a little nervous. 

Ethan let him.

He wasn’t thinking about ruining the horse now—he was thinking about keeping up. The gelding loped off almost automatically, just a soft press of leg and he was loping soft and slow. He passed horses with his ears up and still, didn't spook when someone dropped something in the stands or another horse cutting in too close. He just showed, like the flashy animal he was. He showed Ethan too, showed a man who finally got to sit  on something worth a damn.

Wade’s trainer—Cal Mitchell—leaned on the fence, arms crossed, eyes on the pair. “Kid rides better when he stops thinking,” he said under his breath.

Wade gave a small grunt of agreement, though his gaze never left Ethan. He’d made the call not to tell him about the papers yet, and watching Ethan out there, it was the right choice. If the boy knew the horse was his, he’d be a shaking mess. Better to let him ride like this—loose, present, without the weight of ownership making his hands go cold.

In the ring, Ethan wasn’t shy or careful. He was reading High Noon, pressing him around the turns, giving the gelding a quick scratch on the neck every time he pricked his ears up. That almost-invisible smile sat on his face like it belonged there. The High Noon that Wade knew—catty, light-footed, and so smooth you could blink and miss the change—was all there under Ethan, and the boy matched him stride for stride.

Cal’s mouth twitched in a grin. “He’s not ridin' like he’s on borrowed leather.”

“No,” Wade said quietly. “He’s ridin' like it’s home.”

Ethan came out of the big ring still grinning faintly, one hand rubbing High Noon’s sweaty neck. He wore a blue ribbon and hadn't stopped patting the horse since the fabric got handed to him.  The gelding’s ears flicked forward and back, catching arena noise like he was still ready for the next gait change. Somewhere behind, a smattering of claps came from the rail—someone had noticed.

“Hell of a ride,” Cal said the second he reached the gate, his tone casual but eyes bright.

Wade stood next to him, arms folded, and gave Ethan a slow once-over before reaching up and giving his thigh a firm clap. “You make that look easy, baby.”

Ethan ducked his head, cheeks warm. “He’s a good horse.”

Instead of taking the reins like they always did with the young ones, Wade stepped back. “Ride him back. I wanna talk.”

That was… different. Ethan glanced between them, wary but not questioning, and let High Noon walk out of the gate. The gelding’s stride was loose now, like he’d put his work behind him. Ethan just listened to the creak of the leather and the faint scrape of his spurs on the stirrups.

Wade walked alongside, boots crunching in the dirt, Cal on the other side.

“So,” Ethan started, figuring Wade was about to talk price. “Somebody want him?”

Cal’s mouth twitched—like he wanted to say something—but Wade cut in smoothly. “Yeah. Somethin' like that.”

Ethan frowned, confused.

Wade reached into his back pocket, pulling out a folded set of papers. They were warm from his jeans, creased and wrinkled, with a faint coffee ring bleeding into one corner. He handed them up without much ceremony. “Take a look. See what you think of his breeding.”

Ethan took them, the reins still looped loosely in his fingers. His eyes scanned down the page—sire, dam, registry numbers—until they landed on the line at the top.

Owner: Ethan James Reyes.

He blinked once. Twice. The air felt too still.

“What—” His voice cracked. “What's that mean? Why’s he in my name?”

Wade’s face didn’t change much, but there was the faintest spark in his eyes. “Means he’s yours, bud.”

Ethan just stared. A dozen thoughts hit at once—he’d never owned something like this, never been trusted with something this valuable, never believed he deserved it. Not after the wreck he’d been before.

Part of him thrilled at it, chest going tight with something like pride. The other part… panicked.

“I—” He shook his head once, still looking at the papers. “You serious?”

Cal finally grinned outright. “Dead serious. And you’re the only one here who didn’t see it comin'.”

High Noon flicked an ear back, oblivious, just waiting for his rider’s next cue. Ethan couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh, cry, or hand the reins back and run before someone took it all away.

Chapter Text

By the time they reached their section of stalls, Ethan’s mind wasn’t spinning quite as fast. The papers still felt like they were burning a hole in his pocket, but his hands knew what to do, and that was enough to keep him steady.

He swung down slow, giving High Noon a pat before his boots even hit the ground. Cal stepped in right away, unbuckling the bridle with practiced fingers and hauling the saddle back toward his stalls. “I’ll keep the bit with you two,” he called over his shoulder, “don’t want you playin’ guessin' games later.”

Wade, leaning against the rail, tipped his chin toward the water buckets. “I’ll handle legs and water. You—” he nodded at High Noon “—you take care of your horse, cowboy.”

That word still felt strange. Your.

Ethan didn’t argue. He led High Noon over to the wash rack, the gelding’s ears flicking lazily back and forth. Usually he was efficient, fast enough to make room for whoever came next. But now… now he moved like each step mattered. The spray from the hose hit in short, even bursts, cool water sliding over muscle. He worked the sweat out of his dark mane and tail with slow fingers, combing through the tangles, rinsing until the water ran clean and the hair was soft.

When High Noon tossed his head and swished water straight into Ethan’s face, he just wiped his cheek on his sleeve and chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thank you for tryin’ to help.” His voice came out softer than he meant it to, almost like he was talking to a kid.

By the time he worked up to the gelding’s face, Ethan’s hands had gone light as bird wings. He scrubbed carefully around his forelock, down his narrow blaze, over his velvety muzzle. High Noon leaned into it gently and snorted when he got a little soap in his nose. 

It was sinking in—slow, like sunrise—but it was sinking in. In all the years he’d been around horses, he’d never had one to call his own. Not one that wasn’t someone else’s paycheck or problem to solve. Just Charlie, and his cat didn’t count.

He led High Noon back to the stall at an easy walk, untangling bits of damp mane as they went. Once inside, he peeled his chaps off and tossed them over the rail, staying in his jeans and button-up. No point changing—he wasn’t going back in the ring. He’d just wash it all at home.

Wade was there, leaning casually against the post, eyes on him. Ethan couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “You’re a good liar, y'know that?”

Wade’s grin was all teeth and no apology. “Only when it’s worth it.”

***

Packing up went quick with two sets of hands. Ethan worked side-by-side with Wade, coiling hoses, stacking buckets, rolling up the folded saddle pads. Every snap of a latch or thunk of a trunk shutting felt final, but in a good way—like closing the lid on a box of keepsakes you’d get to open again tomorrow.

They loaded the others first, each horse stepping up into the trailer with practiced ease. High Noon went last, in the spot that had been Red’s for so long Ethan half-expected to hear the young animal shift behind him. High Noon sniffed the ramp, gave a lazy swish of his tail, and walked right in. Ethan clipped him in, gave a quick pat to his shoulder, and stepped back out.

Wade did a double check, then a triple, running his eyes over every latch and tie, his hand on the hitch. “Alrighty,” he said at last, “let’s get outta here.”

By then, the sky was sliding toward that soft gold you only got at the end of a long day. The roads were near-empty, the truck’s headlights not even needed yet. Ethan settled into the passenger seat, a silly grin tugging at his face without him meaning it. He didn’t reach for the radio this time—figured he owed Wade at least that.

For a while, they didn’t talk. The hum of the tires, the gentle rock of the trailer, the occasional thump as a hoof shifted—it all filled the cab with a quiet rhythm. Ethan leaned sideways until his shoulder found Wade’s, not heavy, just there.

It might’ve stayed like that all the way home, except the words started bubbling up.

“Hey Wade?” His voice sounded smaller than he meant, younger—like he’d borrowed it from a fourteen-year-old version of himself. "Can I get him a name plate?"

Wade glanced over, one brow raised.

“What about one of them jell pads?” Ethan went on. “And a stall toy?”

He knew how it sounded—like a client with too much tack money and not enough sense—but the excitement was bigger than the embarrassment. He’d never had the chance to fuss over something that was his. Never got to stand in the aisle and pick between halter colors because he needed his own. That kind of joy had been traded away long ago for the hard-edged voice of his father telling him what mattered and what didn’t.

Wade’s mouth twitched, the corner curving like he might laugh—but not in a way that stung. “You can get him whatever you want, kid.”

Ethan just nodded, smiling out at the streak of sunset ahead of them, the trailer rocking steady behind. He was already thinking about what he would get for High Noon, what colors, what he could get to make High Noon as happy as possible. He deserved it. 

The old county road was quiet except for the hum of the tires and the steady creak of the trailer. Out here, there wasn’t another set of headlights for miles—just the deepening blue of evening and the faint rattle of something in the tack trunk behind them.

Ethan was half asleep, head tipped toward the window. The truck always did this to him—something about the motion, the low thrum of the engine, the cool air drifting through the vents. Wade had turned the music down, left it at a quiet hum that blended into the road noise so Ethan could rest and didn't get motion sick.

Somewhere between awake and dreaming, Ethan spoke. “How… how do I make this even?”

Wade’s eyes flicked off the road toward him. “Make what even?”

“This,” Ethan mumbled, blinking slow. “High Noon. You know I don’t got a pocket full of cash to give you.” He paused, smirking faintly without opening his eyes. “But I know a couple things you like back at the house. Back in our room. Could call it payment.”

The words landed somewhere between teasing and truth. Ethan wasn’t used to this—getting something without having to hand something over in return. It was half a joke, sure, but the other half sat heavy in his chest.

Wade snorted, shaking his head. “Only thing you gotta do, kid, is stick around. Maybe meet me in bed later if you’re so dead-set on calling it even.”

That earned him the smallest huff of a laugh from Ethan, who cracked an eye open. “Might be able to manage that.”

The road dipped, jolting them both a little. Ethan stretched, reached one arm back without looking, and popped the cooler lid. He fished around in the ice until his fingers closed on a cold bottle. He passed it over to Wade without thinking, the move so automatic it didn’t even feel like a gesture—it just was.

Wade took it with one hand on the wheel, and for a few miles, that was enough.

***

By the time the gravel crunched under the tires, the sun was low enough to turn the whole pasture gold. The horses in the front field lifted their heads as the truck rolled past, ears pricked toward the familiar rattle of the trailer.

Wade cut the engine, and the evening settled in around them—cicadas, a few distant nickers, the soft clink of metal as they moved to unload. The younger horses came out first, eager to stretch and snort in the cooler air. Ethan saved High Noon for last, tying him to the side of the trailer until he was ready to turn him outside.

“Come on, buddy,” he murmured, steering him toward the smaller pasture they’d decided would be his. Once the gate clicked shut, Ethan tossed a flake of hay over the rail. High Noon went right for it, chewing slow, eyes half-lidded in contentment.

Ethan leaned on the fence, watching him for a long moment. “You did good today,” he said quietly. “You’re gonna like it here. We’ll get you set up real nice.” It was the kind of easy talk people usually saved for old friends—and that’s exactly how it felt.

Back at the trailer, he moved through the motions—untying buckets, stacking equipment, rinsing out the last feed pans—each thing put away just so. By the time the aisle was clean, he was out of steam, sinking into the old chair by the tack room.

Wade was still outside, backing the trailer into its usual spot. When he came around the corner again, dust clinging to his boots, he found Ethan standing, ready to head toward the house.

And then Ethan did something he’d never done before—not with Wade, not with anyone. He stepped in close, slid his arms carefully around his partner, and pressed his face into Wade’s shoulder.

Wade froze for just a second, then wrapped him up without a word.

It was so quiet, you’d miss it if you weren’t listening—but Wade heard it.

“Thank you. I love you.”

For a man who’d never been one for hugs, Wade held on longer than necessary. And for a man who’d never been told he could, Ethan was starting to believe that showing it—gratitude, affection, all of it—wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

***

The walk back to the house was slow, the kind you take when the work was done and the day’s weight was finally letting go. Wade peeled off toward the bathroom first, and Ethan drifted to the kitchen, fixing himself a plate from the leftovers while the shower ran. He set down a small dish for Charlie—who padded in from wherever he'd been hiding all day—and watched him eat before grabbing his own quick bite.

By the time it was his turn in the shower, the house was already settling into its night rhythm, the distant hum of the fridge the loudest thing in the place. Steam fogged the mirror, and when he stepped out, towel around his neck, the only light left on was from the bedroom lamp.

Wade was there, stretched out in boxers, hair still damp from his own shower. Ethan didn’t even make his usual remark about wet pillows. Not tonight.

He slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under his weight, and Wade moved over without a second thought, fitting himself in like they always did. Home felt good again—their bed a far cry from that stiff hotel nonsense.

They lay there for a while, letting the silence stretch, until Ethan spoke.

“About that payment I mentioned in the truck…” His voice had that same low, flirty edge from earlier, but it was different this time—looser somehow, more sure.

Wade glanced over, one brow lifting, but he didn’t say anything.

Ethan smirked just a little. “I was thinkin' I could give you somethin' better than cash.”

Underneath the playful tone was something steadier. A choice. A trust he hadn’t had before. He wasn’t shying away now, wasn’t holding back like the old days when every show of affection felt dangerous.

Wade shifted closer, the mattress warm between them. “You don’t owe me a damn thing,” he murmured.

“I know,” Ethan said, and this time he meant it. “But I want to.”

Ethan didn’t wait for an answer this time. He reached across the small space between them, fingers brushing against Wade’s wrist — the same hand that had steadied reins, patched fences, and found him again and again when he drifted too far away.

It was a soft thing at first. The kind of touch you could mistake for comfort if you weren’t looking too closely. But when Wade turned his hand over and their fingers laced, that quiet turned into something else — a kind of promise that didn’t need words.

"Okay then, I won't stop you," Wade spoke, allowing Ethan to brace over him. "not for this."

The lamp still glowed, a small pool of amber on the nightstand, catching the edge of Wade’s shoulder, the tired lines at the corners of his eyes. Ethan didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The room had gone still, wrapped in that warm, easy hush that only came when the world outside finally stopped asking for them.

Ethan made a slow show of removing what was left of their clothes, it wasn't much since the two of then had taken to sleeping in boxers when the heat picked up. He asked Wade first, just like how Wade always asked him. 

"I can...right? You're okay?" 

Wade almost chuckled, but he understood that Ethan was being genuine, careful. He was stepping into Wade's shoes and Wade was eating it up.

He nodded once leaning up to press a kiss to Ethan's pale chest. Ethan mewled, but wouldn't let himself get distracted. 

By the time Ethan had slipped off his own boxers and Wade's, they were both perking up. Wade didn't rush anything, didn't initiate, tonight was Ethan's turn. Ethan wanted to give him this, Wade wouldn't take that away.

He shifted closer, the bedsprings creaking just enough to break the silence that had come over them. His breath brushed Ethan’s temple, steady and slow.

"I won't rush you, this is yours. But if you want help, you ask. I'll help you, whatever you need." Wade drawled, leaving a kiss on his temple before he laid back against the pillows. 

Ethan nodded, sure of himself. He didn't think he'd need any help, all he wanted to do was thank Wade. 

He moved forward when Wade laid back down, his own shaft harder now after being assured he could ask for help. He didn't know why he liked when Wade made sure he was okay, but he did. 

Ethan's hands moved to Wade's length and gently moved along it, using precum droplets to lubricate the area. It stung for a moment, dry and uncomfortable, but became softer as Ethan's movements continued. Wade's lips parted with a growl, the kind that had Ethan tingling. He didn't move from his spot leaned up against their pillows, it was rather comfortable to be jerked off there. Not his usual idea, but the man couldn't complain. His thighs parted wider to give Ethan better access, exposing more of himself. Once Ethan had him fully hard and groaning how he did, Ethan froze. Not entirely, he still stroked Wade softly and leaned down to kiss him, kiss his jaw and his cheeks and his neck. But he had a look in his eyes. Like he'd thought about something, but only thought it halfway through. He was in the FO stage of FAFO by the look on his face. Wade caught it, even through lidded eyes. 

"That look you're givin' me is sayin' you'd like some help." 

Ethan shook his head, eyes wider like he'd been caught. "No, no, just thinkin'. Makin' a choice." 

Wade raised his eyebrows, when Ethan got to thinking, nothing good ever happened. In a position like this, he'd really like to make sure something good happened. 

"What choice are you makin'?"

Ethan then took a breath, a deep one. He could either scrap his idea and revert back to something he and Wade had already done and he already knew how to do, or he could make a pitch. Lucky for Wade, Ethan thought he was in too deep to back out.

"How do I...do what you do? All that, how you do with me." 

Wade had zero idea what any of that meant, Ethan sounded like a trainer's little kid asking Wade how he could throw a saddle so high. He looked up at Ethan and held eye contact, not serious but not playing either. 

"You're gonna need to be more specific there, E. I do a lot of things with you." Wade didn't tease him, he just wanted to understand. He didn't want this to be a time where talk was forbidden.

"You know, the stuff we do. Where you're up here and I'm down there. How do I do that with you?"

Wade pondered that, not feeling it click until his hands moved to fondle Ethan's chest while he thought. It drew a laugh out of him when he realized what Ethan wanted, not directed at him, but at the idea.

"You want to penetrate me, baby? That's real nice of ya, but I ain't done that since I tried college." Wade chuckled as he spoke, rubbing Ethan's sides like he was trying to keep him from being disappointed that this was definitely not going to happen. Wade was no bottom. He'd been one maybe twice before he dropped out of college and went straight to training horses.

Ethan really wanted to ask about the college thing, no shame to Wade, but he looked like he'd never even seen a high level campus before. He let that slip his mind, he had better questions to ask. 

"But, you said you tried it. Did you like it? I can do it for you, I will if you show me." Ethan spoke, caught on it now. He liked it quite a bit, though maybe it wasn't Wade's thing. He understood that it could just be a preference, but he wanted to pleasure Wade. Wade had done the majority of the work every time they got into bed like this. Ethan didn't find that very fair. Especially now. 

Wade laid there for a minute, staring at Ethan like he'd just jumped out at him. The boy looked so eager to please, Wade knew Ethan would give him the world if he asked, ten times that. He thought for a good minute before he hissed through his teeth like he was about to say something he didn't know if he should. 

"Yeah, sure, I liked it. I was about your age, maybe a couple years younger." Wade spoke, talking like what he was saying would get him into trouble. "E, I love you, but you don't have to get into that, not with me. I'll do just fine with anything else you want." 

That had to have been about thirteen years ago, at least. Wade had changed a lot since then, made a life for himself. But that didn't stop Ethan's newest fixation. 

"I want to, I promise. I want to get into it." Ethan began, cocking his head like he was confused as to why this was such a big deal. "You said you liked it, so I can do it. I just need to know how to."

Wade loved his boy too much to sit here and argue with him, sit here and deny him after everything he'd dealt with in his life. Hell, if he wanted to do this, Wade's pride and ego could take a hit. Whatever made his boy happy. 

Wade took a deep breath, how he did before he told a client he'd take their cow of a horse and train it because he needed some cash. "Alright, Ethan. I'll help you. But you gotta be patient with me, yeah?" 

Ethan nodded, eager, he had nothing but time. 

Wade got over himself quick enough and had Ethan hold up two fingers, his middle and pointer. 

"You'll lube them first, more than you think. Then it's one at a time, same as I do with you. I'm not exactly as thorough with you anymore, but you're gonna have to take your time with me." 

Ethan nodded again, then reached for the dark green bottle by Wade's bedside, popping the cap and trying to stick both fingers into the ribbed top. He hissed when the cap bit into his finger.

"Pour it, dumbass. Jesus Pete..." Wade snickered, tearing the bottle from his hands and pouring a good amount on the boy's fingers and hand.

"Shut it. I'm nervous, Wade." Ethan huffed, feeling the cool olive oil coat his fingers. It was cold, not how he remembered feeling it on himself. 

"Warm it up first or I will kick you harder than that stupid donkey in the field." Wade spoke, grumbling, but not in a mean way. He was making it very clear that he was quietly nervous about this. 

"Bossy old man." Ethan muttered, rubbing his fingers together to get rid of the cool feeling. Once it was gone, he looked at Wade like he knew what came next, but didn't want to say it. He looked first to Wade's face, then lower to his semi exposed hole. 

"Go slow. Ethan, I'm serious. I will hit you, lovingly." Wade spoke, positioning himself so Ethan could reach him better. He wanted to stay facing Ethan, just in case he needed it. Wade was no pillow biter. 

"I am, I am, I promise. You're so demandin'." Ethan spoke, slowly circling Wade's entrance how Wade often did to him. 

"I ain't demandin', I just know what it feels like to be plowed into like a nail in a post."

"I'm in the same boat if you remember right, Wade."

"I spat on you, Ethan."

Ethan just shook his head and got on with his motions, one finger pushing past his puckered hole slow and soft, just like Wade asked.

He sucked in a breath, bit the back of his head, and let out a trembling sigh when Ethan slowly pushed in to his first knuckle, then all the way.

"You okay? I didn't mean to hurt you—we don't have to if I'm hurting you." Ethan spoke, panicked now that Wade didn't sigh or groan or make a noise he was used to. 

Wade was quiet for a second before he exhaled hard, with the air came a whimper that caught Ethan off guard. Wade didn't make those sounds, Ethan hadn't heard them anyway.

"No. No, you're not—you're not hurting me. Just go slow." Wade puffed, pulling Ethan down to kiss his jaw and then suck his neck. Ethan let him, moaning as he slowly moved his finger inside Wade.

It took them a bit to get a rhythm going, for Wade's body to relax and swallow Ethan's fingers. Once they did, Ethan was in utter shock. He didn't say anything, not a word, but he was genuinely enamored with the noises Wade was making before him. He had him so hard, Ethan could've come right there on the bedspread just listening to him. Wade was whining, yelping when Ethan hit a certain spot, mewling like some kind of old raunchy film. It had Ethan so down bad, he couldn't stop his own hips from rolling against the sheets so he didn't get blue balls. Wade didn't quiet himself, just reached for Ethan when he saw how desperate he was. 

Ethan groaned when Wade grabbed him, his shaft already slick, just needing some kind of stimulation to hold him over. Wade knew what he was doing, softly stroking and teasing with his thumb over Ethan's slit, all while his own back was arching off the pillows. Once he felt stretched and Ethan wasn't really feeling resistance anymore, Ethan removed his fingers. Wade whined at the loss of contact, but quickly regained his composure.

"You still have to tell me if something doesn't feel right, okay? That doesn't change, I'll still listen." Wade spoke, looking at Ethan with a glint in his eyes. He looked needy, like he had that night in the hotel. 

"I know, I will. Promise." Ethan nodded, grabbing his own length and positioning it in alignment with Wade's hole. He waited, then felt Wade's hand guiding him closer.

He let Wade guide his length into his entrance, feeling the pressure as soon as his tip slipped in. It was overwhelming, Ethan's mouth fell over and he had to stop himself from pushing in faster just to feel it all around him. It felt disgusting in the best way, warm and wet and tight. Ethan could've died happy inside Wade. 

Wade was also overwhelmed, in the best way. He arched upwards and whined like a cat, hands gripping the sheets as he hissed through his teeth. He stroked himself softly while Ethan pushed the rest of the way in and halted.

"Do not move...please, E." Wade whined, taking a breath. "I wait on you, you wait on me."

"Holy shit, Wade." Ethan groaned, staring at their connected bodies and having to really hold back on his load. He waited until Wade gave him the green light in the form of a hum and a nod to keep going. 

He started slow, a soft and slow rhythm, but that didn't last long. They both needed more, so Ethan rocked his hips harder and faster until he knew he was closer than he should be. 

Wade was in heaven, uncontrollable as he bit the back of his hand, whining like he was drunk on Ethan. He looked up at his boy with glossed over eyes, panting so hard Ethan genuinely thought he'd wear the man out. He kept mumbling things that sounded like, "more, E," or "faster, baby" but it was mostly whines and intelligible pleading. The noises being made by their bodies was bordering on camera worthy. Wet and sloshing noises every time Ethan moved, Wade absolutely folding and Ethan folding with him. Ethan picked up the pace as much as he could, holding himself until it began to hurt. Wade never came before him when they did this, but Ethan couldn't help it.

"I'm so close, Wade. Holy hell."

Wade groaned and stroked himself faster, his sweaty brown locks covering his eyes.

"You're okay, E. Let go, whatever you need." Wade managed to whine through his own pleasure.

Ethan finished soon after, holding Wade's hands tightly over his stomach as he filled Wade to the brim. 

Wade wasn't far away, feeling Ethan let go had him close as ever. All he needed was a little push, and when Ethan grabbed his sack and gently massaged the area, Wade went off like a tap turned on. He spilled over his own and Ethan's stomach, a sea of white ropes. 

Ethan wasn't put off by a little mess, he collapsed on top of Wade when they both had blown their loads. They just laid there, silent and panting, until Wade spoke. 

"You okay, cowboy?" Wade asked, rubbing the back of Ethan's neck as he cooled down and caught his breath.

"Yeah, you?" Ethan responded, nuzzling into Wade's sweaty shoulder.

"Fuckin' fantastic and mildly humiliated." Wade spoke, a dry huff leaving his mouth. 

Ethan didn't say anything more, just very softly pulled out and moved to lay fully on Wade. Both were burning hot and covered in bodily fluids, but somehow very comfortable.

Ethan spoke after he got settled. "You were so bossy and worried and stupid, all for what?"

"Because I ain't no bottom, E. I didn't think I'd get with anyone willing to put me back in that position." Wade spoke, a smirk on his face. "You're too curious and eager to please for your own good."

Ethan scoffed. "I saw you light up like a bullfrog on a hot skillet when I slid a finger in, you loved it." 

Wade whacked him on the shoulder. "Oh whatever, I'll leave the pillow biting to you from now on. Better off wearing you out."

Ethan groaned and wrapped his arms around Wade's warm body, tired and spent and feeling soreness between his legs rather than behind his thighs.

Wade just smiled and rubbed the blonde's back gently, massaging his shoulder blades. "Sleep, cowboy. You got a horse to take care of." 

And Ethan did. 

***

High Noon was nosing around the corner of his stall, curious about the bright rubber toy Ethan was tying up. “Hold your horses—literally,” Ethan muttered with a grin, tugging the knot snug. The new nameplate gleamed against the fresh wood, black letters sharp against brushed silver. He’d polished it twice already before screwing it in place. High Noon (Ethan James Reyes) Ethan didn't really like the name Chewy. 

The barn smelled of fresh hay and leather cleaner, and for once, Ethan wasn’t thinking about anything except getting the toy to hang just right and the bucket hooks aligned. This was his space, his horse, his few hours of being just a kid messing with his things.

Wade’s voice carried faintly from the other end of the barn, talking low to a colt while a hoof rasp sang against metal. Ethan’s phone buzzed in his back pocket once, twice, then again. He ignored it until the last screw was in place.

When he pulled it out, the glow lit up his face. One look at the text, and his expression shut down. The phone went back into his pocket fast, like he could hide the message by burying it.

He went back to fiddling with High Noon’s halter, pretending to adjust it. His hands were steady, but there was something different in the way he moved—more deliberate, like he was trying to stall for time.

Wade finished with the colt and strolled down the aisle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like Christmas in here,” he said, eyeing the nameplate.

Ethan didn’t smile this time. “It’s my mom’s birthday,” he said finally. “She… she wants me over for dinner. Just dinner. Hour, maybe less.” He swallowed. “But you know how it’ll go. Dad’ll light into me, you’ll probably get an earful, and… I’ll get it twice over from the rest of them.”

Wade leaned against the stall door, letting the quiet stretch. “And your mom?”

Ethan’s eyes flicked up, just for a second. “She loves me. Always has.”

He didn’t have to say the rest—he loved her too, enough to think about walking back into the fire just for her.

Wade watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged in that easy way he had when he was giving space but still staying close. “What do you need from me, cowboy?”

Ethan hesitated, then finally said it: “Help me figure out what to do. You know me better than I do."

Wade didn’t answer right away. He leaned one shoulder against the stall, watching High Noon lip at the new toy while Ethan stood there like he’d been pinned in place.

“Alright,” Wade said finally. “Let’s lay it out plain.”

Ethan glanced at him, wary.

“I know your mom means the world to you,” Wade went on. “She’s the only real bit of family you got left worth holdin' onto. I’m not gonna tell you she don't deserve to see you on her birthday—she does. But you and I both know she’s not gonna step between you and the rest of ’em. Not much, anyway.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

“Your dad and your brother,” Wade continued, his tone flat now, “work as a team. You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. They’ll take shots—at me, at you—don’t matter if it’s her birthday or Christmas or a Sunday afternoon. They’ve crossed the line before and they’ll cross it again. And you…” He paused, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’ve fought damn hard to get where you are right now. I’m not about to watch you crawl back into that shell because they made you feel two inches tall.”

Ethan’s eyes flickered, something unsettled shifting behind them.

“I can’t pull you out again if you go under this time, Ethan,” Wade said quietly. “Not with jokes, not with touches. Some things stick too deep.”

The barn felt still except for High Noon’s soft chewing.

“But your mom’s a good support for you,” Wade admitted. “The only one in that family who ever tried to be. If you go, it’s for her. That’s the only reason worth goin'.” He straightened up a little, meeting Ethan’s gaze head-on. “If you stay, it’s for you. And that’s just as good a reason.”

Ethan swallowed hard.

Wade took a slow breath. “I’m not makin' this call for you. I want you to pick what you can live with, what you can walk away from without second-guessin' yourself.”

For a long moment, Ethan didn’t speak. But the weight of the decision was there in his silence, and Wade stayed where he was—close enough to be steady, far enough to let Ethan stand on his own.

Ethan didn’t speak right away. He stayed leaning on the stall door, watching High Noon mouth the rope like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Wade’s words worked their way in, slow but steady, and for once Ethan didn’t shove them aside.

He knew exactly what was waiting for him in that house. The way the air would tighten as soon as he walked in. The looks, the little digs dressed up as jokes, the not-so-little ones that weren’t jokes at all. His dad’s voice, his brother backing him up. And his mom, smiling soft, but never stepping in until after it was over—if at all.

Ethan swallowed, feeling his chest knot.

If he went, it wouldn’t be for him. It’d be for her. And right now… after everything… he needed someone to finally choose him. Even if that someone had to be himself.

He took a slow breath. “I’ll… tell her you and me have plans,” he said at last, his voice quiet but certain. “I’ll send a gift, somethin' nice. Just… not gonna walk into that house right now.”

Wade didn’t say “good.” He didn’t have to. He just nodded once, steady as ever, letting Ethan know the choice was his and it stood.

Ethan didn’t like it. He felt the guilt already, hot in his stomach. But underneath that, deeper down, was something else. A faint, strange sort of relief. It wasn’t happiness—but it was the closest thing to being safe.

Because for the first time, he’d chosen himself.

The decision sat in Ethan’s chest like a cinder block, heavy and unmoving. He leaned on the stall rail, not really seeing anything—until High Noon let out a sudden, dramatic sneeze that sprayed his brand-new nameplate.

Ethan blinked. “You’re disgusting,” he muttered, grabbing a rag. High Noon bobbed his head, lips twitching like he was grinning about it, then jerked on the toy Ethan had just hung up as if it were trying to kill him.

Wade, passing behind with an empty lead rope, snorted. “Hell of a horse you picked there, cowboy. Real fearsome.”

Ethan shook his head, hiding a smile, and went to straighten the toy again. High Noon promptly spooked at his own shadow, stumbled, then looked back at Ethan like 'you saw nothing'.

“God, you’re an idiot,” Ethan told him, the knot in his chest loosening a little.

Wade leaned on the next stall over, one arm hooked over the door, just watching him. “Takes after his owner.”

Ethan gave him a mock glare. “You wanna help or you just here to talk?”

Wade grinned. “Talkin’s my specialty.” But he stepped in anyway, pretending to inspect High Noon like he was judging a show horse, rattling off ridiculous fake faults until Ethan was laughing for real.

They didn’t touch much at work—not when other clients could wander in—but Wade brushed past him on the way out, slow enough that Ethan felt the warm pressure of his hand at his back. Not a long hold, not obvious, just enough.

***

The barn was still and dusky by the time they started shutting things down. The last wheelbarrow was dumped, tools hung in their spots, and the warm scent of hay and horse hung heavy in the air. High Noon got one last scratch on the neck and a “don’t wreck your stall” from Ethan, though the gelding’s half-lidded eyes said he was already dozing.

Wade flicked off the aisle lights one by one until only the glow from High Noon’s stall remained. “C’mon,” he said softly. “Home time.”

Ethan fell into step beside him without thinking, his shoulder brushing Wade’s arm on the way out. The gravel crunched under their boots, a slow, matching rhythm. He didn’t feel the urge to fill the silence—it wasn’t empty.

Dinner was hot and simple—leftovers Wade reheated without ceremony—and they ate side by side on the couch. No music, no news, just the low hum of the TV in the background. Wade didn’t push for conversation; he didn’t need to.

After, Ethan lingered close. He wasn’t asking for anything in particular, just… proximity. Wade let him. They went through the quiet motions of getting ready for bed, the way couples do when they’ve already used up all their words on the day.

When they finally settled under the covers, Ethan tucked himself closer. His head rested against Wade’s shoulder, eyes fixed on nothing while the TV cast flickering light over the room. The weight of what he’d decided still pressed on him—but Wade’s arm around him was enough to remind him he wasn’t carrying it alone.

Wade couldn’t take it away. But he could be here. And for tonight, that was the best thing Ethan had.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since his momma’s birthday.

Ethan had picked out a little necklace online — turquoise, because she’d always liked that — and sent it with a neat card. He’d thought it was sweet.

Thought maybe she’d at least text.

Nothing came.

No “thank you,” no “love you, son,” not even a heart emoji. He told himself she was busy. Told himself she had a lot going on.

The young colt flicked an ear as Ethan ran the brush down his flank, careful and slow. Wade had gotten off this one earlier muttering about his attitude, and Ethan could see why — twitchy as a squirrel, a little too sure of himself. But they were making progress.

The horse’s hide rippled under his hand, warm and smooth, smelling faintly of dust and sweat.

Then he heard it — the low, diesel cough of a truck pulling in.
He froze.

That sound had been burned into his bones since he was twelve. He knew the rattle of the belts, the wheeze of the brake, the slam of the driver’s door. He knew those boots hitting gravel — that sharp, heavy rhythm that always came before shouting.

And he knew the man wearing them.

The brush clattered to the floor.

He didn’t think. Couldn’t. His body moved on its own, legs carrying him out of the stall and into the aisle. The colt snorted and danced in place as Ethan sprinted past, heart banging in his throat hard enough to hurt.

He found Wade out in the small arena, watching one of the greener colts move under the fading orange light.

“Wade—” he gasped, voice breaking. “Wade, I’m gonna get my ass beat.”

Wade turned, eyebrows knitting, confused. 

“He’s here. He’s—please, he’s gonna kill me and— and I can’t shove him off, he’s a big guy, he’s—” Ethan’s words fell over themselves, hands shaking, chest heaving.

“Wade—babe, can we go back to the house? Can I go back to the house?”

Wade stepped toward him, calm as a man walking up on a spooked horse. “Ethan. Breathe.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. And you’re not runnin’. Not this time.”

Ethan shook his head, panic clawing at his ribs. “Wade, you don’t—”

“I know exactly who it is.” Wade’s jaw was hard now, voice quiet but edged with steel. “And I’ve told him before he’s not welcome here. That still stands.”

Before Ethan could protest again, Wade brushed past him and strode for the tack room. Ethan knew what was in there — the twelve-gauge Wade kept for coyotes. The same one he'd pointed at Mr. Reyes the last time he'd walked into this barn. 

The crunch of boots drew closer. The air between the barn walls felt too tight, heavy with hay and fear. Ethan hovered near the arena rail, pulse screaming in his ears.

“Where the hell were you?” The voice was like gravel and spit, sharp enough to cut.

“Your momma sat there all day waitin’ on you. Nothin’. Not a damn word. Then I hear you sent some cheap trinket instead. You got no respect, boy. None. And I know why—”

Ethan’s father’s gaze swung to Wade, lip curling. “It’s him. This barn. This—this whole damn life you think you’re livin’. You think this is family? You think—”

“You can turn right back around and get back in your truck,” Wade cut in, stepping out from the tack room doorway with the shotgun resting casual in the crook of his arm.

Ethan’s father’s eyes narrowed. “Or what, shirt lifter?”

“Or I make sure you don’t come back,” Wade said flatly. “You’ve been told before, and I don’t repeat myself for free.”

He cocked the gun. It was loaded. 

For a moment, there was only the wind whispering through the open barn doors and the hot thud of Ethan’s heart. Then his father spat on the gravel, muttered something low, and turned back toward the truck.

When the engine finally faded, Ethan realized he was shaking.

Wade didn’t say anything right away — just set the shotgun back in its place and came to stand beside him.

Ethan didn’t look at him, didn’t trust his voice, but he knew something had been carved into stone just now.

There wasn’t going to be a reconciliation.

There wasn’t going to be a place in the will.

And there sure as hell wasn’t going to be a family to turn to anymore.

All because of who he loved.

All because of the life he wanted to live.

***

Ethan had been shaking so hard the spurs at his heels rattled with every step, that tinny jingle-jangle loud enough to drown out the blood rushing in his ears. Panic made his clothes feel like they’d shrunk a size—boots too tight, shirt clinging like wet burlap, jeans biting at his thighs. He couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t stop wiping his face, his sleeve streaked wet.

Every time he thought he had a grip, another thought slammed into him—what if Wade wasn’t home next time?

What if Cody was the one who showed up?

What if his father came looking for him like a buck in rut, and there was nowhere to run? No Wade to hide behind?

He’d tried to get away, muttering something about checking water, about brushing down the colt again, but he hadn’t made it more than three steps before his knees started to lock up. His hands were trembling too bad to even get the halter off the hook.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said for the hundredth time, voice frayed and breaking like a rope left too long in the sun. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” He hadn’t even known what he was apologizing for. Existing? Needing help, maybe?

Wade had been there before he could spiral any further—broad shoulders filling the aisle, steady as a fencepost sunk deep in the earth. He hadn’t crowded him, hadn’t grabbed, just stood close enough for Ethan to see him, to anchor to something real. The air smelled like hay, iron, and the faint tang of leather soap.

“Hey,” Wade had said quietly. “Look at me. You’re not gonna get hurt here. You hear me?”

Ethan had tried to look away, tried to keep pacing, but Wade’s voice had cut through the static.

“If your daddy or Cody come back,” Wade had said, slow and measured like he was talking to a horse about to bolt, “they’ll leave with buckshot in their pockets. They step foot on my place again, I’ll make sure they don’t forget it. You’re safe.”

Safe. Ethan had wanted to believe it, wanted to sink into it, but the word had felt like a coat two sizes too big—something he couldn’t quite wear yet. Still, Wade was there, solid as ever, and that was close enough.

Everything Wade said just ricocheted through Ethan’s head without sticking, like words on slick glass. He’d been locked up—breathing too fast, vision tunneling, knees ready to give out. His boots had scuffed hard against the concrete when he stumbled back, nearly hitting the ground.

Wade had seen him ride out nerves before, but this was different—Ethan was about two minutes from collapsing, and there was no riding it out this time. He stripped the gloves from his hands, slow and deliberate, then stepped in.

“Easy now,” he said, voice low and even. He laid his palms on Ethan—not rough, not restraining—just a steady, warm weight at his sides, where denim met hip. One hand slid up near his ribs, the other under the curve of his arm, grounding him.

Ethan had jolted like he’d touched a hot wire, but Wade didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He just waited until the twitch in Ethan’s shoulders eased and he allowed the contact, his breathing still jagged and shallow.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan had blurted, chest still heaving. “I’m wastin’ your time, I’m—”

“Breathe,” Wade had cut in, light but firm, like they were talking about a green colt instead of a grown man coming apart. “In through your nose. Now out through your mouth, E.”

It had taken more than a few tries, but Wade had kept it steady—no fuss, no pity, just that same patient voice, coaxing him down one breath at a time. Little by little, the shaking eased, and the jingle of spurs quieted until there was nothing but the hum of the barn lights and the horses shifting in their stalls.

When Wade finally stepped back, he’d given Ethan a long, appraising look. “You good to stand on your own, cowboy?”

Ethan had nodded, though his face said he wasn’t sure.

“All right,” Wade said after a pause. “You can go check waters, finish with that colt, or stick with me for a bit—help get some sale videos on the young ones.”

It hadn’t been a command or a test. Just a choice. And somehow, that had been enough to make Ethan feel a little more like himself again.

Ethan hadn’t even pretended to think about it—he’d stuck with Wade.

Not because he couldn’t work alone, but because being out there by himself right then would’ve left too much space for his head to turn on him. Wade’s presence was a kind of shield.

Not just from anything with teeth or a bad attitude, but from his own thoughts gnawing at him until there was nothing left but raw nerve.

He wasn’t some fragile thing, not soft in the way people might assume from seeing him quiet or rattled. He was built out of old habits and strict edges—trained into him like a working dog by a man who saw obedience as the only virtue. That conditioning ran deep: the automatic panic, the hesitation over the smallest choices, the way he checked for permission even when no one was asking anything of him. It wasn’t something he could peel off in a day. Maybe not ever.

But Wade had a way of teasing him out of it—steady where his father had been sharp, patient where he’d been punishing. Wade never barked, never demanded. He just waited, hands in his pockets, calm as an old stud who’d seen it all.

They headed to the paddock for the sale videos, boots crunching over the packed dirt, the late-afternoon sun bleeding gold over the rails. Dust hung in the air like smoke, curling up from every footstep. Ethan took his place on the rail, whip in hand, while Wade lined up the camera near the gate.

The job was simple enough: get the youngsters moving with their heads high, tails flagged, legs even, ears forward. But Ethan’s first steps into the pen had been uncertain. His cues came half-hearted, barely enough to stir the colts from their lazy standstill. Normally, he could get them so fired up they’d still be eyeing him suspiciously at feeding time. Today, though, the spark just wasn’t there.

Wade didn’t take the whip or offer to do it himself. He didn’t fill the silence with orders or corrections. Just leaned against the rail, his voice carrying calm and even through the dry air.

“That’s it. Let him roll down the far side. There ya go.”

It was strange—being met with patience instead of judgment in that moment. Strange in a way that ached, like the soreness after being touched somewhere too tender.

Little by little, Ethan found the rhythm again. His boots kicked up light puffs of dust, his hands remembered their work, and the snap of the whip echoed crisp through the paddock. The young horses lifted their necks, moving out strong and clean, tails swishing like silk ribbons in the sun.

The trembling that had gripped him earlier began to fade, replaced by the old, steady confidence that came when his body did the remembering for him. By the time Wade called, “That’s should be good, E,” Ethan’s pulse had slowed back into something close to normal.

That old rhythm had returned—not because anyone had pushed him there, but because someone had given him the room to find his own way back.

***

Wade didn’t turn it into a talk, didn’t put words around what had just happened. He just shifted his tone, a little lighter, a little more patient. Like he was making sure Ethan had the space to keep afloat on his own legs.

“Go get another colt ready,” Wade said simply, voice even. Not a challenge, not a test—just giving Ethan something to use his hands and head for. Something other than spinning himself up.

Ethan moved without protest. Grooming, tacking, working the youngster—sweat dampened his shirt, horsehair clung to his jeans. Wade didn’t hover, didn’t cut in. He set himself on another task, pulling the horses off the tie line, giving each a scrub-down, hands firm and steady. The line of horses shifted, ears softer, a little more respectful now that they knew what patience felt like.

By the time Ethan came back, patting the sweaty neck of a colt blowing hard through his nostrils, Wade only glanced over. Didn’t praise or prod, just let the moment sit.

Both of them had gotten something out of it, whether it looked like much or not.

They worked side by side, close but separate. Ethan finished up, put the colt away, and slipped out some weanlings for turnout. He lingered to watch them kick up and play, laughter almost tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then he booted High Noon, clipped the gelding’s lead, and let him out in the pasture next door.

“Be a good supervisor,” Ethan muttered under his breath as the older horse dropped his head to graze, one eye on the weanlings.

Wade caught it, but didn’t say anything. Just kept on with his work, letting the quiet be good between them.

He knew Ethan needed days like this. Time to think, time to air out like a colt in training, blowing hot and wild until it leveled into something steady. Wade had learned his boy’s rhythms—his brain could overheat if left to itself, and forcing him to choke it down never helped. Sometimes, the best thing he could do was step back, keep him moving, and let him settle.

By the time the feed buckets were scraped clean and the last door latched, the barn had gone still. Crickets outside, horses chewing hay inside, that quiet hum of a place finally settled. Ethan left High Noon out in his pasture, boots crunching slow in the gravel as he made his way back.

He expected Wade to already be halfway home, or at least moving that way. But instead, Wade was leaned against the tack room door, arms folded loose, no bite in his posture. Just waiting.

Ethan slowed up, confused. “You uh… forget something?”

Wade didn’t answer. Just pushed off the doorframe and sank into the old rocking chair by the tack room, the wood creaking like it was used to holding him. He tipped his chin at the empty space on his lap, no words, just a quiet invitation.

Ethan froze, glancing over his shoulder like someone might pop out and see. All the memories of risk, of affection costing him—rushed through him like wildfire. His chest felt too tight.

But Wade didn’t press, didn’t prod. He just sat there, calm as ever, waiting.

After a long beat, Ethan moved. Careful, awkward at first, then giving in all at once. He folded himself onto Wade’s lap, their belt buckles clinking together, weight pressed close.

Wade didn’t shift it into anything else. Didn’t joke, didn’t touch with hunger or want. He simply wrapped an arm around Ethan’s middle, steady and warm. A place to land.

Ethan tore his hat off, fingers raking through sweat-matted curls. His breath hitched, shaky against Wade’s shoulder. The tears that fell weren’t loud, weren’t messy—just a hot sting from the stress he’d carried all damn day, finally letting loose.

Wade rocked them slowly, chair groaning under their combined weight, the barn dark and private around them. “It’s over, kid,” he murmured, low and certain. “Day’s done.”

Ethan only nodded, pressed in tighter, wishing he could make it true just by holding on.

"Breathe, cowboy. Breathe for me." Wade spoke against Ethan's hair, rocking him softly. Ethan cried like his lungs had shrunk, like he couldn't push air out of them. It made Wade nervous. 

Ethan tried. He did—tried to breathe like Wade asked, tried to swallow down the lump in his throat and just let the night be done. But once his chest loosened even a little, the words came spilling out.

“I hate him,” he mumbled into Wade’s shirt, voice muffled and uneven. “Hate my old man—hate Cody too. They ain’t never—never gonna let me be me. Nothin’ I done was ever good enough.” He hiccupped through it, every syllable shaky, rough around the edges. “Could rope a steer blindfolded an’ still be wrong. Could work till my hands bled and it’s still—still not enough. Always some name, some—some way to knock me down.”

Wade didn’t say much. Just rubbed a slow circle on Ethan’s back with his calloused palm, the motion firm and grounding.

The smell of dust, hay, and sweat lingered between them, the air warm from their bodies and the faint hum of crickets outside. The rocking chair creaked steady under their weight, like it knew the rhythm by heart.

“They’ll never accept me,” Ethan grumbled, words slipping into tired complaints. “Not who I am. Not who I love. Not nothin’.” His voice cracked on the last bit, breaking into a huff that rattled his chest.

Wade’s shirt grew damp under Ethan’s face, but he never flinched. Just held on, quiet and solid—the kind of presence that didn’t ask Ethan to be anything but what he was right then.

Eventually, the rambling trailed off. The hiccups slowed. Ethan’s breath steadied, syncing to the lazy creak of the chair. His shoulders sagged, tension leaking out with each exhale.

Wade leaned his chin lightly on Ethan’s hair, catching the faint scent of hay and smoke. He didn’t have to say it out loud—the message was clear in every slow rock, every sure hand on Ethan’s back. I got you. You’re safe.

***

It took some coaxing—Wade’s low voice, a steady hand between Ethan’s shoulders—but eventually Ethan let himself be pulled upright. His legs felt heavy, boots scuffing against the dirt floor as Wade guided him toward the house. The night air met them cool and sweet, carrying the smell of cut grass and horse sweat.

Charlie met them at the door with a sharp yowl, tail flicking like he’d been starved half to death. Ethan bent down and rubbed under the cat’s chin, murmuring nonsense to him, voice soft—almost normal. Like if he played it out well enough, nobody would know he’d come undone in the barn minutes before. It was the same trick he’d used as a boy: a smile, a shrug, and the noise in his head tucked out of sight.

Wade didn’t call him on it. He just slipped into the kitchen, got something warm going on the stove. Nothing fancy—fried eggs and toast, maybe—but the smell filled the air, simple and good. He set the plates down and got Ethan to sit and eat, no questions asked.

Boots ended up by the door, belts hung on the rack, hats set aside. Little signs of a day put to bed. Ethan chewed slow, quiet, but it was food in his stomach. Wade passed him a glass of water, brushed his fingers over his shoulder on the way back to the sink. Every now and then, he’d glance over—you okay?—without needing to say it.

Ethan nodded when he caught the look. He was okay. Not fine, not fixed, but settled. His head was quieter now. Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow he wouldn’t have to think about his father or Cody or any of it.

***

The shower washed the dirt and sweat of the day down the drain, but it didn’t quiet Ethan’s head. He pulled on worn sweatpants and a soft old shirt, padded barefoot down the hall, and slipped into bed without the usual talk of a show or a midnight snack. Tonight, he only wanted the creak of the mattress beneath him and Wade’s weight beside him.

Wade came in a few minutes later, hair still damp, carrying the smell of soap and hay. The bed dipped under his frame. He didn’t say a word—just let Ethan ease close until their warmth blended, until the rough fabric of Wade’s shirt was caught in Ethan’s hand like a tether. The quiet held. The clock ticked. The wind brushed the tin roof.

Then, almost lost against Wade’s chest, Ethan’s voice came out small, cracked at the edges.

“You ever think we’re gon’ get married? Get me outta my own family, start a new one?”

The question hung between them, soft and heavy. He wasn’t talking rings or ceremony—just a life where he didn’t have to flinch at the past.

Wade’s breath went still for a beat. Then he wrapped his arm tighter around him, slow and sure, his chin settling against Ethan’s hair.

“Yeah,” he murmured, rough and quiet. “I think about it.”

No promises, no pretending it’d be easy—just the truth, steady as the rise and fall of their breaths in the dark.

Chapter Text

Morning light spilled across the barn like warm honey, coating the rafters and dust motes in gold. Ethan had been up since before dawn, sleeves rolled, hair messy, eyes darker than usual. He moved slow, methodical, tossing hay, checking water, doing all the things he could still do that made him feel useful.

Wade found him that way—steady in the wood shavings he pitched, jaw clenched, pretending the pitchfork in his hand didn’t shake.

“You tryin’ to scare the horses lookin’ like that?” Wade asked, leaning in the doorway with his coffee still in hand.

Ethan glanced up, forcing a smile. “Mornin' to you too.”

“Don’t ‘mornin'’ me,” Wade said. “You even had breakfast yet?”

Ethan hesitated. There was a faint stain on his shirt collar from the animal blood he’d tried to stomach earlier. It never stayed with him. It left him lightheaded, hollow, cold around the edges.

“I’m alright,” he muttered.

“Yeah, and I’m the fuckin' Easter Bunny.” Wade set his mug down and stepped closer, catching Ethan’s pale face gently in one calloused hand. “You’re ice-cold.”

Ethan pulled back, nervous. “Clients’ll be here soon, Wade.”

“I didn’t ask about clients.”

“I can’t keep—” He stopped, voice shifting. “I can’t keep taking from you like this.”

Wade sighed, half exasperated, half fond. “You can, and you will. Otherwise you’ll pass out halfway through the workday and scare Mrs. Henderson’s twins again.”

Ethan dropped his eyes, shoulders folding in. “It’s not fair.”

“Life ain’t,” Wade said. “Now c’mere.”

He didn’t argue further. He never could. Wade just stood there, patient, the morning breeze tugging at his hair. He always stood steady but relaxed, it was easier for Ethan to catch a vein that way. Ethan stepped in close, touched Wade’s shoulder like a question, and then let the rest happen—his head bowing, breath trembling, everything in him leaning toward warmth. His fangs were short to start, though they extended when he broke skin right at Wade's neck. He didn't use the same spot every time, Wade got sore. He did like to use the same few veins, he knew where they were. Wade held him close by the back of his neck and let him take what he needed, Ethan never took more than the bare minimum for him to function. He rubbed the blonde's back and tried to keep perfectly still for him while he watched him swallow mouthfuls of blood, the substance leaking out on his lips and onto his chin. The color came back to his face when he detached from Wade, he made sure to pull his fangs out straight so he didn't hurt Wade at all when he was all finished and satisfied. 

When it was over, Wade brushed a thumb over his chin to clear the red droplets and murmured, “There. World didn’t end.”

Ethan laughed weakly. “Yet.”

“Eat something else while you’re at it. Can’t live off me and guilt alone.” Wade threw back, already walking away to go saddle a horse.

***

By midday, the barn buzzed with clients. Kids in flannel and parents with pumpkin-spice coffees trailed behind Wade on the tour, asking about the lack of traditional Halloween decorations. Ethan didn't love halloween, his parents never celebrated. He came from a line of vampires who thought they were the scum of the earth and needed to repent for breathing, the holiday just seemed like a massive mockery of what he grew up with. Ethan stayed back with the horses, keeping busy, but his hands started shook when he tried to tie off lead ropes.

Every pulse, every warm breath in the air pulled at him. He counted fence posts, focused on the sound of hooves instead of hearts.

Wade caught his eye once across the barn—just a look, nothing more—but Ethan felt steadier for it. Wade always seemed to know exactly when he was fraying. But Ethan had to be the one to ask, Wade was not going to let him get used to being prompted. He needed to ask for what he needed. 

Later, a little boy, client's son, tripped and scraped his knee. The sharp scent of copper hit Ethan like static. He froze mid-step.

Wade stepped in instantly, crouching beside the boy, joking about “brave cowboys” and cleaning the scrape with practiced ease.

Ethan's world had started to tilt. The air felt too hot, the light too bright. He brushed a hand across his face, trying to breathe through it. Wade was still laughing with the clients, caught up in another long conversation. Ethan could hear the tone of his voice but not the words.

He thought about interrupting. About asking.

He didn’t.

Rosie stood in the nearest stall to him, her soft grey coat shining in the light. Calm as ever, head low, tail flicking slow.

Ethan leaned against the rail, trying to steady his breath. The hunger buzzed low in his chest.

He was going to pass out, or throw up, or maybe just collapse and be sick. Wade was busy, all of the pig's blood was back at the house. He was running out of options. 

Rosie stood calm in her stall, flicking her tail at flies and trying to nuzzle Ethan’s shoulder for a treat.

Surely she wouldn't mind, if Ethan was gentle. 

“I’m sorry about this, mama” he whispered, rubbing her neck softly. “Just for a second, that’s all. Just one pinch.”

He hesitated—three times, four—and just when he thought he’d made up his mind and opened his mouth to expose his teeth, his shirt was yanked backward so hard his boots skidded across the ground.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Wade’s voice was low but sharp, and Ethan froze. Wade’s fist was tangled in his shirt, his eyes gone dark. “We talked about this, twice.”

“I know,” Ethan stammered. “I didn’t— I just— you were busy, and I didn’t feel good—”

“You don’t touch the livestock,” Wade cut in. “Not any of em'. Ever. We made that very clear.”

Ethan’s throat closed up. He glanced at Rosie—sweet, unbothered Rosie—who nuzzled his sleeve like nothing had happened. “I really wasn’t gonna,” he said weakly. “I just—”

Wade let out a long breath, shoulders softening as he looked closer. Ethan’s skin was pale, his knees barely holding him up. The anger drained out of Wade’s face, leaving only worry. “You look like hell,” he muttered.

Ethan’s voice cracked. “I didn’t wanna bother you.”

Wade shook his head. “You think I’d rather watch you drop in the dirt? Get on with it.”

He led Ethan further into the stall away from client eyes, steady hand at the back of his neck, muttering under his breath the whole way. Once he got Ethan where he needed, he unbuttoned his shirt so Ethan could bite lower this time, keep from scoring the same spot. Ethan hesitated, but when Wade's palm landed on the back of his head and encouraged him to bite, he did. Wade flinched that time, Ethan didn't go in fast enough, but he was still nonetheless. Ethan let out a soft moan while he took, happy to night feel so weak and also not have to puncture his beloved horse like this. Wade could hear the sucking noises he made trying to pull blood from him, it made him feel some sort of way he needed to suppress while at work. By the time Ethan detached himself and his fangs started to recede again, he felt much better. Wade tugged his collar higher over his shoulder, hiding the faint marks before heading back to the clients like nothing had happened. He didn't even say a word to Ethan, didn't need to. 

Ethan lingered in the stall, running a hand down Rosie’s nose. “I’m sorry I almost pricked you,” he murmured. She bumped her muzzle against his chest in answer.

The rest of the afternoon passed in cautious quiet. Wade didn’t let Ethan out of his sight, always finding excuses to walk by, ask for help, or hand him something. When they rinsed the horses after work, Wade kept up an easy stream of talk with the clients, steering their attention toward the newborn foal in the back pen. They never noticed anything odd—just Wade’s steady charm and Ethan’s quiet, methodical work beside him.

When the last truck finally pulled away, the sky was painted orange and purple, the air cooling quick. Ethan leaned on the fence, hair damp, shoulders sagging. Wade came up beside him with a bottle of water, bumping him lightly with his elbow.

“See? Not all the way yet,” Wade said.

Ethan’s laugh was small but real. “Not for lack of tryin’.”

“Hmm.” Wade tilted his head, studying him. “You feelin’ alright now?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said. “Promise.”

“Good.” Wade’s eyes narrowed a little, like he was making sure. “Just remember—next time, you come right to me. No excuses.”

Ethan nodded, guilt flickering again. “Yeah. I know.”

Wade gave him a look, the kind that could peel a truth right out of a person. Ethan fidgeted, jaw tight. The longer Wade stared, the redder Ethan’s ears got—and then, predictably, the telltale points of his fangs began to show through his top lip. 

Wade grinned slow. “Ah, there they are. S'what I was after.”

“Don’t start that shit,” Ethan muttered, ducking his head and trying despretly to distract himself so he didn't have an issue.

“Can’t help it. Happens every time you get worked up. It's my favorite.” Wade crossed his arms, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Kinda cute, kinda hot.”

“Wade—”

“What? I’m just talkin’.”

Ethan turned away, but Wade wasn’t done with him. He stepped close enough that his shadow fell across Ethan’s back, voice low but teasing. “You embarrassed, baby’? ’Cause they’re out pretty far this time. Almost as far as when we—”

“Wade.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, chuckling. “Go calm down before you bite your own lip tryin’ to talk.”

Ethan huffed and stomped off toward the rocking chair, muttering under his breath. Wade laughed to himself, shaking his head as he coiled up a hose. Every now and then he’d glance over just to check that Ethan was steady again.

By the time his fangs eased back to normal, the barn had gone quiet, the sky deep blue and full of crickets. Wade tossed him a towel and nodded toward the last horse waiting in the cross-ties.

“Come on, cowboy,” he said. “Still got one more to rinse before day's officially over.”

Ethan rolled his eyes but smiled, the corners of his mouth soft. He got up and ran his hands over the horse's spine, scratching softly. 

***

The last horse was half-dozing in the cross-ties when they rinsed him down. Water drummed on hide and splattered their boots; the smell of wet horse and soap hung thick in the cooling air.

Wade hummed under his breath, a tune Ethan couldn’t place, something low and easy that made the long day feel almost peaceful.

“Barn’s about fed,” Wade said, shutting off the hose. “Just need to throw hay and we can call it.”

Ethan nodded, a little slow. His color was fading again, that washed-out look Wade had learned to spot from halfway across the property. Not dire, but not great either.

“You holdin’ up?”

“Yeah,” Ethan lied.

Wade tossed a flake of hay into Raven's stall, then turned, one eyebrow raised. “You sure? ’Cause you look about ready to keel over, and I don’t need another near-Rosie incident.”

Ethan groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” Wade grinned. “Poor girl’s probably still wonderin’ what was goin' on, why her favorite was about to bite her.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Sure it is,” Wade said, stepping closer. “She’s got more sense than you do some days.”

Ethan tried to fire back but the world tilted again. Wade caught his elbow before he could sway too far, the laughter fading from his eyes. “Hey. Easy. Come on.”

He guided Ethan to lean against the stall wall, steady hands on his shoulders. The two of them stayed there a moment, just breathing. Wade’s voice dropped to a murmur. “You wait too long, this happens. You know that.”

“I know.”

“Then quit arguin’ with what keeps you standin’, Ethan.”

Ethan nodded, shame flickering across his face. He didn’t have words, just that heavy silence that said he hated needing anything at all. Wade only sighed, brushing his thumb along Ethan’s jaw. “Let’s get you squared away so you don’t pass out on me before we get home.”

For the third go forth time that day, Ethan found a spot and bit into Wade, drooling as he took from him. The copper scent hit him heavy, proving how much he needed this. This one didn't take as long, Ethan detached rather quickly, just needing a good sip. Wade reached up and wiped the corner of his mouth with the edge of his sleeve, a small, familiar gesture that always made Ethan’s chest aches

“There,” Wade said softly. “Back among the livin’.”

“Barely.”

Wade chuckled, resting a hand against the small of his back. “Come on. Let’s get outta here before Rosie gets nervy around you.”

They shut off the lights, the barn settling into its nighttime hush. Crickets sang beyond the fence line, and the gravel path home gleamed silver under the moon. Ethan’s steps were slow but steady. When Wade offered his hand, Ethan took it without thinking, their fingers fitting together in that quiet, worn-in way of people who had long since stopped pretending they didn’t need each other.

Halfway down the path, Wade looked over. “You okay now?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, voice low. “Thanks.”

Wade smiled, reached over with his free hand to brush a thumb across the corner of Ethan’s mouth again. “You got nothin’ to thank me for.”

He bent just enough to press a kiss to Ethan’s nose—quick, clumsy, tender. Ethan laughed, the sound soft and breathless.

Inside, Wade kicked off his boots by the door and headed for the kitchen. The house smelled faintly of dust and cedar, the way it always did after a long day with the windows cracked. He clattered a skillet onto the stove, not because he was hungry—more out of habit. Ethan leaned against the counter, watching the small, familiar motions: the way Wade cooked without measuring, the soft hiss when butter hit the pan.

“Thought you said you were done for the night,” Ethan murmured.

“Never said I wasn’t hungry,” Wade replied, flashing a half-grin. “Besides, you could stand to eat somethin’ that isn’t me. Read it was good for ya to eat.”

Ethan rolled his eyes but came closer anyway. Wade handed him a plate once it was done—simple, hot food that steamed up the kitchen window. Ethan took a few bites just to please him, and when he slowed, Wade didn’t push, just slid his own plate closer. They shared the rest between them, trading forkfuls and quiet looks, the kind that said more than either of them ever did out loud.

Later, in the small bathroom, they brushed their teeth side by side, bumping elbows like always. Ethan had never quite figured out a decent way to fully clean his fangs, it was humorous to watch him try to individually brush them both.

Wade flicked a drop of water at him; Ethan retaliated with a grin that softened the corners of his tired and foamy face.

Back in the bedroom, the air turned different. Softer. Slower. Wade sat on the edge of the bed, watching Ethan pull his shirt over his head. There was nothing deliberate about it, nothing planned. Just a quiet pull between them that never really went away.

Ethan moved first, leaning down to kiss Wade’s temple. Wade caught his wrist and drew him closer, their lips meeting halfway. It was gentle at first, then not so much. The kiss deepened, the day’s grit and exhaustion falling away under the heat building between them.

When Wade pulled back, both of them were breathing heavier. He brushed his thumb along Ethan’s jaw, smiling faintly. “You’re supposed to be restin’ now.”

“I am,” Ethan murmured, eyes half-lidded. “restin' against you.”

Wade huffed a laugh, the kind that rumbled in his chest. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Only for you.”

“Lucky me,” Wade said, and kissed him again.

As the kiss deepened, Wade settled over top of Ethan, keeping their lips connected until they had to break for breath. Before Wade could even say anything, Ethan's fangs started to softly poke out of his mouth, the tent in his pants grew with them. 

Wade chuckled, then kissed him again, wrapping his tongue around one of the appendages. 

"You're so hot, you know that? If I'd known you get fang boners I'd have been fuckin' you way earlier." Wade growled, letting Ethan breathe while he went to kiss the boy's chest.

Ethan was speechless, he'd never heard the term 'fang boner' to describe whatever was happening to him. Wade had been the first to coin it.

"I can't— I can't control them. They just...do that. It's not a boner, it just...happens." Ethan spoke, flushing as he looked down towards Wade. The man was marking up his pectorals, his chest, some of his stomach. His saliva was hot and cool at the same time, electric. As Ethan grew harder, his fangs poked out more and started to dig into his bottom lip if he didn't move it. He was so flushed, so hard by now, and Wade hadn't even taken off his boxers yet. 

Wade looked up to see his teeth trying to poke at his full bottom lip and grew another inch behind his briefs. He couldn't handle it, he couldn't watch Ethan get so aroused and keep teasing him, it wouldn't happen. Wade moved back up to Ethan's upper half and kissed him again, this time less careful around his fangs and pricking his tongue on them as he stuck it down Ethan's throat. Ethan moaned at the taste of blood on his tongue, and then at Wade's mouth devouring at his own. Wade couldn't help but groan too, he loved watching Ethan feel good in ways Wade couldn't, he loved how different it was to pleasure Ethan than it was a normal human partner. Wade smeared his bloody tongue all across Ethans mouth, hoping he'd taste copper until they had to pull away. 

He absolutely did, and he loved every second of it. 

When Wade pulled away and held their foreheads together softly, Wade spoke real low through ragged breaths.

"I want you to bite me, cowboy. All over. Make me your blood bag tonight, yeah?" 

Ethan made eye contact with him, his eyes questioning, but his fangs practically pulsed in anticipation. 

"All over? You sure? I want to, I just don't want to hurt you, baby." Ethan spoke, catching his own breath as pink tinted drool slipped down his chin.

Wade caught it with his finger and sucked it clean. "I'll tell you if it hurts, I'll tell you if I need to stop. Fuck—I just need you to bite me, E."

Ethan knew that Wade had a thing for biting, why else would you date somebody who needed to bite on you every couple hours? Ethan was grateful for it, and Wade was too. He made for a great life partner and a wonderful partner in bed. 

They switched places once Ethan decided he'd do some biting tonight, Ethan hovering over a very desperate Wade.

The brunette could practically feel the bites already, all over him those little pin prick marks of belonging. Ethan hadn't started yet, he wanted to make this as enjoyable for Wade as it was going to be for him. His hand gently swept over Wade's briefs and snapped the waistband once, a silent ask for permission to enter. 

Wade nodded harshly, eyebrows raised and head tilted back, like he knew Ethan's plan already. Ethan waited just a second before he peeled off Wade's undergarments, tossing them elsewhere. His length sprang to life, red at the tip and desperate for attention. 

"Tell me where you want em', I'll do em' anywhere you want, you just tell me." Ethan spoke, mouth watering and fangs hanging so low his speech was slurred through them. 

"Shit, babe. I want em' anywhere, all over me. I want you to taste all of me and tell me your favorite spot."

That was enough for Ethan to go in for it, sticking his sharpened canines into Wade's pectoral, near but not precisely on his nipple. Ethan wasn't mean, he knew what would really sting. 

Wade cried out, in pain and pleasure, his shaft straight up in the air and leaking precum. Ethan didn't even look at it, he tasted from the small wounds he'd made in Wade's chest, licking his lips and sucking his teeth when he was done with that spot. 

"Tastes good, baby, but I'm not sure it's my favorite." Ethan teased before biting upward to the soft part below Wade's ear. He screeched, then moaned and settled back against the pillows like a man who'd just been given it all. Ethan sucked at the wounds he made once more before pulling away to look at Wade up close. He allowed the red substance to drip out of his mouth and onto Wade's chest, a combination of spit and blood. 

"You wanna know what I think of this one?" 

Wade was all too eager to know how he tasted for his lover.

Before Wade could whine at him to know, Ethan bent down and connected their lips. Blood still on his tongue, Ethan swirled the muscle around and made sure to allow Wade to taste himself. His fangs pricked at Wade's open and eager mouth, it only added to both of their arousal. Wade let out a moan and held Ethan closer, hands firmly around his hips and pulling him so he straddled his erect length. Ethan allowed it, though he did pull his mouth away from Wade so he could speak.

"Oh, Wade. So impatient, are you? Can't even wait for me to have a proper dinner before you want me to rub you off?" Ethan's tone was mocking, belittling, and Wade ate it all up like candy in a jack o'lantern plastic bucket.

"Please, E, c'mon man. I can't take this teasing, not for much longer."

Ethan shrugged, sucking his teeth and reluctantly slipping his hand down to Wade's erection. It was stone hard, pulsing with want. With need.

He gripped it firm and quickly moved his hand up and down, not leaving much time for Wade to adjust or prepare. He moaned, pain and pleasure mixing in a way that would have him undone soon. Ethan didn't stop, he kept on jerking him off fast and harsh, his mouth moving down to distract him. Ethan's fangs sunk down into Wade's stomach, down the plains of his naval. He sucked right where hair began to grow down the trail to his length, Ethan made sure he never shaved it. It was pretty. 

Wade was in heaven, head thrown back and skin now as pale as Ethan's, he was singing Ethan's praises as he sucked at the bite, all while he was still jerking Wade off. Once Ethan was done there, he pulled away and his hand slowed to an agonizing pace. Wade was about to whine and ask what the issue was, but Ethan spoke first.

"Turn around, I wanna see somethin'."

Wade was in shock for a moment, not exactly in a great state of mind after he'd just been denied a release. 

"See what, cowboy? My ass? That's all that's back there."

"Yeah, got an idea."

That was all the incentive Wade needed to promptly flip himself like a toasted pancake. He lay against the white sheets and pillows, the bites Ethan made on him staining the sheets red as they dripped. Wade felt Ethan move over him and straddle his thighs, but he didn't feel Ethan's length against him, Ethan didn't even have himself out. Wade was confused and a little impatient, he wanted an orgasm, and soon. He wriggled and grumbled until Ethan laid a harsh swat across his rear, halting his movements. 

"Quit it, I'm gonna get to you in a second." Ethan grumbled, soothing where he hit with a rub of his thumb. 

Wade groaned, moving his hand in front of him to try and finish the job solo. Ethan didn't love that idea, he had something else in mind. 

Without warning, quick as could be, Ethan bent himself down and sunk his fangs into Wade's rear end, bullseye to the middle of his right bulb of flesh. Wade saw white stars for a moment, coming against his own hand the second Ethan's teeth made contact. He screamed into the pillow below him, pushing himself into Ethan's mouth. he was a glutton for punishment, always had been when it came at the hand of Ethan. 

Ethan practically drank him dry, though he was kind enough to ensure he didn't take enough to make him dizzy or sick. Ethan knew Wade's limits. 

When Wade came down from his high, he looked behind him to see Ethan with his cheeks blown full with blood, drooling out of his mouth where his fangs were unable to be kept contained. It was the hottest shit he'd ever seen. Ethan smiled for a moment but didn't release the substance. Wade almost worried that he was going to choke or that he was choking already, but Ethan quickly stilled his worries. Silently, Ethan pulled himself out, his hard length throbbing with need. He stroked it once, twice, leaking precum. But it wasn't enough, Ethan liked some extra lube. So he bent forward and spit a cheek full of Wade's blood on his own shaft, rubbing it along with his hand. 

Wade was hard again at the sight of his own substance on his lover's cock. It was a beautiful color, dark red, thick and hot. Ethan moaned with another cheek full of blood still in his mouth, some dripping down his chin. To not waste the rest before it all dribbled down his face, he opened his mouth right above Wade's hole to release the thick, warm liquid in and around Wade's entrance. Wade shuttered and whined, it felt better than anything he'd ever experienced. Lube, spit, olive oil, water, frosting, nothing beat this feeling. 

"You okay? This good? Lightheaded at all?"

"Fuck yeah I'm light headed. Don't stop, E." Wade muffled into the pillow he faced, fists clenching sheets as he relished in the feeling of his ass being bitten into and the hot liquid in his hole.

Ethan smiled all toothy like, kissing the back of Wade's neck and turning Wade's face to kiss his cheek. His lips left prints in blood on the man's tanned skin. 

"I'll try to go slow, you just let me know, okay?" Ethan drawled, palming Wade's rear and squeezing the flesh too hard. Wade only nodded, that was enough.

Ethan stuffed himself, covered in red, hot blood, right into Wade's entrance. It was tight, though both Ethan and Wade were slick enough to avoid uncomfortable friction. Wade let out a loud mewl, arching into Ethan. He breathed heavily and held Ethan's hand tightly, a signal to let him settle in.

"Take your time, baby. I'm right here, ain't movin'."

Wade only groaned, then exhaled roughly and slowly let go of Ethan's hand, letting his own arm fall back on the mattress. 

Ethan waited one more moment before he started to move, giving Wade ample time to settle and ask for more time if he needed it. He didn't, he was already desperate enough. 

He whined and cried out while Ethan roughened the pace, enamored by the look of the deep red sloshing between them. It was mixing with sweat and Ethan's precum, turning it a little pinker than it was when Ethan first spit it out. Still a divine color, especially on Wade's skin. 

"E, E, please. Please keeping goin', I'm gonna come again—" Wade mewled, turning his head so Ethan could see him, begging. 

Ethan didn't vocalize his answer, he just drove his hips harsher and faster into Wade, his sack creating a soft slapping noise against Wade's skin. 

Ethan only began to stutter when he was close, his fangs throbbing along with his dick. 

"Wade—Wade, I'm close. Very close." Ethan choked out, still driving into him harshly, trying to urge the orgasm out of Wade first.

It didn't happen that way.

Before Wade could give any kind of response, Ethan was already spewing inside of him, his mouth finding Wade's shoulder to suck—not bite. Taking too much blood could lead Wade to the hospital, and Ethan was already too sore to be taking him there. Wade came in the same moment, white ropes spewing onto the sheets below as he bucked both into Ethan and the sheets holding his seed.

***

Wade lay back first, chest rising and falling in long, deep breaths, a hand resting lazy and open on Ethan’s hip as he pulled out and flopped on top of him. 

Ethan was still trying to get his bearings—his pulse wasn’t fast, not really, but his body hummed all the same. His fangs had slipped longer than Wade had ever seen them, and now they refused to go back down. He lay there, mouth parted, trying not to laugh when Wade noticed.

Wade turned his head, one eyebrow lifting as he panted. “You look like you’re tryin’ to hold a secret.”

“Can it,” Ethan mumbled, voice a little slurred from the way his teeth sat against his lip. “They won’t go back yet.”

“Mm-hmm.” Wade’s grin was slow, dangerous. “You get riled up, they come out. I’ve noticed.”

Ethan groaned and covered his face with a pillow. “Don’t. Start.”

“Oh, I’m gonna.” Wade tugged the pillow down just enough to see him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “They’re kinda cute when you’re flustered. And when you're banging me.”

“Cute,” Ethan repeated flatly, muffled behind the pillow. “Real comfortin’.”

Wade laughed—a low, genuine sound that filled the room—and rolled onto his side to face him. “You gonna bite me again if I keep talkin’?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“That’s what I figured.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The crickets outside did all the talking, their rhythm rising and falling with the creaks of the old farmhouse. Wade reached up and ran a hand through Ethan’s hair, thumb brushing his temple.

“You did good today,” he said quietly. “Even with the little stunt with Rosie.”

Ethan made a face. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.” Wade’s hand stilled on his head. “But you learned somethin’ from it, yeah?”

Ethan nodded. “Don’t bite the nice ones.”

Wade chuckled again, low and warm. “Somethin’ like that.”

Ethan turned his head to look at him, fangs finally retracting enough that he could close his mouth. “Thanks, by the way. For earlier. For… everything.”

“Always, darlin’,” Wade said simply, no teasing in his tone this time. He brushed his thumb across Ethan’s jaw again, slower now. “Ain’t somethin’ you ever have to thank me for.”

Ethan’s eyelids grew heavy. “Still feels like I should.”

“Then you can thank me by gettin’ some sleep.”

“Bossy,” Ethan muttered, but he smiled when Wade kissed the top of his head.

“Only ‘cause I like you.”

“Good thing,” Ethan mumbled, words already fading into drowsiness.

Wade stayed awake a little longer, watching him drift. The house settled around them, the air still thick with heat and comfort. Outside, a lone horse snorted from the paddock, and Wade thought about how strange it was, how right it was, to have this — a night that ended quiet and soft, even with everything that made them what they were.

He turned off the lamp, wrapped an arm around Ethan’s waist, and let the stillness take them both. 

The blood had stopped, clotted and no longer risking Wade needing medical help. His body learned to clot fast. That could all be cleaned up in the morning, for now, rest was needed.

Happy Halloween!

Chapter Text

The package showed up on the porch two days before Halloween, taped up like it had been through a war. Ethan found it first when he went to get the mail, his name scribbled beside Wade’s in thick black marker.

“Hey,” he called through the screen door, holding the box like it might bite. “You order somethin’?”

From somewhere inside, Wade’s voice rumbled back, low and careless. “Yeah. Don’t open it.”

Ethan frowned. “Why not?”

“’Cause it’s a surprise.”

That was never a comforting sentence when it came from Wade. By the time the older man came down the hall, hat pushed back and a smear of dirt still on his jaw from working outside, Ethan had already set the box on the table like it was wired.

Wade grinned, that half-lazy, half-wicked look that always spelled trouble. “Relax, cowboy. It’s just costumes.”

“Costumes?”

“For Ma's Halloween party. She throws one every year.”

Ethan crossed his arms. “Costumes like—kids’ costumes?”

“Like somethin’ other than work jeans for one night costumes,” Wade said, already flicking his pocketknife open. “Ain’t you ever celebrated Halloween before?”

Ethan shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not… really. My folks said it was devil stuff. Told us we’d go to hell for so much as carvin’ a pumpkin.”

That made Wade pause. He looked up at him, expression softening for half a beat before a whistle slipped past his lips. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you look at my decorations like they’re fixin’ to bite you.” Wade’s grin returned, sharper this time, as he dug through the box. “Guess we’ll have to start your education.”

Ethan peered into the mess of fabric suspiciously. “And that’s where these come in?”

“Bingo. You and me — cops and robbers. Old west style.”

Ethan blinked. “Which one am I?”

Wade lifted an eyebrow. “Take a wild guess, baby.”

He tossed him a striped shirt, a red bandana, and a little burlap sack with a dollar sign stamped on it. The other outfit — a vest with a toy badge and a holster — was clearly Wade’s. There was a smaller box inside too, one that clinked when Wade shook it.

Ethan squinted. “Please tell me those ain't real.”

Wade’s grin widened. “Oh, they're real. What kinda sheriff would I be without my cuffs?”

Ethan turned the shirt over in his hands, half-curious, half-concerned. “People really dress up like this?”

“Every year,” Wade said, leaning back against the counter, thumbs tucked in his belt loops. “Been goin’ to that party since I could walk. Ma’s serious about it. No costume, no drinks.”

Ethan tried to smile, though it came out small and crooked. “What’ve you been before?”

“Oh, let’s see…” Wade ticked off on his fingers. “Cowboy—twice, ’cause I forgot to plan. Vampire one year. And…” His mouth twitched. “Jack Twist.”

“Who?”

“Brokeback Mountain.” Wade sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “My ex wanted to do a couples thing. He was Ennis.”

Ethan bit back a laugh. “You’re jokin’.”

“Wish I was. We broke up halfway through the damn night — he called me the wrong name after one too many margaritas. Told him to go rope himself.” Wade smirked. “Party pictures were real cute though. Two cowboys 'bout to kill each other, real tragic.”

That made Ethan laugh, quiet but warm, the sound brightening the room. Wade’s grin softened as he watched him.

“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the shirt. “Try it on. Make sure it fits so I'm not squeezin' you into it the day of.”

Ethan sighed but grabbed the clothes and disappeared down the hall.

Wade watched him go, still smiling to himself. “Yeah,” he muttered. “You’ll do fine.”

When Ethan finally came back, Wade nearly forgot how to breathe.

The striped shirt hung loose on him, the red bandana tied awkwardly around his neck, hair mussed from fussing with the shirt. The little canvas bag with the painted dollar sign swung against his thigh as he shifted from foot to foot.  The sleeves were a hair too long, the hem brushing his hips — but somehow, that made it worse. He looked like the kind of outlaw you’d see on a postcard, caught halfway between sheepish and adorable.

Wade’s smirk was slow and wolfish. “Well, look at you.”

Ethan tugged at the bandana. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look like trouble,” Wade drawled, “and that’s the point.”

Ethan’s eyes flicked up, his mouth twitching. “And what about you, Sheriff?”

Wade adjusted the toy badge on his vest, the cheap metal flashing in the light. “I’m here to keep you in line, make sure you don’t go causin’ any mischief.”

“Uh-huh.” Ethan tilted his head. “Your badge is crooked.”

Wade looked down. “So’s your attitude, but here we are.”

That earned a laugh, soft but real. Wade’s chest eased at the sound.

The sheriff outfit fit him a little too well — dark vest snug at his shoulders, denim worn just right at the hips, holster riding low. The cuffs dangled from one hand, spinning slow and deliberate, catching the light as they clinked together.

Ethan crossed his arms, trying to look unimpressed. “You sure this isn’t just your normal getup?”

“Maybe.” Wade’s grin tilted. “What, jealous?”

“Of that dollar-store badge and a fake gun?”

“Careful, outlaw.” Wade took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I could arrest you for that.”

Ethan swallowed. “On what charge?”

Wade leaned down, close enough that Ethan could feel his breath against his ear.
“Felony theft.”

Ethan arched an eyebrow. “And what’d I steal?”

“My heart, apparently.”

Ethan groaned. “You did not just say that.”

“Oh, I did,” Wade said, eyes glinting. “And I’m afraid it’s a serious offense.”

Before Ethan could reply, Wade lunged — a half-playful, half-serious tackle that sent both of them stumbling backward onto the couch. Ethan yelped, laughter breaking free as Wade caught him around the waist, spinning them until Ethan’s back hit the cushions.

“Wade!” Ethan gasped, breathless and pink-faced, “You’re insane!”

“Just doin’ my duty, sir,” Wade teased, snapping one cuff around Ethan’s wrist with exaggerated care. The hollow click echoed between them. “There. Justice served.”

Ethan stared up at him, chest rising fast, eyes bright. “You are so—”

“Charmin'?” Wade murmured.

“—annoying.”

“Mm. You can say you like it,” Wade said, voice lower now.

Ethan didn’t answer, but his smile was small and helpless. Wade’s scent — soap, sun, and the faint bite of leather — filled the space between them, and Ethan felt the flutter in his chest before he could stop it.

“Gonna let me up, Sheriff?” he asked quietly.

“Depends.” Wade tilted his head. “You fixin’ to behave?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Not good enough.”

Ethan’s laugh came softer this time, the edges warm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Wade said, finally standing and unlocking the cuffs with their key, offering him a hand. “But now you’re part of it. Welcome to your first Halloween, outlaw.”

Ethan took it, still smiling. “If this is what Halloween’s like, I guess I don’t mind it.”

***

The sun was just starting to sink behind the mesquite trees when Wade turned down the long gravel drive toward his mama’s place. The truck’s tires crunched slow, dust rising in soft amber clouds behind them. The porch lights were already glowing, a string of orange bulbs looping along the railings like fireflies caught midflight. Plastic ghosts dangled from the oak branches, twisting lazily in the evening breeze.

“Smells like cinnamon from out here,” Wade said as he swung out of the driver’s seat, the gravel popping under his boots. “Means she’s been at it since noon.”

Ethan stepped down after him, tugging at the striped shirt that still didn’t sit right on his shoulders. The air was warm but turning cool at the edges, that dry kind of Texas dusk where the world glows gold for a few fleeting minutes. He looked up at the porch — the soft lights, the pumpkin-lined steps, the faint sound of laughter from inside — and shifted uncertainly.
“You sure we’re not too early?”

“She likes early,” Wade said, tipping his hat with a crooked grin. “Gives her more time to boss people around.”

The front door opened to a wash of warmth and sound — country radio low and steady, something bubbling on the stove, voices overlapping in easy rhythm. The air smelled like butter and spice, pumpkin and cider, all of it cozy and sweet in a way that hit Ethan right in the chest.

Darlene was there in the middle of it all, dressed as a witch with a floppy hat, stirring a pot of cider while bouncing a baby on one hip. The little one gnawed happily on a chunk of frozen pumpkin wrapped in cheesecloth.

“Lord have mercy, look who’s here!” she said, her hat wobbling as she laughed. “Wade, you handsome devil—and Ethan, sugar, you came!”

Before Ethan could so much as smile, she had him in a hug. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, her sweater soft and warm against his cheek. “Let me look at you,” she said, holding him at arm’s length. “Oh, honey, you look wonderful. Much better than Wade's last stupid get-up.”

Ethan flushed immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You’re too kind, ma’am.”

“‘Ma’am,’” she repeated with mock offense, laughing again. “I’m Darlene, and you know that. Now get in here and grab yourself a drink before I force some into ya.”

At the table, Wade’s half-sister Carla was arranging cupcakes shaped like tiny pumpkins. Her husband, Doug, wrestled with a roll of orange tablecloth while their toddler, dressed as a bumblebee, zoomed between his legs.

Carla looked up and grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, if it isn’t Sheriff Wade and his new outlaw. Y’all look great.” Then, with a smirk, “I'd be careful now, last time you brought a fella to this party, he threw a drink in your face, remember?”

Wade laughed, the sound low and rolling, warm enough to turn heads. “Yeah, I remember. He had good aim too.”

“Sure did,” Carla said, chuckling. “Hit you square in the chest.”

“Adds to the memories,” Wade said easily, brushing past her toward a stack of folding chairs. “Where you want these set up at?”

Ethan followed him automatically, close enough that every turn and shift of Wade’s body brushed against his sleeve. The kitchen light caught on Wade’s belt buckle, the faint creak of leather and the clean smell of soap and cedar following him as he worked. Ethan trailed after, trying to mimic whatever he did — setting out napkins, plates, anything to look busy.

The floor was a minefield of tiny toys, half-carved pumpkins, and a plastic cauldron of candy. He tripped once, caught himself on the edge of a chair, and heard Darlene laugh from the kitchen.

“You’re fine, sugar,” she called. “We all take a tumble in this house sooner or later.”

Ethan smiled sheepishly and brushed at his shirt. The room felt alive — warm air humming with voices, laughter spilling through the open back door. Outside, the smell of hay drifted in from the yard where Doug was testing string lights, each bulb flaring to life against the blue dusk. Carla hummed along to the radio, the baby squealed, and through it all Wade’s voice wound soft and steady, a low hum that grounded the noise.

Ethan’s gaze found him again — sleeves rolled up to his elbows, vest snug against his chest, that little badge catching the light whenever he moved. He’d pushed his hat back on his head, and a strand of hair had fallen across his forehead. He looked relaxed, at home — like this was his world, his people, his air to breathe.

When Wade looked up, he caught Ethan staring. His mouth twitched into a small, knowing smile. “You wanna help me line these up?” he asked, nodding at the tables.

Ethan’s throat felt tight for no good reason. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little softer than before. “Yeah, I got it.”

They worked side by side, their arms brushing now and again. Every touch was brief but electric — the kind of accidental closeness that lingered just a moment too long. Wade didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he leaned into it, his shoulder pressing lightly into Ethan’s when they both reached for the same stack of plates.

“Watch it, outlaw,” he murmured under his breath, that teasing edge curling through the words. “Wouldn’t want you causin’ trouble already.”

Ethan smiled, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Too late for that, Sheriff.”

For the first time all evening, he stopped worrying about how he looked, or who was watching, or whether his shirt fit right. The air smelled like cider and sugar and cut hay, warm light flickering off Wade’s grin. For a moment, it was just the two of them — standing shoulder to shoulder in the hum of Darlene’s kitchen, laughter rising and music low, as the first stars started to show through the window glass.

***

The doorbell rang every few minutes after that—first a trickle, then a steady hum of boots on the porch, laughter in the foyer, and the smell of hay, pumpkin spice, and something fried that probably shouldn’t be, but was anyway.

By the time Wade’s cousins and uncles started piling in, the little house was warm and alive. The hum of conversation layered over the twang of country music and the clatter of serving spoons hitting casserole dishes. Kids darted between legs, leaving trails of glitter and fake blood and polyester capes in their wake. The decorations Darlene had fretted over all morning—paper bats, orange string lights, a fog machine that puffed tiredly in the corner—gave everything a hazy glow that made the rough edges of the crowd look softer, sweeter.

Ethan stuck close to Wade at first. The air felt heavy with perfume, sweat, and the sugary burn of cider; his senses kept tripping over each other. He smiled when someone caught his eye, nodded at introductions, tried to seem like he belonged. The weight of his toy money bag brushed against his hip, reminding him he was the robber tonight—a striped shirt a size too big, suspenders slipping, his cap crooked. He looked ridiculous and he knew it, but Wade’s grin every time he glanced his way made him feel like maybe it was the good kind of ridiculous.

Wade, on the other hand, was thriving. His badge caught the light whenever he turned, the polished silver flashing like a wink. He moved through the room easy as breathing, all charm and laughter, slapping backs, passing out plates, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his sister’s ear. Someone handed him a baby—a niece dressed as a ladybug—and he cradled her like he’d been born to do it. Someone else passed him a beer. A woman in cat ears swatted at his hat and said, “You look too good to be pretendin’, sheriff.”

Ethan followed Wade’s orbit without even meaning to. Every time Wade came close, Ethan caught a thread of his cologne—clean, woody, something that clung low and masculine under the smoke and sugar in the air. Wade leaned close once, voice brushing Ethan’s ear, low enough that the words hummed through him.

“You holdin’ up alright, darlin’?”

Ethan tugged at the hem of his shirt, half a smile twitching up. “I feel like a kid at someone else’s sleepover.”

Wade chuckled, his thumb ghosting under Ethan’s chin to straighten his mask. “You’re fine. You’re mine. They all know it. Just smile when they talk to you.”

And they did talk to him—each cousin or aunt or uncle drifting over one by one. Ethan shook hands, stammered polite replies, tried not to turn too pink when someone said, “Didn’t think anyone could tame our Wade.” Each little exchange warmed him from the inside out, the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the whiskey punch and everything to do with being seen, being kept.

The house thrummed around them—Darlene shouting from the kitchen about chili and cornbread, Wade’s brother-in-law arguing over the brisket, a cousin singing along to George Strait. Laughter rolled like thunder. The air thickened with heat, food, and the faint metallic tang of cheap beer.

Ethan ended up on the couch, wedged between a jack-o’-lantern pillow and Wade’s thigh. Wade had his arm draped lazily behind him, fingers tapping a rhythm into the back cushion that matched the beat of the song. Every now and then, he leaned in close enough that his breath tickled Ethan’s cheek, just to say something wicked.

“You behavein’, or am I gonna have to haul you off?”

Ethan’s pulse stuttered. “What if I like the sound of that?”

Wade’s grin spread slow, his laugh low enough to rumble through Ethan’s side. “Then I’ll have to put these cuffs to good use..”

Ethan tried to roll his eyes, but it melted into a grin. “You just want an excuse to play sheriff again.”

“Can you blame me?” Wade tipped his hat back, gaze sweeping over Ethan like a slow exhale. “You make a mighty fine criminal.”

The warmth between them grew heavier than the room. Wade’s fingers brushed the back of Ethan’s neck once, absentminded, then again—less accidental that time. Around them, the noise blurred. The laughter, the clinking bottles, the music—they all felt distant, softened by the gravity of Wade’s closeness.

Ethan tilted his head back against the couch, watching the amber string lights flicker above. Wade was still talking to someone across the room, still holding a beer in one hand, but his other hand had found Ethan’s knee, tracing idle shapes there through the fabric of his pants. His hand moved up without him even realizing, tracing soft patterns on Ethan's thighs, hold his hips.

And in that flickering orange light—Wade’s laugh spilling easy and bright, his touch warm and grounding—Ethan thought maybe this was what belonging really felt like. Like noise and heat and comfort, all at once. Like a heartbeat shared across a crowded room.

***

Wade noticed it before Ethan did — that empty, nervous stillness that came when he got overwhelmed. His eyes darted between people talking across the room, half a smile frozen on his face, hands idle in his lap. He hadn’t even touched the snack table, hadn't looked at it. Wade knew that look.

So he slipped off the couch without a word, weaving through the crowd like he’d been doing it his whole life — the air full of cinnamon, beer, and wood smoke from the fire pit outside. He shook hands, traded jokes, ducked under a cousin’s arm to snag a plate, piling it high: brisket shining with sauce, buttery mac, a wedge of cornbread, beans thick with molasses.

When he came back, Ethan was still sitting there like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Wade set the plate in his lap and bumped his shoulder.

“Eat, darlin’. You look like you’re fixin’ to faint.”

Ethan blinked at the plate, then up at him, cheeks pink in the orange string-light glow. “You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” Wade said simply, sitting back down so close their knees pressed. “Ain’t nobody gettin’ through one of Ma’s parties on an empty stomach. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

Ethan’s laugh was soft, the kind that caught in his throat before it came out. He picked up a fork. The first bite melted him — smoky, sweet, buttery. His shoulders dropped, a quiet sigh escaping as flavor replaced the noise in his head.

Wade grinned, watching it happen, then dug into his own plate. Their elbows brushed with every motion, a quiet rhythm that neither of them bothered to stop.

“You holdin’ up alright?” he asked, voice a little rough with affection.

“Yeah,” Ethan said. “Better now. I just… it’s a lot.”

Wade nodded. “It is. But you’re doin’ fine. Ma’s already adopted you in her head, so there’s no gettin’ out now.”

Ethan’s lips twitched. “I’m doomed, huh?”

“Hopelessly.” Wade’s smile went crooked. “You should’ve run when you had the chance.”

Before Ethan could answer, two kids toddled over — a ghost sheet askew, a cowboy hat sliding down to one eye. The little ghost pointed at Wade’s plate, eyes huge.

“Uncle Wade, can I have a bite?”

“Not a chance, buddy.” Wade wiggled his fingers toward him, the playful growl of his voice making Ethan’s stomach flip for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. “Go haunt somebody else’s brisket.”

The ghost shrieked and bolted, laughing. The cowboy tried for Ethan’s cornbread and got scooped up by the back of his shirt.

“Uh-uh, partner. This here’s outlaw territory. go on and get your own. Ma's got plenty.”

Ethan burst out laughing, head ducking, his whole face lighting up. The sound hit Wade square in the chest. He leaned in, eyes crinkled, soaking it in like he was memorizing the moment.

Then Darlene appeared, towel in hand, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter. “Well, well, look at my handsome boys.”

Her voice cut through the music.

“Everyone! Y’all better say hi to Ethan!”

Every head turned.

“And be nice now, he ain't never been to a big party,” she added, like a ringmaster introducing her favorite act.

A wave of cheers followed — “Hey, Ethan!” “Glad you made it, son!”

Ethan’s face went crimson. He tried to shrink into the couch, but Wade just laughed and slid an arm around him, pulling him close. He pressed a kiss into Ethan’s hair, slow and sure, right there in front of everyone. “Told you they’d like you,” he murmured.

The room answered with chuckles and teasing whistles. Darlene fanned herself with her towel. “Alright, alright, back to your fun!”

The night stretched sweet and loud around them. The movie flickered on the TV, throwing flashes of blue and red across their faces. Someone yelled at a jump scare; someone else nearly spilled cider from laughing too hard. The house smelled like smoke and sugar and comfort — the scent of cornbread cooling on the counter, of hay on someone’s boots, of beer and warm skin and candle wax.

Ethan leaned into Wade, warm and full, the side of his face pressed against the sheriff’s badge still pinned crooked to Wade’s chest. He could feel the rise and fall of Wade’s breathing, slow and steady, grounding him in a way nothing else could. Wade’s hand found his, fingers tracing lazy circles into his palm — slow, absent, protective.

Every so often Wade dipped down to whisper something just for him.
“You’re doin’ so good, sugar.”
or
“Keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gonna have to arrest you right here.”

Ethan bit his lip, grinning, pulse quickening under Wade’s thumb.

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the porch swing. Inside, laughter rose and fell like music. And right there, amid the chaos and clatter and warmth, Ethan felt that quiet click of something deeper — the way Wade’s voice always found him, the way his touch steadied every part that used to shake.

He didn’t have words for it, but Wade did. He pressed a kiss to Ethan’s temple and whispered, “You’re home now, y’know that?”

Ethan smiled into his shoulder. “Yeah. I do.”

***

By midnight, the party had thinned into something looser, messier, and louder. The kids were tucked into guest beds and pull-out couches, tiny ghosts and princesses asleep beneath borrowed quilts that smelled faintly of laundry soap and cinnamon. The hallway was lined with kicked-off boots, glittery shoes, half-empty candy buckets. The hum of the house had shifted — no more shrieks or sugar-fueled chaos, just the low rhythm of grown-ups unwinding: laughter that cracked like kindling, glass clinks, the occasional whoop from the kitchen.

Darlene had given up trying to keep order. She stood at the counter, a witch’s hat now hanging off one side of her head, sipping wine and offering loud, theatrical commentary while a couple Wade was friends with twisted themselves into impossible knots on a Twister mat. The caller was brutal, it looked like he was directing a boudoir shoot. The air smelled of cider and heat, something fried and sweet, and faint traces of perfume and smoke that hung close to the ceiling. Someone else was dealing a hand of Cards Against Humanity, their voice slurring as they read out the filthiest options with dramatic flair.

“Good Lord,” Darlene drawled, half horrified, half delighted. “I didn’t raise y’all to be this way—”

“Sure you did,” Wade called back, voice warm and teasing. He leaned against the couch, hat tipped low, grin lazy and dangerous. “You just don’t wanna take credit.”

The room erupted in laughter.

Ethan sat curled in the corner of the couch, legs folded under him, the loose stripes of his shirt slipping off one shoulder. His cap hung by a thread, hair mussed, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the heat rolling off too many bodies in one small house. Ethan wasn't a drinker, but when he's being handed cups by strangers saying "You gotta try this one", it was hard to stay real sober. The music had changed — something heavier, slower, bass thrumming low enough that it stirred the air. His smile was soft, a little sleepy, that rare unguarded one Wade loved like sin.

Wade watched him, felt something spark low in his chest. Ethan looked more at ease than he had all night — loose, laughing quietly at the chaos around him — but Wade could still see the edges of shyness clinging to him, the way his fingers tapped against his knee when too many people talked at once. It made Wade want to pull him close, to steady him, to make him laugh again just to hear it.

He bent down until his breath brushed Ethan’s ear. “Hey, outlaw.”

Ethan cracked an eye open, lips quirking. “Mm?”

“You realize it’s after curfew, don’t you?” Wade murmured, his drawl slow and warm as honey, the words grazing more than they accused.

Ethan tilted his head, eyes glinting under the dim orange lights. “Didn’t know outlaws had a curfew.”

“They do now.”

Before Ethan could say another word, Wade swung one leg over and straddled him right there on the couch. The brush of denim against denim was loud in the hush that fell around them. His toy gun belt squeaked, the silver handcuffs clinking as they dangled from his fingers.

A few voices hollered from across the room, clearly looking to see Wade make his night. No secrets here. “Get him, Sheriff!” “Lock him up!”

Wade didn’t look away. His grin was all teeth and trouble. “You heard ‘em,” he said, voice low enough that Ethan could feel it in his chest. He snapped one cuff around Ethan’s wrist — not tight, just enough to make him jolt — and held the other end just out of reach.

Ethan’s laughter bubbled up in soft bursts, the kind that spilled out between breaths. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Wade said, leaning closer until his hat brim brushed Ethan’s forehead. The scent of leather and cedar clung to him, chased by the sweet burn of whiskey on his breath. “But I’m still takin’ you in.”

Their laughter folded into the din of the room — the clatter of cards, Darlene’s delighted shrieks from the kitchen, the bass of the music crawling through the floorboards. Ethan squirmed, pretending to fight, but Wade’s hands were steady, sure, the kind that knew how to handle a spooked horse or a boy trying too hard not to blush.

When Ethan finally stilled, chest rising fast under Wade’s hands, the noise of the party blurred into something distant. His breath caught; Wade’s grin softened. For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room.

Then Darlene’s voice cut through, sharp and fond. “If y’all are gonna go play cops and robbers,” she called, “you best not wake my grandbabies!”

The whole room broke into laughter again, loud and howling. Wade shook his head, cheeks pink, the corner of his mouth twitching as he stood, still holding the loose cuff chain between them.

“C’mon, trouble,” he said quietly, tugging Ethan’s wrist.

Ethan rose unsteady, still laughing, eyes bright in the dim. “Where we goin’, Sheriff?”

Wade leaned close enough for his breath to stir Ethan’s hair. “Somewhere quiet,” he drawled, “before you talk yourself into another charge.”

He led him down the hallway, past the flicker of the TV and the hum of conversation. The air cooled the farther they went, and the sound of laughter faded into a low thrum. The wood floors creaked beneath their boots; the faint scent of cinnamon and hay lingered in the walls. Behind them, the party roared on, but here — in the dim stretch of hallway — it was just the sound of their quiet laughter and the soft jingle of silver cuffs swinging between them.

***

They slipped down the hall like two kids sneaking past bedtime, laughter bubbling under their breath, boots thudding soft against the old wood floors. The party’s thrum faded behind them — just the faint pulse of a bassline and the hum of conversation, muffled by walls. It was late enough that the air had cooled, heavy with the smell of whiskey and cedar, faint smoke from the fire still clinging to Wade’s shirt.

“Try that one,” Ethan whispered, nodding toward the first guest room.

Wade eased it open — a tiny lump under a unicorn blanket. He froze mid-step and shut it again with exaggerated care. “Negative. Got a fairy sleepin'.”

Ethan covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. “This is awful.”

“Yeah? You’re the one with a record for curfew violations.”

They crept to the next. A bumblebee slept on a nest of pillows, tiny wings crumpled against flannel. Another door revealed a discarded ghost sheet beside a snoring boy. Wade turned slowly, expression caught somewhere between mock exasperation and fondness.

“You know,” he murmured, “Sheriff’s never had this much trouble bookin’ a suspect before.”

Ethan grinned, low and teasing. “Maybe you’re losin’ your touch.”

That earned him a quiet growl. Wade caught his cuffed wrist again, thumb tracing the inside where the skin was soft. “We’ll see about that.”

Finally, at the end of the hall — a door half-closed. Wade nudged it open. His sister’s old room. Stripped down and still. Boxes in the corner. A lamp glowing faintly gold. Sheets crisp and clean. It smelled faintly of old perfume and dust, like something remembered.

“Looks like we got ourselves a cell.” Wade’s grin flashed white. “Door’s even got a lock.”

“Check it,” Ethan said, serious through his smile. “You never know.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Wade bent to look — under the bed, behind the door, even opened the closet. “Satisfied, Sir Nervous?”

Ethan’s smirk faltered into a laugh. “Maybe.”

The lock clicked. The sound carried like a secret.

Wade turned, his drawl gone low, a slow tide rolling back in. “Alright, outlaw,” he said, stepping close enough that the air between them went warm, “hands where I can see ‘em.”

Ethan raised his wrists, the chain between them catching a sliver of lamplight. “You take your job awful serious, Sheriff.”

“Somebody’s gotta uphold the law.”

He backed Ethan up gently until his hips met the dresser. The wood creaked, the smell of cedar sharp and clean. Wade leaned in, his breath brushing Ethan’s cheek. The faint jingle of metal between them sounded almost like laughter.

“You know what your crime was?” Wade murmured. The cuffs clinked, the other on securing Ethan's loose wrist.

Ethan’s eyes flicked to his mouth. “No.”

“Stayin’ out after curfew,” Wade said, voice barely above a whisper. “And stealin’ a man’s heart if I remember right.”

Something in Ethan’s chest stuttered — part laughter, part ache. His face was still pink from the cider, his hair falling over his forehead, and he looked so alive, so open in that dim yellow light that Wade forgot what they were pretending to play.

“You’re a terrible cop,” Ethan said softly.

“Yeah,” Wade breathed, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “Guess you're a worse robber.”

Their laughter picked up again, softer this time. Wade pressed a quick, messy kiss to Ethan’s cheek, then another to the corner of his mouth.

Ethan leaned in, giggling helplessly as Wade bumped his hat off, then caught it before it hit the ground.

The cuffs clinked faintly between them, a rhythmic sound like a heartbeat.

The room smelled faintly of dust and old cedar, of Wade’s cologne and something warm that felt like home.

Outside, someone called for another round of drinks, followed by a burst of laughter.

Inside, everything slowed. The two of them stayed tangled together in the soft lamplight, all cowboy costume and stupid grins and the kind of affection that didn’t need words.

Ethan laughed again, breathless. “You’re lucky your mom loves me.”

“Lucky’s one word for it.” Wade smiled, voice roughened by fondness. “Now quit resistin’ arrest.”

Ethan pretended to think it over. “You gonna read me my rights?”

Wade grinned against his temple. “Naught outlaws don't got damn any rights tonight.”

The sound that left Ethan wasn’t laughter this time — more a quiet, content sigh as he leaned into Wade’s chest, their costumes ridiculous and half-wrinkled, the night humming steady around them.

They half-fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter, the old mattress letting out a long, tired creak beneath them. The sheets smelled faintly of cedar and detergent, dust rising in lazy swirls through the lamplight. Ethan kicked off one boot, breathless and grinning, hair a wild mess from Wade shagging it up.

“This is so stupid,” he murmured between laughs, pink-cheeked and glowing.

“Best kinda stupid,” Wade said, voice low and edged with a drawl that turned the words warm. He leaned down until the brim of his hat brushed Ethan’s hair again, shadowing his eyes.

Ethan tried to tug his wrists free, the chain clinking faintly between them like a tiny, secret laugh of its own. Wade only chuckled, the sound rough and fond, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ethan’s mouth — not enough to quiet him, just enough to make him laugh harder.

"Don't make me charge you with resistin', baby, punishment's gonna be real rough for ya."

“Stop,” Ethan gasped, wriggling against him, laughter spilling out. “You’re gonna—”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

They both froze.

From the other side of the door came Darlene’s unmistakable voice — sharp as a whip, but full of that exasperated humor only mothers had.

“Y’all best keep it down in there before I march in myself and drag you out by your ears! Don’t think I won’t!”

Wade went still, eyes wide for half a heartbeat — then he broke. A deep, uncontrollable laugh burst out of him, shaking his whole chest. Ethan folded into him, face buried against Wade’s shoulder, both of them trembling with barely contained laughter.

Darlene thumped the door once more for emphasis.

“And don’t you go lockin’ no doors in my house, Wade Ralston! Lord have mercy…”

Her footsteps faded away, back toward the noise and music of the party.

The silence that followed was thick and bright — the kind that felt alive with what had just happened. They were still tangled together, shoulders pressed close, their laughter slipping into quiet snickers they couldn’t quite stop. The chain between Ethan’s wrists glinted soft in the lamplight, swaying gently with every breath.

“She’s gonna tan your hide,” Ethan whispered at last, voice small and warm against Wade’s shoulder.

“Nah,” Wade said, still grinning through his breath. “She loves me too much.” He glanced down, catching Ethan’s gaze, something soft and steady in the blue of his eyes. “Might be mad at you, though.”

Ethan laughed again, low and unguarded. “Guess I’ll have to let you protect me, Sheriff.”

Wade’s hand came up, thumb tracing the edge of Ethan’s jaw, brushing over the faint blush that hadn’t left his face. “That’s a full-time job, darlin’.”

Outside, the laughter swelled again, the sound of a card game and a bottle clinking echoing faintly down the hall. Inside, the quiet felt different — fuller somehow, humming with their leftover laughter and something deeper that neither of them needed to name.

The cuffs gave one last clink as Wade reached for the key to lock them down still smiling that soft, wicked smile. “Now, where were we…”

Ethan swallowed, then leaned up to kiss him, this time he lingered there, let their lips move against each other in a hungry manner. Wade was quick to reciprocate the motion, teeth clashing until they had to split to breathe. 

He settled over Ethan on the creaky bed, the frame groaning in protest as he moved. Dust puffed up from the quilt as he leaned down to face Ethan, forehead to forehead. The lamplight caught the edges of his grin — that slow, wicked kind that always meant trouble.

“Well, now,” Wade drawled, voice dropping low and teasing. “Seems to me we’ve got one more bit of procedure to take care of.”

Ethan turned his head toward him, still pink from the kiss. “Procedure?”

“Mm-hmm. Can’t just let a suspect run free without a proper search. Never know what you’re hidin’.” Wade’s fingers found the chain between the cuffs, giving it a light tug that made the metal whisper.

Ethan gasped softly, the sound caught somewhere between amused and flustered. “You’re awful.”

“Certified,” Wade said easily, leaning closer. “Now hold still, outlaw. Sheriff’s gotta do his job.”

He started with Ethan’s stomach, right where the hair on his naval started to show on his stomach, it was getting thicker after Wade begged him to leave it alone and let it grow. 

He pulled at it softly, smoothed it down, then moved over to Ethan’s hips. He caressed and left kisses along the soft skin, focusing like this was his job. He then moved his calloused hands up Ethan's stomach, roaming the plains slowly and sensually. 

He reached his pectorals after a while, not hesitating to grab at his nipples and squeeze the buds harshly.

“Ah, Wade. Ow.”

“Hush, you’re obstructing, baby.”

Ethan pulled against his cuffs and writhed as Wade clamped down on his nipples, moaning way too loud for being in a house full of partygoers. Wade didn’t hush him then, he wanted them to hear.

Wade didn't stop there quite yet, he looked up at Ethan softly before he took Ethan’s right nipple in his mouth, rolling the bud on his tongue and softly sucking.

Ethan whined and tried to reach out to him, his cuffs stopping any movement he tried to make. It made him whine even higher, not being able to hold wade or touch any part of him. 

Wade didn't stop, he sucked harder and rolled the other between his fingers until Ethan started to whine louder, to try and shift away from him through his noises. 

He finally let go after Ethan arched his hips up, not sure whether to lean into the stimulation or pull away. 

He panted and looked up at Wade, hoping to receive something else, a kiss, a nip, something other than having his chest played with.

“You’re a sexy outlaw at least, makin’ my job pretty easy for me.” Wade drawled, leaving a soft kiss on the nipple he sucked on and bit. 

Wade made his way upwards towards Ethan’s neck, his shoulders, his jaw. He pulled his shirt up as much as he could and ran his hands all over the rest of his body, pinching and leaving open mouthed kisses all over. He left hickeys on Ethan’s neck, it had the boy’s eyes rolling back and his mouth wide open in shock and awe.

Wade came up over his face and leaned down close, nose to nose with Ethan. 

“Open up, outlaw. Gotta make sure you’re not hiding anything in that deep throat, hm?”

Ethan opened immedietly, sticking his tongue out and looking at Wade through his lashes. Without missing a beat, Wade spat on Ethan's tongue, then connected their lips. He swirled his liquid across Ethan's mouth, coating his teeth, his inner cheeks.

Ethan groaned loud and sucked Wade's tongue until he pulled away, wanting to keep him close and swallow whatever he could take.

"Don't you think you're bein' a little out of order? I've never seen a policeman suck face during a search."

"New laws, gotta get in there real good, make sure you ain't hidin' nothin'. Outlaws like you can get creative."

"Very creative indeed." Ethan hummed, leaning up to peck at Wade again.

Wade didn't say anything about that one, just kept up his search.

"You're distractin' me, outlaw, not very kind of you."

Wade's hands moved back down to Ethan's hips, down to his thighs and to the tent in his pants. He reached out and palmed the area, massaging the hard flesh as Ethan moaned in surprise. Wade watched as his black pants tightened in real time, each time he pressed and touched, Ethan hardened further.

"I can't believe what I'm seein', baby." Wade spoke, a smirk passing his lips. "I thought I told you no weapons, looks like you're hidin' a nice one right here."

Ethan went red in the cheeks, still groaning at the feeling of Wade massaging his shaft. He was so hard, so sensitive from all of this play.

"Looks like you gotta check it out, sheriff, it is your duty to keep the public safe." Ethan played along, partially because he was learning that he loved this, and partly because he wanted Wade in him as soon as possible. Wade tsked and shook his finger, sighing like he was disappointed. He tore off Ethan's pants and his boxers fast enough to catch Ethan off guard, he gasped and whined as the cool AC hit his dick head on. He was straight up in the air, dribbling in precum.

"Oh boy, outlaw. Someone just got in some big trouble. A weapon like this could really do some damage." Wade drawled, staring down at Ethan's length as is pulsed and begged for attention. Ethan's hands tugged against his cuffs again, needing to touch himself, or Wade, or anything but cold metal. They didn't budge. Wade only seemed to get more amused when Ethan struggled and whined.

"Please, sheriff, there's gotta be somethin' you can do. Help me out, seize my weapon." Ethan groaned, hips bucking as he spoke, he'd never been so turned on. Who knew Ethan would get so worked up by something as silly as this?

Wade's fingers lingered on the bulge in Ethan's pants, squeezing just enough to draw out another soft whimper from the man beneath him. The party noise filtered in from the hallway—laughter, clinking glasses—but here in this dimly lit side room, it felt like a world away. Wade's eyes gleamed with that proud spark, his cop costume shirt half-unbuttoned, badge glinting under the low light.

"Oh, I don't know about that, baby," Wade drawled, his drawl thickening with intent. He leaned in closer, breath hot against Ethan's ear. "Maybe I will seize your weapon, but you’ll still need to serve some time. Even pretty outlaws don't get off easy."

With deliberate slowness, Wade shifted his weight, one hand dropping to his own belt. The leather creaked as he unbuckled it, the zipper of his pants rasping down in the charged silence between them.

 Ethan's gaze flicked downward, cheeks flushing deeper as Wade tugged his pants open, freeing his thick shaft from the confines of his briefs. It sprang out, heavy and rigid, the shaft veined and flushed, the head already glistening with a bead of pre-cum under the room's warm glow.

Ethan's breath hitched, his cuffed wrists tugging uselessly behind him. They wouldn't budge, he wasn't strong enough to break them. 

"Wade... fuck, please..." His voice trailed off into a needy groan, eyes locked on the sight of Wade's erection bobbing inches from his thigh.

"Don’t worry, outlaw. I’m gonna get to ya real soon. We’ll get you all sorted so I can release ya.” Wade drawled, wrapping his fist around his base and giving it a slow, teasing stroke. The motion made his cock twitch, the skin sliding smoothly over the pre lubed shaft beneath. He angled it toward Ethan, letting the tip brush against the soft skin of Ethan's own length, the two of them stiffened almost upon sight of one another. "See this, baby? This is my sidearm. And it's locked and loaded for takin' down bad boys like you."

He dragged the head along the outline of Ethan's naval, the heat of his cock seeping through to his core, making Ethan buck his hips involuntarily. Wade pressed firmer, grinding the slick tip against the hair trailing down, smearing a faint trail of pre-cum that tangled in the trail. Ethan's moans were raw, his body arching as much as the cuffs allowed, thighs parting wider in silent invitation.

"Please... babe," Ethan gasped, playing into the role with a lidded plea. "I... I’ll be good. Just—do somethin'."

Wade's smirk widened, his free hand sliding up Ethan's thigh, fingers digging into the muscle. "Be good, huh? That's a start. But I gotta search you proper first, inspect your weapon here, make sure he’s registered.”

Ethan mewled when Wade’s hands found his length

Wade hummed approvingly, his own length throbbing in his grip as he eyed the exposed flesh. "Well, hot damn. That's one fine piece you've got there, outlaw. But it's in my custody now." He leaned down, spitting a thick glob of saliva onto Ethan's shaft before wrapping his hand around it. The warmth of his palm engulfed Ethan completely, stroking from sack to tip in firm, twisting pulls that had Ethan's head falling back against the cushions.

Ethan's hips jerked, a strangled cry escaping his lips as Wade's thumb circled the sensitive head, spreading the spit and pre-cum into a slick mess. "Oh god, Wade—fuck, please..."

"That's it, good job, E," Wade murmured, his voice rough with arousal and comfort. He pumped Ethan's length a little faster, the wet sounds filling the air, sloppy yet intimate. But he didn't let up on teasing with his own—punishing his outlaw for his crimes. Every so often, he'd guide his shaft to slap lightly against Ethan's thigh, the heavy weight leaving a warm sensation, or nudge it against Ethan's balls, rolling them gently with the underside.

The sensation drove Ethan wild, his body trembling, breaths coming in sharp pants. Wade watched every reaction, cataloging the way Ethan's soft abs clenched, the way his toes curled in desperation. "You like bein' my outlaw, hm? Cuffed and spread, beggin' for the law to set you straight."

Ethan nodded frantically, sweat beading on his forehead. "Mm-hmm, I need you. Please, Wade." His voice cracked, raw desperation bleeding through.

Wade's control frayed at the plea, his length aching for more than just teasing. He let go of Ethan's shaft, letting it slap gently against his stomach. He pressed two fingers to Ethan’s mouth, asking gently for him to open.

“C’mon, E. Get this nice and wet for me, yeah?” 

Ethan obeyed immediately and coated Wade’s fingers in saliva, his eyes big and soft around the edges as he did so. He made sure he soaked them, not wanting to feel the discomfort dry friction brought. 

Once Wade was satisfied he slowly pulled his fingers out of Ethan’s mouth and stroked Ethan’s cheek once. 

“You still okay, Ethan? Tell me if you need a break, I’ll wait.” Wade asked, holding up his two lubed fingers, not taking it a step further until Ethan gave him the go ahead.

“I’m okay, still good.” Ethan replied in a pant, nodding to push along his point. He was eager, very much so. 

Wade nodded and brought his fingers to Ethan’s hole, pressing one against Ethan's entrance.

Ethan forced himself to relax with a whine, pushing back as Wade circled the rim, spreading the slickness. "You’re okay, I’m right here," Wade spoke, the cop persona slipping into something deeper, softer for a moment. "Take your time."

He pushed the finger in slowly, savoring the heat that gripped him, the way Ethan's walls fluttered around him. Ethan mewled, his cock twitching untouched, leaking precum steady now. Wade crooked his finger, finding a spot inside and rubbing it firmly, drawing out a guttural moan from his boy that made Wade's own arousal spike.

"Good boy, E," Wade growled, slowly adding a second finger when he thought Ethan was ready for one more. The slide was smooth with the saliva that still coated him, but the feeling made Ethan gasp, his thighs quivering. Wade moved them in and out, deliberate thrusts that hit his soft spots gently, but firmly, each time, building the pressure until Ethan's pleas turned more desperate.

"Wade—hey. I’m close, I want you. Please, officer."

Wade withdrew his fingers slowly, lining up his tip against Ethan's hole. The head touched his rim, hot and insistent, as Wade gripped Ethan's hips to hold him steady.

“Hey, look at me for a second, E.” Wade spoke up again, looking serious again.

Ethan did, he made eye contact again, knowing what he was going to say.

“If you don’t want to play anymore or you want to quit, just say so. You’re not stuck.” 

“I know, I’ll let you know. I trust you.” 

Wade smiled at that and kissed Ethan’s forehead before he went back down to business, taking on his officer persona again to continue their play. 

 "This is part of your sentence, outlaw. A full-body cavity search." He pushed forward, pushing into Ethan inch by inch, gentle as he could but not as slow as he used to. 

Ethan's whine was muffled against Wade’s shoulder, the stretch sweet as Wade slowly got to bottoming out, sack pressed flush against Ethan. They stilled for a beat, breaths mingling, Wade's forehead resting on Ethan's shoulder just to ground them both. Then Wade rolled his hips, grinding deep, making Ethan shudder.

"Feels good," Ethan whimpered, clenching around him. He could see Wade looking down at him, a silent check-in Ethan had gotten very used to.

Wade pulled back halfway, then moved forward, setting a rhythm that was rough but thoughtful. Each thrust took the air from Ethan's lungs, his own length between their bodies, sliding against Wade's uniform shirt with every slap of skin on skin. Wade's hands roamed—gripping Ethan's thighs to spread him wider, rubbing gently when he started to thrust in harder. 

"Atta’ boy, outlaw" Wade panted, voice strained as he moved into him harder, the bed creaking under them. "You’re so good, Ethan. Too hot to be sentenced, sweetheart."

Ethan's responses shifted into soft moans, his body rocking to meet wade with each drive forward he made, the cuffs rattling behind him. The pleasure coiled tight in his gut, spurred by the angle that nailed his soft spots each time. Wade reached down, finding Ethan's hard length again, rubbing it in time with his thrusts—fast, slick motions that matched the pace he'd set.

Then it came.

“Wade—Wade, I'm close.”

Wade didn't hesitate, he couldn't deny him, not Ethan. Not like this.

"Come for me, E—you’re so good. Maybe you’ll get released if you come for me real nice," Wade spoke, teeth grazing Ethan's neck and lips kissing his Adam’s apple.

It didn't take Ethan long to finish, driven by Wade’s words and his movements. He came with a shout, ropes of white spewing across his chest and Wade's wrinkled shirt. The feeling of Ethan finishing tipped Wade over, his rhythm faltering as he pushed deep one last time, releasing his load with a groan.

***

The lamp threw a gentle amber glow across the room, touching everything in honey light — the rumpled quilt, the silver chain of the cuffs now lying open between them, the curve of Ethan’s cheek as he blinked sleepily toward Wade.

Wade shifted closer, tugging the quilt up over them both. “Hey,” he murmured, brushing a thumb beneath Ethan’s eye where his lashes had gone heavy. “You still with me, outlaw?”

Ethan smiled faintly, that loose, tired kind of smile. “Barely. You wore me out.”

“That’s ‘cause you fight back too much,” Wade teased, his voice softer than his words. “Oughta learn to surrender to the law once in a while.”

Ethan huffed out a laugh that was more breath than sound, eyes half-lidded now. Wade felt the weight of him settle — not heavy, just real. Present. His pulse had slowed; his shoulders had gone loose where they’d been tense all night.

“Hey,” Wade said again, quieter now, as if the walls might listen. “I don't want you worryin' about Ma. She don’t mind if we stay. Probably already figured we would.”

Ethan made a soft sound in reply — something between a hum and a sigh — as he rolled closer until his forehead brushed Wade’s collarbone. The smell of cedar and detergent lingered in the sheets, mixed with Wade’s aftershave and the faint sweetness of the cider they’d been drinking.

Wade curved his arm around him, holding him there, fingers tracing idle shapes along his back. “Get some rest, alright? You’re more than welcome here.”

“Mm,” Ethan breathed, barely awake. “Feels like it.”

“I'm glad.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. Outside, a floorboard creaked, and somewhere down the hall Darlene’s laughter carried faintly from the tail end of the party. But in that small, dim room, it was all slow heartbeats and steady breaths — the kind of quiet that only comes when everything else finally falls away.

Wade brushed a stray bit of hair from Ethan’s forehead, pressing a small kiss there before whispering, “Night, darlin’.”

Ethan murmured something too soft to catch, already drifting. Wade smiled, settled back, and let himself listen to that gentle rhythm — the noise of the house, the rise and fall of Ethan’s breathing — until sleep took him too.

Happy Halloween! (AO3 you made me mad)

Chapter Text

Ethan didn’t even dream—or maybe he did and forgot.

When he woke, it was to the soft drip of coffee in the kitchen and the faint scrape of Charlie’s bowl nudged across the tile.

The air was warm, touched with butter and oak smoke, the kind that made a house feel lived in. Wade came by his side of the bed with a chipped mug in one hand and a biscuit wrapped in paper towel in the other. His hair was damp from a quick rinse, curling just slightly at his neck. The scent of soap and fresh coffee followed him.

“Morning, cowboy,” he said, voice still gravelly from sleep.

Ethan sat up slow, hair flattened on one side, eyes heavy but clearer than they’d been in days.

He grunted his thanks, took the mug, and sipped.

The sugar hit first, soft and sweet, loosening the tension in his shoulders.

Wade sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, not rushing either of them.

No nagging. No noise. Just the hum of the house and the easy rhythm of their morning.

By the time they were dressed—denim creased, belts tugged snug—Ethan caught Wade’s reflection in the mirror and lingered a beat too long. The corners of Wade’s mouth curved like he knew it.

“Quit starin’ or you’re gonna choke on that coffee,” Wade warned without looking up.

Ethan snorted, nearly spitting the sip across the sink.

“Ain’t starin’,” he muttered, but the grin said otherwise.

At the door, Wade paused, pulled his hat off, and shoved it gently onto Ethan’s head before tugging Ethan’s down low over his own brow.

No grin. No comment. Just a quiet trade. The kind that said more than either of them did out loud.

Ethan blinked, thumb brushing the brim like he needed to be sure it was real, and followed after him—boots soft on the worn porch, the sun already warming the yard.

Something about him was lighter as they crossed toward the barn. He whistled once, slow and tuneless, boots scuffing in rhythm. When High Noon’s head popped over the stall, Ethan’s voice came bright and teasing, the sound carrying easy down the aisle. He leaned in close, scratching the gelding’s cheek, the morning dust soft in the air around them. Wade watched from the doorway, one hand on the frame, quiet pride in the lines of his face.

It was proof in flesh and bone—Ethan wasn’t ruined by love, wasn’t dragged down by Wade’s hand. The only ones who’d ever crushed him were his own parents. Wade just gave him the space to come back to himself.

***

The air outside was crisp, the kind that burned just enough in the lungs to feel clean. Ethan rolled up his sleeves, coffee still humming in his system, and followed Wade down toward the barn. The gravel crunched under their boots, the faint scent of hay and dew mixing in the cool air. The day was already bright but quiet, the hum of life softer than usual—just the wind in the pecan trees and the steady drip from the barn roof where last night’s rain still clung.

Wade didn’t bark orders or map out the morning like he sometimes did. He just leaned against the fence post, thumb hooked in his belt loop, and asked, “You wanna water first or feed first?”

Ethan blinked, a bit thrown. “Uh… I’ll feed.”

“Then feed,” Wade said simply, and didn’t add anything else.

So Ethan fed. He worked slow, steady, letting each horse nose into their grain, the soft thud of hooves against wood blending with the rustle of feed bags. He lingered a little longer at High Noon’s stall, brushing the gelding’s nose when he tried to sneak bites from the next bucket over. The horse’s breath puffed warm against his wrist, and for the first time in days, Ethan didn’t flinch at the sound of his own laugh. Wade didn’t rush him. Just watched, leaning an elbow on the gate, the brim of Ethan’s borrowed hat shadowing his grin.

By mid-morning, the first truck rattled up the drive, tires crunching on gravel. Netty climbed down from the driver’s seat in her usual too-bright scarf, half her gray hair tucked under her helmet already. “Mornin’, boys!” she called, voice cutting through the still air. “Hope you got a good one for me today!”

Wade chuckled, low and familiar. “You know he’s always ready for you, Netty.”

Ethan fetched her gelding, soft voice and slow hands, the kind of calm that horse loved. The gelding nickered as Ethan looped the lead rope, his hide warm beneath the morning sun. By the time Ethan handed the reins to her, she was already gossiping about some barrel racer she saw at the feed store. Wade took her to the arena, just letting her move and stretch, while Ethan stayed behind.

He didn’t push himself, didn’t think too much. He lunged two of the colts in quiet circles until their sweat darkened their hides, the smell of worked horse and dust filling the air. He rewrapped a bandage on the bay mare who’d gone sore last week, then turned Rosie outside just to let her buck the morning off. It felt good—no noise in his head, no worry about doing it wrong. Just work.

When Wade came back leading Netty and her gelding, Ethan stepped right up to help, hands already reaching for the girth. “How’d he do?” he asked.

“Good,” Wade said, but his hand came down, stopping Ethan mid-buckle. “I got him. You got somethin’ else I want you to do.”

Ethan’s brow knit. “What’s that?”

“Go pull out High Noon.”

Ethan hesitated, halfway between surprise and excitement. “Now?”

“Now,” Wade said, voice soft but sure. “Netty wants to see what kinda trouble I dragged home this time.”

Netty perked up instantly, eyes bright. “Oh, I’ve been waitin’ to meet that new boy!”

Ethan’s nerves buzzed, but he went. High Noon met him at the gate like he already knew he was about to be shown off. Saddling took twice as long with the gelding nosing into every buckle, pretending to help. Ethan muttered the whole way through—“Quit that, you ain’t helpin’,”—but his grin gave him away.

When he was finally ready, Wade just nodded from the rail. “Go on then.”

No instructions. No plan. Just an open arena, his horse, and the morning stretching wide. The dirt gave under the gelding’s hooves, soft and familiar, the rhythm of breath and movement syncing like muscle memory. Ethan swung up, settled his seat, and let the reins slip through his fingers. The rhythm came easy—High Noon’s stride long and sure, Ethan’s shoulders loosening with each lap.

Wade watched, arms crossed, the faintest smile touching his face. He’d wanted peace for Ethan today, and here it was: not silence, but balance.

Ethan eased into the saddle like he was sliding back into something familiar, something that still felt like home even when the rest of his world didn’t. High Noon flicked an ear back, gave a little grunt, then stepped out soft and easy beneath him. The leather creaked, the bit jingled, dust lifting faintly with every step, and for the first time in days, Ethan’s shoulders fell loose.

The gelding carried him like he knew. Like he could feel the tightness that’d been sitting in Ethan’s chest all week. He didn’t fight him, didn’t test him—just moved with that old kind of grace, the kind that said, I got you.

They walked a few laps, then trotted out, the rhythm slow and sweet. High Noon’s neck stretched low, his nose just above the dirt. When Ethan asked him to lope, he lifted right into it, no kick, no fuss. The wind tugged at his shirt, lifted the brim of his hat—the one that still smelled faintly like Wade’s cologne, a mix of cedar and soap—and for a moment all the noise in his head dulled.

High Noon gave a playful crow hop down the long side, tail flicking high before settling back into rhythm. Ethan laughed under his breath, couldn’t help it. “You’re real funny, huh?”

The gelding snorted like he agreed. He whinnied once toward the barn, then went back to business, ears flicking forward. He always did that—had to announce himself, make sure the world knew he was working, before he got down to it. Ethan reached forward, ran his hand up the horse’s neck, fingers sinking into the warm sheen of his coat. The scent of sweat and sun-warmed leather wrapped around him. “Good boy,” he murmured, over and over, more to himself than to the horse.

They worked a few lead changes down the center, each one smooth, clean, almost like breathing. Ethan barely had to touch him, just thought it—and High Noon did it. The gelding stayed soft through his body, head low, waiting on Ethan’s next cue.

Then Ethan slowed him down, just to see how far they could go. The lope shortened, slowed, until it was almost still—just the faint roll of muscle under saddle, a rhythm that barely moved them forward. High Noon could’ve done it all day, ears flicking back and forth, content to listen and keep pace with Ethan’s every quiet shift.

It wasn’t training. It wasn’t practice. It was something more—two creatures moving together in the calm that only comes after too many storms.

Ethan patted the gelding’s neck again, voice low and soft. “Yeah, that’s my boy.” His chest ached, but not the bad kind—it was the ache that comes when something starts to heal.

High Noon blew out a long sigh, and Ethan took it like a cue, breathing deep with him, matching that exhale. The cicadas buzzed steady in the trees, the sun warm on his back, the soft thud of hooves in the dirt marking the rhythm of peace. For a while, it was just them—the kind of quiet that finally felt good again.

***

Wade leaned on the fence rail, thumbs hooked into his belt, watching Ethan like he always did—but today it felt different. There wasn’t a trace of last night left in the boy. No shaking hands, no quick, shallow breaths. Just Ethan and High Noon moving like they’d been born a pair, dust curling warm around them in the morning light, sunlight flashing off the horse’s coat like honey.

The gelding loped easy, tail flicking, head bobbing low and proud. Ethan’s hat sat crooked on his head—Wade’s hat—and even from a distance, Wade could see the way he was grinning, all teeth and sunburned cheeks, wind tugging at his shirt.

He felt something twist in his chest, not the bad kind—more like the kind that made his throat go tight. He thought about the night before, the tears Ethan tried to hide, the way he’d grumbled and hiccuped through everything he hated about home, about the family that’d built him scared and small. All that fear, all that hurt—it was gone now. High Noon had taken it, carried it off into the dirt somewhere between those fences.

Wade let out a slow breath, the dry air rough in his lungs. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the grit of dust and stubble. He was grateful for that horse in a way he couldn’t say out loud. High Noon did what even he couldn’t sometimes—gave Ethan peace, gave him a chance to breathe without all that weight on his back.

Netty stood a few rails down, leaning with both elbows up and watching with that kind of quiet admiration only horsewomen get. “That’s a good mount he’s got there,” she said, her voice soft and sweet. “You can tell he loves that one.”

Wade just nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured, still looking out at them. “He’s right where he belongs.”

Netty smiled, but she didn’t see it the way Wade did. She saw a rider. Wade saw his boy—free, for once. Not thinking, not worrying, not trying to be what anyone else made him be. Just a young man on his horse, dust in his teeth and sun on his skin, laughing like nothing in the world could touch him.

When Ethan finally slowed to a stop and leaned down to pat High Noon’s neck, Wade caught the way he spoke to the gelding, quiet and fond. He couldn’t hear it, didn’t need to. He knew that tone. Gratitude, affection, something wordless that made Ethan who he was.

He walked the horse out a while longer before swinging down, boots thudding against dirt. Wade saw the small smile still sitting on his lips, a little tired but soft in that way that meant he’d had a good ride. He rubbed High Noon’s shoulder, whispered something low, then loosened the cinch. He wasn’t going to push him today—not after that show, not after everything.

Wade met him halfway back to the barn, arms crossed loose like always. Ethan looked up, eyes bright again, his voice light when he said, “He still got it.”

Wade smiled slow, pride tugging at his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, voice easy. “So do you.”

***

High Noon’s neck was slick with sweat, coat darkened to a greyish-blue sheen that caught the sun. The air smelled of warm leather and hay, that faint sweet tang of horse sweat clinging to everything. The gelding blew through his nose, tired but happy, ears flicking toward Ethan like he was waiting for praise.

Ethan gave it freely—hands patting, voice low and fond. “You did good, buddy. You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

He slipped the reins over the gelding’s head and led him toward the barn, both of them gleaming lightly in the sun. The cicadas hummed somewhere in the distance, and the mats underfoot squeaked as they walked. It wasn’t just High Noon cooling down—it was Ethan too, his pulse still running wild in the best way. He looked alive again, loose and easy in a way that made Wade’s chest ache.

Netty caught him halfway down the barn aisle, her silver hair frizzing around her helmet, dust clinging to her boots. “Lord, that’s a fine horse, sweetheart,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “You two look picture-perfect out there. Made me wish I was twenty years younger.”

Ethan ducked his head, cheeks pink under the brim of his hat. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said shyly, scratching the back of his neck. “He’s real special. Lucky to have him.”

“Oh, I think he’s lucky to have you,” she teased, patting High Noon’s neck, her hand leaving a faint print in the damp hair. “You’re the kind of boy that makes a horse trust easy.”

Ethan couldn’t think of what to say to that, so he just smiled, soft and crooked, and let her hug him before she went on about her grandbabies coming over. She promised to bring lunch next time and waved her way down the aisle until she disappeared out the barn doors, sunlight catching in her hair as she went.

The second Wade heard her truck roll out of the drive, he was there—closing the distance before Ethan could even grab the saddle horn. Big hands wrapped around Ethan’s middle, arms locking him back against his chest in a hold that wasn’t tight, just full. Wade ducked his head down, his grin warm and wicked against Ethan’s cheek, breath still carrying that faint trace of coffee.

“Goddamn, you looked good out there,” he murmured, punctuating the words with a kiss at the corner of Ethan’s jaw. “Looked like you were born sittin’ up 'ere.”

“Wade—” Ethan started, but the older man wasn’t listening. He just chuckled, half smothering Ethan in rough affection—pressing quick kisses wherever he could catch skin, his stubble scraping against Ethan’s neck. The smell of dust and horse lingered between them. He gave him a playful pinch in the side that made Ethan yelp and squirm.

“Stop it, she might still be—”

“She’s gone,” Wade said, nipping at his ear before pulling back enough to look at him. “Ain’t nobody here but us.”

Ethan’s laughter broke out of him bright and helpless, his hat nearly falling off when he tried to duck away. He was still holding High Noon’s reins, half tangled in Wade’s arms, still smelling like sweat and dust and sunbaked hay.

The gelding just stood there while they played and roughhoused, not a care in the world. 

Wade finally let up, brushing the back of Ethan’s neck with a hand, thumb running over the fine hair there. “You did good today,” he said quietly this time, sincerity cutting through the teasing. “Proud of my cowboy.”

Ethan looked up at him, grin dimming into something soft and full, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the words. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Means a lot, Wade.”

Wade just nodded toward High Noon, voice dropping low and easy again. “Go on, get him cooled off before he dries patchy. Don’t need him gettin’ all itchy.”

Ethan smiled, gave Wade a quick nudge in the ribs like payback for the earlier pinch, and led High Noon into the wash rack, the cool shade wrapping around them as water began to trickle and hiss against the barn floor.

The wash bay steamed faintly as Ethan worked, the late-morning light slanting in through the open barn doors in gold ribbons. High Noon stood half-asleep under the hose, one hind leg cocked, head low. Water rolled off his shoulders in dark streams, carrying away salt and dust. Ethan ran it slow and easy, not wanting to shock him. The air smelled of hay and damp leather and sun-warmed metal, thick with that summer heat that clung to skin. When he switched to the sweat scraper, the horse twitched and flicked his tail but didn’t move away—he was a horse who liked being fussed over, who’d earned his bath and his oats both.

Down the aisle, Wade’s voice carried faintly—low commands, the short hiss of a lunge line cutting air, a whistle that rose and fell. Ethan could picture him without looking: steady in the center of the ring, hat shadowing his eyes, patience wrapped in grit. The rhythm of it—his voice, the snort of the colt—made the whole place feel steady, like everything inside those fencelines would always be okay as long as Wade was there.

***

When High Noon was dry and brushed out, Ethan turned him loose in the paddock to roll. He stayed a minute, laughing when the horse threw himself down and came up coated in dust again, undoing every bit of that bath. The smell of turned earth and horse sweat hung in the air as Ethan wiped his hands on his jeans and headed toward the round pen to find Wade.

He could tell something was off before he even reached the gate. Wade wasn’t moving, wasn’t talking—just standing with his hands braced on the fence, shoulders drawn tight beneath his shirt. Inside the pen, Cilia hobbled on three legs, her right forefoot barely touching the dirt. She still had her bright eye, her soft muzzle twitching toward Ethan when she saw him, but the sight of her limping stopped him cold.

Wade looked worn—older somehow, the lines around his mouth deeper. His hat was pushed back, hair damp at the temples. He’d wiped a hand over his face like a man trying not to cry.

“What’s the matter?” Ethan asked, quiet, already knowing.

Wade didn’t look up right away. “It’s that damn abscess,” he said finally, voice gravel-rough. “Ain’t drainin’, and she’s not bearin’ any weight on it anymore.” His throat bobbed. “She’s twenty-one, E. Vet says diggin’ around’ll just hurt her worse.”

Ethan’s chest ached. He climbed the fence and leaned there, watching the old mare limp across the pen, her ears still forward like she thought she was gonna get a treat. The wind stirred up dust around her hooves, carrying that sweet, dry smell of hay and old sweat.

Wade sighed, heavy and tired clear through. “I keep pumpin’ her full of bute, she won’t eat. Don’t, and she can’t stand.” He swallowed hard, eyes on the mare. “Don’t feel like a choice either way.”

Ethan didn’t try to fix it—he knew better than to feed false hope. Instead, he swung down beside Wade and reached over the rail, rubbing the mare’s withers. Her skin quivered under his hand, and she made a face—upper lip wiggling, jaw slack like she was grinning. That little quirk had always made Wade laugh, and it nearly did now, though the sound caught halfway up his throat.

“She still likes that,” Ethan said softly.

“Yeah,” Wade murmured, voice thin. “She always did.”

They stood like that for a long minute, both quiet, the sun pressing warm on their backs, the only sounds the creak of the rail and Cilia’s uneven steps in the dirt. Wade’s fingers drummed once against the fence before he stilled them, jaw set like he could keep himself from breaking if he just stayed still enough. Ethan glanced at him—half knowing what that stillness meant, half trusting Wade would think of something, like he always did. It wasn’t much, but it was what they could give her—company, a gentle hand, and love that didn’t stop just because her body was giving out.

Wade didn’t say much after that. He just looked at Cilia for a long time, his jaw tight, eyes glassy and distant. Ethan could tell he was somewhere else — back at a showground, maybe, when she still floated like smoke through the arena, light and perfect.

When Ethan reached out, just to rest a hand on Wade’s arm, Wade flinched. Not sharply, not mean — just pulled back, shaking his head.
“Nuh-uh,” he said softly. “Just—stay with her. Or find something to do. Please.”

It wasn’t angry, but it was final. Ethan froze where he was, the rejection sitting heavy in his chest. Wade had never pushed him away before, not once.

So he didn’t push. He stayed by Cilia, scratching her withers while she shifted her weight and blew softly through her nose, patient and gentle despite the limp. Wade walked off toward the barn, shoulders rigid, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

He disappeared into the tack room. The door shut.

Ethan didn’t follow.

Inside, Wade sat with his back to the wall, head in his hands. The smell of leather and oil hung thick around him. He stayed there a long time — half an hour, maybe more — staring at the floor, thinking about the first ribbon that mare ever won him, about the kid who’d cried on her neck after a blue, about the way she’d always waited for him at the gate.

He knew what he should do. As a horseman, he’d always known when it was time. But as Wade, the boy who’d built everything he had with that mare at his side, he didn’t want to. He wanted to buy her another week. Another day. Anything.

When he finally picked up the phone, his voice was steady but hoarse.
“Hey,” he said to the vet. “Can you come take a look at Cilia again? Please. I just—need a plan. Something. Anything.”

He’d sell the damn house if it meant she could run again.

***

By the time the vet truck rolled up, the light had turned gold and thin, the way it gets before dusk—soft, forgiving, and cruel all at once. Wade came out of the tack room looking hollow-eyed but calm, Ethan at his shoulder, both walking slow. The vet climbed out with a med student in tow—a kid maybe Ethan’s age, notebook in hand, too polite to speak. The truck door creaked shut, echoing down the quiet yard.

They walked out to the round pen together. Cilia lifted her head when she saw them, her ears twitching tiredly, the faintest whicker leaving her throat. Her coat caught the light—faded chestnut and gray, dulled from years of sweat and summers—and her eyes were still kind. The smell of dust and sun-warmed hide hung heavy, wrapping the air in something sweet and familiar.

The vet crouched, ran a hand down her leg, murmuring things under his breath. He’d tried with her before. He tried again now—pressed, probed, looked up at Wade once or twice. The soft snap of his gloves, the faint rattle of the syringe kit, the distant cluck of a cricket were the only sounds. It wasn’t long before his eyes softened, and Ethan knew.

“She’s got bad feet,” the vet said gently. “Always has. I could drain it, but she’ll still be sore. Still three-legged. It’d just wear her down.”

Wade’s throat worked, jaw tight, but he didn’t speak. His hand flexed once against his thigh, then stilled.

“If we leave it,” the vet went on, “she’ll limp the rest of her days. It won’t kill her fast, but it won’t be kind either.”

Silence fell like a blanket. The sun dipped lower, painting Cilia’s mane copper and gold. Ethan didn’t move. The med student looked away, pretending to study his notes but blinking hard.

Wade stared at the mare for a long time. The creases around his eyes were deep, carved by years of dust and sun—and by her. He’d raised her from a foal, had broken her in with his own hands, fed her every winter when money ran out, whispered her name when the storms came. She’d been his first win, his first loss, his constant. And now she stood there trusting him to make it right, even when the right thing hurt most.

He wanted to fix it. God, he wanted to fix it. He wanted to pay for some miracle, trade his lungs or his sleep or his years for her soundness. But he knew better. Horses didn’t live on wanting. Not with love, not with time.

He drew in a shaky breath that rattled through him, wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, and nodded.
“Go ahead,” he said quietly. “If that’s what’s kindest. Just—don’t make her wait.”

The vet gave a small nod and went to the truck. The sound of gravel crunching under his boots was loud in the hush.

Wade stood there with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching Cilia shift and sigh. She turned her head toward him, that same slow, faithful movement, and leaned her nose toward his chest like she always did—like she could still smell the peppermint he used to sneak her before shows. He lifted a hand and let her muzzle press against it, thumb tracing the soft dip between her nostrils.

Ethan had never seen someone love something so hard it looked like it hollowed them out. Wade’s shoulders trembled once, then went still again, the kind of still that holds every ounce of grief too big to speak.

Ethan didn’t say anything—just reached out, rested a hand on Wade’s shoulder, and stayed there until the world went quiet again. The crickets kept singing, the air cooled, and somewhere beyond the pasture, a dove called low and lonely.

By the time the vet worked quietly through his motions, the light had gone honey-colored, slanting through the barn slats and catching in the dust. He explained each step in that low, practiced voice meant to calm the living as much as the dying. Wade stayed by Cilia’s head, fingers buried deep in her tangled mane, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles along the warm, silken skin of her neck. The air smelled of hay and iodine, that sharp, metallic tang of endings. Ethan stood back with the med student, both of them still as fence posts, listening to the soft shuffle of boots and the muffled breath of a horse at rest.

It didn’t take long. Cilia sighed once, her eyelids fluttering like she was finally surrendering to sleep, and then she was gone. The vet rested a hand on Wade’s shoulder. “She’s gone,” he said softly. “I’m real sorry, Wade. You gave her a damn good life.”

Wade just nodded, throat tight. He brushed her forelock from her eyes, his rough palm lingering over the soft curve of her face. He didn’t cry — not yet — only knelt there, breathing ragged, as if he could steady himself by sheer will. When the vet offered a hand, Wade took it with quiet strength, the other still pressed to Cilia’s neck.
“Thank you,” he managed, voice cracked and small.

The vet packed up, offered one last condolence, and the truck rumbled off down the gravel drive. The sound faded until all that was left was the hum of crickets and the faint creak of the rafters in the cooling air.

That’s when Wade broke.

It hit like a collapse — the kind that steals all breath and leaves nothing but noise. He folded down beside her, fists caught in her mane, shoulders shaking. The sound of it was raw and human, no armor left, just grief. Ethan froze where he stood, hat in his hands, watching the man who he loved come apart in the dirt.

Wade didn’t want words. Didn’t want to be held. He just clung to her, whispering things too soft to catch, trying to will her heart to start again.

Ethan stood there in the doorway, the sky gone lavender and thin. The air carried the smell of dust, leather, and loss. And he swore he’d never forget that sound — the quiet after, the ache, the way love could split a man clean in two.

***

Ethan stayed where he was, a few paces off, hat twisting slow between his palms. He’d never seen Wade cry before — never thought he could. The sound of it was rough and strangled, dragged from somewhere deep, and it broke something in Ethan just to watch. He didn’t move closer, didn’t want to make it worse. But the tears came anyway, uninvited, tracing hot down his cheeks in the long, dying light that painted everything gold and gray.

It took a long time for Wade to get himself up. When he finally did, his hands were trembling, his face drawn tight from crying, eyes red and wet in the dim barn light. “Get me a pair of scissors,” he said, voice barely more than gravel. “And a roll of electrical tape.”

Ethan didn’t ask. The barn was heavy with dust and salt as he fetched them, the scissors cool and weighty in his hand. Wade took them, knelt back beside Cilia, and started to cut.

He worked slow, steady, murmuring under his breath the whole time — little things, half prayers, half goodbyes. “Good girl, Cilia… you did damn good, girl… thank you.” His voice kept catching, but he didn’t stop, like maybe she could still hear him through the quiet. The sound of the scissors snipping through coarse hair was soft and final, falling into the hush of the barn.

He cut her tail first, then her mane, then the small wisp of forelock that always curled between her eyes. The air smelled of her — sweet hay, sweat, and the faint trace of peppermint he used to sneak her before rides. Wade taped the locks together carefully, hands shaking, then held them close to his chest like something holy.

“Wherever she’s at,” he said softly, voice raw and frayed, “she’s raisin’ hell now. A little less hair, but a lot more love than most ever get.”

Ethan swallowed hard. His throat burned. There wasn’t anything to say that wouldn’t sound small or foolish, so he just nodded, humming low in agreement, letting Wade know he wasn’t alone. Together they pulled the tarp over Cilia, tucking it tight against the cooling wind that swept through the open doors. She’d be buried in the morning, Wade said. He couldn’t do it tonight.

When it was done, Wade finally turned toward him. His eyes were glassy, empty and pleading in that quiet way he had when words failed. Ethan didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, arms open, and pulled him close.

Wade folded into him without a fight, chest shaking, breath stuttering against Ethan’s neck. For the first time, Ethan was the one holding him up — feeling the weight of a man undone by love, by mercy, by the price of doing right.

No words. No fixing. Just the two of them standing there in the cooling dark, the scent of earth and horse and grief hanging heavy around them, under a sky beginning to pale with the first hint of morning.

***

Ethan didn’t rush him. He let Wade stay there as long as he needed, his hands tangled in Cilia’s hair like it was spun gold — like holding it might somehow keep her here a little longer. The night was cooling fast, slipping down around them in thin drafts that carried the scent of hay and dust. Crickets started up again in the grass beyond the fence, and the barn lights buzzed overhead, casting that tired yellow hum across the dirt. Wade didn’t move. Ethan didn’t ask him to.

The other horses had gone still, shifting softly in their stalls or lying down in the straw. It was like they knew. Even the air felt heavy, thick with quiet sorrow. But High Noon — he was different. He banged his gate hard enough to rattle the latch, stomped until dust rolled up around his hooves. He tossed his feed pan, pawed the boards, let out a sharp, aching whinny that cut through the night like he was calling her back.

Wade’s head snapped up at the sound. His whole body stiffened, his grief hardening into something fierce. “Goddamn it,” he muttered, voice low and splintered. “Can’t even let me—” He stopped, jaw clenching. All that sorrow twisted up inside him, sharp and ugly, until it came out as anger.

“Go quiet your damn horse before I bring him in myself,” he snapped, shoving Ethan off his arm. His voice cracked halfway through, but he didn’t stop. Ethan didn’t argue, just nodded and went.

High Noon didn’t quit when Ethan reached him. He was sweating, eyes wild and glassy, breath hot against the cool air. He hit the gate again, the sound ringing off the tin walls. Ethan took his pan, tried to hush him, tapping his nose gently. But the gelding just kept on pacing, restless and angry in a way that made Ethan’s chest ache.

“Come on, boy,” he murmured, trying again, voice soft. “Ain’t the time for all this, huh?”

Nothing.

Behind him, Wade sat with his head in his hands, hair falling loose around his fingers, shoulders drawn tight. When High Noon let out another sharp, desperate cry, Wade snapped. He got up so fast the chair scraped the dirt, striding across the lot like a storm breaking.

“Enough!” he barked, swatting at High Noon’s nose. “You quit it, you hear me?!”

Ethan froze. The horse flinched but didn’t back away. Instead, High Noon leaned forward, pressing his broad forehead into Wade’s chest with a soft, solid thud.

Wade shoved him once, twice. “Get off me,” he growled — but his voice was already cracking, splintering under the weight of it all. High Noon stayed still, breathing slow and deep, his warmth soaking through Wade’s shirt.

“Go on,” Wade tried again, smaller now, shaking. The gelding’s breath fogged against him, and something in Wade broke. He stood there, stiff at first, then his hands rose on their own, fingers finding the smooth velvet of High Noon’s cheek.

Ethan watched, quiet as dust settling.

The horse just stood there — no more noise, no pacing, just the slow, steady rhythm of his breath against Wade’s chest. Like he was drawing the grief right out of him, bit by bit, until Wade’s shoulders sagged and his head bowed, forehead sinking into the dark of High Noon’s mane.

The barn was so quiet you could hear the hum of the lights, the soft click of crickets outside.

High Noon blew out one long, low sigh, and Wade finally stopped shaking.

Wade’s anger went out like wind losing its force. One moment he was stiff and shaking, the next his shoulders fell, and the sound that left him wasn’t a word — just a ragged breath that almost hurt to hear. High Noon stayed still, that big, warm head pressed against Wade’s chest, eyes soft and half-closed, ears tipped forward like he understood. Like he’d been waiting for this part all along.

Wade’s hands slid from the horse’s cheek to his neck, fingers sinking into the thick, dusty mane. His voice came rough and cracked. “Hey now,” he muttered, breath catching halfway through. “Didn’t mean to yell at you, bud. You’re just tryin’ to help, yeah?”

High Noon blew out a deep sigh, breath warm against Wade’s ribs. His lip twitched, nosing at the damp fabric of Wade’s shirt, and then he licked — soft, slow, like a dog would. It drew out the faintest, broken laugh from Wade. He leaned forward, forehead resting against the gelding’s neck, the smell of sweat and hay and horse filling the space between them. “Yeah, I know,” he whispered, the words spilling more than being spoken. “I know, buddy. I’m sorry. I’m just—Christ, I don’t even know what I am right now.”

Ethan stepped closer, careful not to startle either of them. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fix it — just rubbed Wade’s back in slow, steady circles through the rough cotton of his shirt. He knew what High Noon was doing. That horse always had a sense for people, too damn smart for his own good.

They stood there for a long time — man, horse, and boy — all breathing in the same slow rhythm. The night hummed softly around them: the flicker of barn lights, the faint creak of leather tack, the sweet, dry smell of straw. High Noon kept lipping at Wade’s sleeve, tugging at the fabric like he wanted him to lift his head, to remember that there was still something in this world worth holding onto.

Wade finally looked over at Ethan. His eyes were rimmed red — not from anger anymore, just grief that had worn itself out. He swallowed hard, voice barely louder than the crickets. “You two,” he said, with a small, wet laugh breaking through, “you make it hard to stay broken, y’know that?”

Ethan didn’t answer, only squeezed his shoulder, grounding him.

Wade pressed his face to High Noon’s neck, breathing in the scent of him — salt, earth, and sun-warmed hide — and stayed there a moment longer. The gelding’s quiet weight and Ethan’s hand at his back held him steady.

For the first time all night, Wade felt like maybe — just maybe — the passing hadn’t taken everything with it.

Chapter Text

The cabin felt smaller that night, like grief itself had taken up space between the walls. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful—just thick and heavy, air heavy with the smell of rain and stale beer that clung to everything. Wade sat hunched at the kitchen table, elbows pressed into scarred wood, a half-empty bottle clutched so tight the veins in his forearms stood out like cords. He’d gone through most of it already; the bitter scent hung in the air, sharp and sour, burning Ethan’s nose every time Wade lifted it to his lips.

Ethan sat across from him, Charlie cradled against his chest like a baby, the cat purring and yowling between hands that didn’t know where to rest. He wasn’t scared of Wade—never was—but he didn’t know this version of him. The one with faraway eyes and an emptiness that felt contagious. The clock ticked unevenly in the corner, every sound a reminder of how still everything else was.

“Wade,” Ethan said softly, careful not to startle him. “You oughta eat somethin’.”

Wade didn’t look up. He swirled what was left of his beer and shook his head, lips cracked and dry. “Ain’t hungry,” he muttered, voice rough from silence and liquor.

Ethan hesitated, set Charlie down, and stood behind him. “Alright. You don’t gotta eat then,” he murmured, resting a hand between Wade’s shoulder blades, feeling the tense lines of muscle under his shirt. “But maybe... just come sit down. On the couch, yeah? Watch somethin’.”

For a heartbeat, Wade didn’t move. Then, without a word, he stood. The legs of the chair scraped the floor, loud in the stillness. He brought the bottle with him, knuckles white. Ethan didn’t try to take it again—just followed close, making sure Wade didn’t stumble on the rug.

They sat on the couch—Wade on one end, bottle resting against his knee, the glass tapping softly every time his leg trembled. The TV flickered weak light across the room, the static hum filling what words couldn’t.

“She was there for everything,” Wade said suddenly, voice low and cracked open. “Every damn show, every kid that came through here—hell, she’s the reason I even started this ranch. She's the reason you're sittin' here with me in this house.”

Ethan nodded slowly. “I know,” he whispered. “You did right by her, though. She had a good life, Wade.”

Wade let out a sharp exhale, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Don’t feel like it.”

Ethan didn’t argue. He leaned over instead, fingers brushing Wade’s as he took the bottle gently from his hand. The glass was slick with condensation, warm where Wade had held it. “Why don’t you let that go for a while,” he murmured, setting it down on the coffee table.

Wade didn’t fight it this time. His hands came up to his face, pressing hard into his eyes until his breath hitched.

Ethan moved closer, their knees bumping. “Just breathe, okay?” he whispered. “You don’t gotta be alright tonight. Just breathe.”

Wade nodded, barely a sound. He slumped back, the smell of whiskey still clinging to his shirt, head tipping until it found Ethan’s shoulder. For once, Ethan didn’t pull away. One hand traced slow lines through Wade’s hair, the other laced their fingers together, grounding him.

The movie droned on, a dull blur of noise and color. Charlie curled up on the back of the couch, tail flicking. Outside, wind rattled the trees, and somewhere a shutter groaned against the wall. Inside, grief finally went quiet. Wade wasn’t fine—not even close—but he wasn’t shaking anymore. And for the first time that night, neither was Ethan.

Wade’s weight sank heavier against Ethan’s shoulder as the movie progressed low across the room, the only light coming from the TV and reflecting off half-empty bottle on the coffee table. The air carried the faint sourness of spilled beer and woodsmoke from the dying fire, thick with that late-night stillness where every sound just feels too loud.

Wade wasn’t out completely—just drifting, caught in that half-sleep where his breath came slow and uneven, fingers twitching every so often against Ethan’s thigh like he was trying to hang on to something that kept slipping away.

Every few minutes, he’d jolt himself back awake, muttering something about getting himself another beer. His voice was rough, frayed at the edges, eyes glassy under the flicker of the TV. He’d start to push himself up, shoulders tensing, but every time Ethan was there—gentle, steady—one hand sliding through his hair, smoothing it down the way you might calm a spooked animal.

“Easy,” Ethan murmured. His voice was low, warm, meant to ground him. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere. You stay put, I’ll grab you another one in a sec.”

Wade grumbled something low and slurred, breath warm with alcohol, but his body always betrayed him—leaning back into Ethan, eyelids sinking before he could even remember what he’d wanted. The beer was forgotten within moments, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest against Ethan’s arm.

By the time the movie ended, Wade’s body had gone still and heavy, his hand fallen open where it had been gripping Ethan’s shirt. The room buzzed with the soft hum of static, and Ethan sat there a long while, hardly breathing himself, watching the man beside him sleep. In the dim light, Wade’s face looked younger—lined with exhaustion, not age. The kind of tired that came from breaking and trying to hold yourself together anyway.

Ethan reached forward, careful not to wake him, and nudged Charlie off the back of the couch. The cat landed with a muffled thump and a quiet chirp, then padded toward Wade’s boots before curling up again.

Leaning back, Ethan slipped an arm around Wade’s shoulders, drawing him closer until his head rested properly against his chest. He could smell the salt and smoke in Wade’s hair, the faint bite of alcohol still lingering in the air.

“You’re okay,” Ethan whispered into his hair, voice barely more than a breath. “You’re okay, big guy.”

The TV hummed quietly, filling the room with flickering color and soft sound. Wade didn’t stir. His breath warmed Ethan’s shirt, deep and even now, the kind of breathing that said—for just this moment—he’d let go.

Ethan stayed like that for a long time, one hand tracing idle circles against Wade’s back. Outside, wind brushed the cabin walls and the night pressed close, but inside, grief finally softened its grip. It didn’t leave—but it couldn’t crush them tonight.

***

Ethan didn’t wake him for a long while. He couldn’t. Wade looked too worn out to fight the world anymore, and for once, Ethan figured maybe that was okay. The kind of tired he saw in him wasn’t just from the night—it was years of holding everything up alone finally letting go.

The cabin was dim but not dark, the blue light from the TV fading across the walls, turning Wade’s face soft and pale against Ethan’s shoulder. The only sounds were the low hum of the heater and the tick of the clock over the sink, steady as a heartbeat. Ethan sat there a while, letting the quiet breathe around them, before finally easing them both out of the day.

Wade stirred when Ethan reached for his boots, muttering half-words into his chest, too worn to open his eyes. His breath came warm and heavy, laced with the faint edge of beer and smoke. Ethan whispered, “Easy, handsome,” voice low and kind, and worked the heel loose, careful not to jar him. He set the boots down by the couch with a soft thump. Then his own. Then the belts, the hats—one after another—laid out neat on the table like relics of a harder day.

When he reached for Wade’s shirt buttons, the man grumbled something low, a sound like he might cry again but didn’t have it in him. His shoulders hunched inward, breath catching once, twice. A few tears slipped out anyway, cutting small dark spots into the couch cushion. Ethan brushed them away with the back of his hand, gentle, almost reverent.

He didn’t move him right away. Just sat there, the smell of leather and sweat and hay clinging to both of them, the night pressing close outside. Wade’s breathing grew uneven again, the half-sleep of someone fighting ghosts even in rest—muttered apologies, soft sighs that barely made it out.

When Wade finally blinked awake, dazed and blinking against the dimness, Ethan murmured, “C’mon, let’s get you into bed,” his voice barely above a whisper. He slipped an arm around his waist and lifted him slowly, steadying him when Wade stumbled over the rug. Wade leaned heavy into him, still half-asleep, eyes unfocused. The hallway light pooled golden across the floorboards as Ethan guided him through it, every step slow and quiet.

The bedroom smelled faintly of cedar and old flannel. Wade sat on the edge of the bed like he might fold right there. Ethan helped him out of his shirt, the fabric catching on his wrists, and eased him back against the pillow. Wade barely managed to pull the blanket up before his body sagged again, trembling from exhaustion.

Ethan brushed the hair from his forehead, thumb tracing the sweat there, then bent down and pressed a few soft kisses against his temple—barely more than breath. “Rest, just get some sleep,” he whispered.

He didn’t know if Wade wanted him close or far, he didn't know what would help him more. The night was too still, too fragile. Wade slowly reached out to him, hands grabbing for the fabric of Ethan's shirt. That was enough to tell Ethan what Wade needed, he slipped under the covers beside him, boots off, heart aching with something he couldn’t name. Wade’s hand found his in the dark, fingers weak but certain. Ethan let him hold on.

They slept fitful, caught between dreams and the quiet ache of what was gone. Sometimes Wade reached out in his sleep, and sometimes Ethan was already there, arms around him before the shiver even started.

Neither spoke. The silence said enough—about what they’d lost, about what they still had left. For now, they just held on, two men learning, in the soft dark of a winter night, how to rest when the world keeps turning without mercy.

***

Wade woke sometime past midnight. The cabin was dark except for the low hum of the fridge and the thin chorus of crickets pressing through the walls. His chest hurt—tight, uneven breaths that scraped the back of his throat no matter how deep he tried to pull them. The kind of ache that comes after holding too much in, after swallowing down what the body can’t carry anymore.

Ethan’s arm was still draped across him, warm and heavy, smelling faintly of hay and soap. It should’ve been comforting, but right then it felt like too much. The air in the room was thick, salted with grief and stale beer. He needed space. Air that didn’t taste like loss.

He eased out from under Ethan’s arm, slow and deliberate, careful not to wake him. The boards creaked soft beneath his bare feet as he sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing both hands over his face. The world felt hollow—like it had been drained of color. His eyes burned. His tongue felt dry and bitter.

He moved to the kitchen on autopilot, guided by muscle memory. The fridge handle was cold beneath his palm. The crack of the beer opening echoed through the small cabin, louder than it should’ve been. He didn’t even taste it, just held it—something cold, something that didn’t hurt to touch.

He made it halfway to the porch before he heard the faint creak of floorboards behind him.

Ethan.

Barefoot, hair mussed from sleep, eyes half-lidded and heavy with worry. He didn’t say anything at first—just walked up behind him and laid a steady hand between Wade’s shoulders, rubbing slow circles through the thin cotton of his shirt.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked quietly, voice still hoarse from dreams.

Wade huffed, a sound that wanted to be a laugh but wasn’t. “Couldn’t breathe.”

Ethan nodded, eyes soft in the dim light. “You want to talk? Or maybe eat something? I could make toast. Or—” he hesitated, gentling his tone— “we could go see the horses. Just you and me. Charlie’ll follow, you know he will.”

Wade shook his head, eyes down. “Just wanna sit a minute.”

“Alright,” Ethan said after a pause. “Then I’ll sit with you.”

Wade’s throat tightened. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Ethan murmured, pulling out the chair beside him anyway. “But I will.”

The porch light caught the edges of Wade’s face—his unshaven jaw, the raw exhaustion under his eyes. He turned the beer bottle slowly in his hand, watching the condensation drip down his knuckles. The smell of earth and rain hung in the night air, heavy and sweet.

Ethan didn’t press. He just sat close, knees almost touching, listening to the quiet. He didn’t know if Wade would hurt himself—not really—but he knew how grief could make a man strange, unrecognizable even to himself. It could twist love into anger, silence into self-punishment.

Wade’s fingers trembled where they gripped the bottle. When the shaking got bad enough, Ethan reached over and took it, slow and calm. He didn’t pour it out, didn’t make a scene—just set it aside on the porch rail, where it dripped quietly in the moonlight.

Wade didn’t protest. He only leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and exhaled like something inside him was splintering apart. His breath came rough, shaky, almost a sob but not quite.

Ethan placed a hand at the small of his back, thumb tracing a slow, grounding rhythm. “You’re alright,” he whispered. “You’re right here, Wade.”

Wade nodded faintly, not looking up. “I don’t know what to do with that,” he said, voice raw and breaking.

“You don’t have to know tonight,” Ethan said. “You just breathe. I’ll be right here till it gets easier.”

And that’s what they did—sat there in the half-dark, under the buzz of the porch light and the quiet ache of the crickets. Wade’s breathing stayed uneven, but it kept going. Ethan’s hand never left his back. The night was still, the world wide and empty around them, but for that small, fragile hour, neither of them had to face it alone.

***

The morning came slow and gray, the kind of light that barely filters through the curtains—hesitant, muted. The air smelled of dew and hay and burnt coffee, carrying that quiet hum of a ranch that hadn’t quite woken yet.

Wade stirred, a dull ache pressing behind his eyes and through his chest. The room was still except for the soft shuffle of boots near the stove. Ethan.

He sat up slowly, the chill of last night clinging to his skin. His shirt was wrinkled, buttons undone from where Ethan must’ve helped him settle down. A beer bottle still sat on the porch outside, its condensation long gone, its shadow stretched thin in the gray light.

Ethan moved quietly, careful not to make noise. He poured coffee into two mismatched mugs, one hand dragging through his tousled hair as he thumbed at his phone. His voice was low—sending voice messages, soft and steady—to the stable hands.

“Take the tractor up by the north side. Close to the fence line. Make it deep enough she won’t flood come rain season. Be gentle with her, boys. She’s earned that much.”

Wade listened from the couch, still as stone. Ethan’s words carried that kind of practical kindness Wade always admired—one that didn’t need to say I’m sorry to be felt.

When Ethan turned, the morning light caught the tired gold in his eyes. “Mornin’,” he said, voice rough with sleep but warm. “Coffee’s fresh. Sit a bit before we head out.”

Wade rubbed his temples. “The boys already gone up?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said. “They’re takin’ good care of her.”

He hesitated, then slid the second mug across the table. “You want to see her again? I can tell them to leave it open awhile.”

Wade froze, eyes fixed on the curl of steam from his cup. For a second, Ethan thought he might say yes—that he might want one last look. But Wade just shook his head, slow and heavy.

“No. Don’t wanna remember her that way. Let ’em cover her.”

Ethan only nodded. “Alright. They’ll do it right.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t fill the quiet with words that wouldn’t help. Just went back to stirring his coffee, letting the silence settle like dust in sunbeams.

Breakfast came and went—toast half-eaten, coffee gone cold. Ethan stretched and pulled on his jacket. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go see to the others.”

Outside, the air had that thin chill of morning that still bit through flannel. The hum of the tractor was distant, the smell of turned earth faint on the breeze. Ethan subtly steered Wade toward the far barn, away from the noise near the house.

They worked in quiet rhythm—feed, water, brushes scraping through dusty coats. The soft snorts and shifting hooves filled the space where conversation might’ve been. Ethan let Wade move at his own pace, never rushing him.

When they reached High Noon’s pasture, the gelding poked his head over the gate, snorting softly. Ethan lifted a hand to his muzzle, smiling faintly. “Hey, big man,” he murmured.

Wade stood beside him, watching the horse’s breath fog the air, feeling the warmth of it drift against his arm. The air smelled of hay, leather, and something faintly sweet—grain dust, or maybe memory.

There was something grounding in it all: the rhythm of chewing, the rustle of straw, the slow heartbeat of a world still moving forward.

Ethan gave High Noon a soft pat, then looked back at Wade. “We’ll take it easy today. Whatever you need, we’ll do that.”

Wade nodded. “Yeah… just today,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t a productive morning—but it was gentle. The kind of day that lets grief take its shape without shame or hurry. Ethan stayed close through it all—steady as the fence posts, soft as the light that finally began to warm the barn.

Ethan started his morning steady and patient, same as always. He brought out the young horses one by one, giving them light work on the line. He didn’t push—just let them move, circle after circle until their muscles loosened and their minds quieted. The rhythm of it was grounding: the scrape of hooves in dirt, the flick of tails against flies, the low, steady sound of breathing. Each small snort, each flick of an ear, each turn of the line was something real he could hold onto.

Wade wasn’t quite the same. He stood for a long while at the half-door of Cilia’s empty stall, leaning into the wood as if it might hold him up. The bucket hooks still clinked when the wind passed through, and the faintest trace of her scent lingered in the straw—sweet hay, sweat, and something fading. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared, until the quiet itself began to ache.

Eventually, he made himself move. He started with the mares, brushing dust from coats that caught the morning light like copper and cream. His hands were slower than usual, deliberate. Every pregnant mare got an extra look, a soft word under his breath. Every older one, a gentler touch. His heart lurched whenever one stumbled or shifted too slow, his breath catching at every small tremor of age.

Ethan watched from across the barn, chest tightening each time Wade froze. He didn’t say much—didn’t need to. Between working his own string, he’d pass quietly, trailing his hand across Wade’s back as he went.

“Y’alright?” he’d ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Wade would nod, eyes still fixed on the horse before him. “Yeah. Just makin’ sure she’s sound.”

Ethan let it be. His fingers brushed lightly over the small of Wade’s back before he stepped away again, that fleeting touch saying what words didn’t—I’m right here.

When Wade saddled one of the younger mares to stretch her out, Ethan drifted near again, leaning in just enough to press a soft kiss against his shoulder. It wasn’t romantic—not exactly. It was grounding, quiet, the kind of touch that said I’m still here with you. Wade didn’t pull away. Didn’t answer either. But he let Ethan stay close, let him exist in the same slow rhythm, and that was enough.

They worked like that all morning—steady, wordless. Wade moved through his grief one curry comb at a time, and Ethan shadowed him in small, gentle ways. A brush of shoulders. A quiet hum under his breath. The slow heartbeat of two men refusing to let loss take the day from them.

The barn was peaceful in its own way—snorts, stomps, the soft creak of leather and rope the only sounds between them. Dust floated in the light like smoke, the air thick with hay and sweat and something sacred in its stillness.

Nothing was fixed. Nothing was okay. But the world hadn’t stopped turning, and maybe, Ethan thought, that was enough for now.

Chapter Text

By the end of that week, the barn finally felt somewhat alive again. The heaviness that had settled over every stall, every rail, every breath of dust in the air, had started to lift—slow and quiet, like fog peeling back under a pale morning sun.

Ethan had been careful with those first few days, watching Wade close. He knew the signs by now—the long stares, the hollow quiet that stretched too far, the kind of stillness that felt like it might never break. But it didn’t come. Not this time.

Wade started talking again, started cracking little jokes, even started picking on Charlie when the old bastard escaped and got into the feed shed, he'd tore a fifty-pound sack of feed wide open.

“Damn cat’s got more chaos in him than a whole pen of colts,” Wade muttered, chasing him off with a broom while Ethan leaned against the tack room door, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. Charlie hissed and yowled until Ethan finally caught him, dragged him home, and fed him something other than horse food. Wade laughed at the noise the creature made, light and soft.

That laugh—it got to Ethan every time. Deep, rough-edged, more a rumble than a sound, but real. It filled the air in a way that made Ethan’s chest loosen, made the whole place feel a little warmer again.

By midmorning, the sun had burned the chill off the air, the dirt turning soft under the horses’ hooves. Ethan had High Noon out in the arena, just hand walking that day since it was chilly and his coat hadn't grown back very well. He'd bought him a brand new blanket and sheet. The blanket was bright orange, puffed up, insulated like a snowsuit. It was warm, very warm.

“You tryin’ to turn him that kid with the parka in South Park?” Wade called, voice low and teasing. “That blanket—hell, that thing could warm the Almighty Himself. Got the poor guy looking like it's a damn snow day.”

Ethan chuckled, patting High Noon’s neck. “He likes it.”

“He’s sweatin’ under it, babe.”

“He likes it,” Ethan said again, firmer this time, like he meant more than just the horse.

Wade’s grin deepened. He hopped the rail and came inside the arena, pretending to take over walking the gelding. “You sure this ain’t your dressage phase again? You start joggin' him around here in patterns, I'm callin' your doctor.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “You’re just jealous he listens to me.”

“Only thing listenin’ to you out here’s that damn old cat,” Wade fired back, though the laugh that followed was easy, genuine.

It was light between them again—the kind of simple, working-day ease Ethan had missed. The kind that made the hours slip by quiet and full.

***

By noon, clients had started to roll in again—cars rumbling up the drive, familiar faces leaning out with casseroles and fresh pies, kind words tucked into calloused hands. The barn filled with the low hum of talk, the smell of leather and hay mixing with coffee from the kitchen. Some folks brought flowers, big bright bundles that Wade grumbled about but still arranged on the barn table like they belonged.

“You people’re gonna make my house smell like a damn funeral home with all this mess,” he said, but his voice carried no bite. He thanked them in his own way—just a nod, rough and small, like gratitude didn’t come easy but was still there.

Ethan stayed close through it all. He helped clean up tack, fed horses, filled in silences when Wade’s voice caught somewhere between memory and breath. Every now and then, Wade’s hand would brush against his, a fleeting, grounding touch that said what neither could find words for.

By the time the sun started dipping behind the hills, the barn had gone quiet again. Crickets had taken over the soundtrack, soft and rhythmic. The two of them sat on the fence, boots caked in dust, watching the mares graze in the fading light.

It wasn’t the same—it never would be—but it was livable. The air didn’t hurt to breathe. Wade still paused when he passed Cilia’s old stall, his fingers dragging across the wood like muscle memory, but there was no ache in it now—just something steady, something soft.

Ethan saw that and finally let himself believe they’d both make it through. Maybe not whole, not yet—but okay. And out here, under a sky that always seemed to know their secrets, okay was more than enough.

***

The night had fallen easy—stars stretching wide above the barn, the air thick with the scent of hay dust and summer heat. Crickets sang steady out in the fields, their hum low and familiar, and the faint clank of a water bucket echoed somewhere down the line of stalls. The last lesson had wrapped, the last horse rinsed down and blanketed, and for once, Ethan didn’t feel that drag of exhaustion in his bones. He felt… good.

Wade had been smiling again—joking with the kids who came to ride, that old teasing drawl back where it belonged. It made the place sound alive again.

They walked up toward the cabin together, arms full of flowers and takeout containers and the kinds of home-cooked dishes clients brought when they didn’t know what else to give. Wade muttered something about “people treatin’ me like I’m dyin’,” but Ethan caught the small smile that chased it, quick and real.

“Could be worse,” Ethan said, bumping his shoulder. “Could be lasagna again.”

Wade huffed a laugh, a warm, gravelly sound. “Boy, don’t you knock lasagna.”

The porch light hummed above them, moths batting against the glass as they kicked their boots off by the door. Inside, the cabin smelled like dirt and detergent and horse sweat underlaid by all that food—warm casserole, creamy mac and cheese, cornbread still soft in the middle. Charlie hopped onto a chair and meowed like he’d been starved half to death. Wade tossed him a scrap of chicken and muttered, “Spoiled damn thing.”

It all felt normal. Hats off. Spurs hung by the door. Laughter that didn’t sound forced for once.

They loaded their plates, spread out at the table with the small crack down the center—Wade’s “gonna fix it one day” table that he’d been saying the same about for months. The food was better than it had any right to be after half a day in plastic containers. Wade cracked open a beer; Ethan popped the tab on his Sprite. They talked about High Noon’s stupid blanket, about the juniors picking up their leads clean finally, about maybe hauling out next month for a show.

It was nice. Easy. Almost peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

Ethan hadn’t noticed it at first. He was halfway through a roll when he stood to toss his empty can. The trash bag rustled light—it had been emptied last night—but the sound of glass caught his ear. He looked down. Three brown bottles glinted under the soft kitchen light.

Three.

He blinked, slow. Wade had only opened one when they sat down.

Turning his head, Ethan saw him still at the table, slouched a little, laughing faintly as Charlie batted at a fork he’d left teetering near the edge. His cheeks were pink, eyes hazed with something more than fatigue. Not sloppy drunk—quiet drunk. The kind that sat in the bones, crept in easy and didn’t make a fuss.

The Sprite hissed softly in Ethan’s hand. His pulse thudded heavy in his chest. He hadn't noticed it all day, he didn't look at all inebriated.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Wade drink before. He had. Everyone in Wade's family knew he liked a cold drink once in a while, his momma made him cider every time he came over. Just one to take the edge off. But not like this. Not after all that's happened. Not after Ethan had sworn he’d been fine.

He walked back slow, boots whispering against the wood. “You, uh… you alright, big guy?”

Wade looked up, smile slightly lopsided, eyes unfocused but soft. “M’fine,” he mumbled. “Jus’ eatin’.”

Ethan gave him a small grin and sat back down, trying to steady the twist in his gut. He watched Wade take another pull from the bottle—saw the slow tilt of his throat, the brief wince that followed, the hollow sound when the glass met the table again.

Something in the air shifted. The warmth dimmed, went fragile—like glass too close to cracking. Ethan didn’t say anything. He wanted to—wanted to reach across the table, take the bottle, tell him it was okay to stop—but Wade’s face stopped him. That quiet ache in his eyes. The weight in his shoulders. The grief that clung even when the laughter was still fresh on his lips.

It wasn’t about the beer. It never was. It was about everything that sat beneath it—the silence that followed loss, the need to dull the ache when the night got too still.

Charlie jumped up again, pawed at Wade’s arm. Wade let out a faint chuckle and ruffled the cat’s fur, eyes glassy in the dim light.

Ethan leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him. He said nothing more, just kept close, his eyes flicking to the bottles every so often.

Three down already. And Wade was reaching for a fourth.

***

The night was heavy with the scent of soap, hay, and leftover casserole cooling on the counter. The hum of the fridge filled the silence, low and steady as the ticking of a distant clock. Ethan dried his hands on a dish towel, eyes flicking toward the trash can—closed, but not fooling him. Three bottles. Two more soon to be joining them.

He packed the food away one dish at a time, foil rustling like a nervous habit. The sound of the shower drifted from down the hall, steady and rhythmic, like the only thing still keeping time in the house. He tried not to think about it—about Wade drinking like that. About how it wasn’t just the beer, it was what it meant.

When Wade came out of their bathroom, the smell of cedar shampoo followed him. His hair was damp, towel hanging loose around his neck, t-shirt sticking faintly to his shoulders. He looked clean, scrubbed raw, eyes bloodshot from more than steam.

“You’re up,” he said, voice gravelly, tired but trying for warmth. “Water’s still warm for ya.”

Ethan nodded but didn’t move. He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, a bit of string from his shirt twirling slow in his hands. “Hey—hold up a sec.”

Wade froze halfway to sitting, confusion flickering. “What’s a' matter?”

Ethan hesitated, watching a bead of water trail down Wade’s forearm, catching the lamplight. “You drink all three of those?”

Wade blinked, tension sliding right into his shoulders. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“The bottles. In the trash.” Ethan’s tone was quiet, not accusing—just steady. “I emptied it last night. Ain’t been anyone else here today but us.”

The air shifted. Wade’s jaw clenched. “It’s been a long damn week, Ethan. Don’t start with me.”

“I ain’t startin’ nothin’. Just worried.”

“Worried,” Wade repeated, almost spitting the word out. He looked at the counter—where his half-finished bottle used to be—and realized it was gone. “You throw that one out while you're at it?”

Ethan didn’t blink. “Yeah. Was half full.”

The laugh that came from Wade wasn’t real—it was sharp, bitter, splintered at the edges. “You countin’ my bottles now? That worried I'll go drunk on you?”

Ethan took a deep breath, how he used to when he spoke to his father in a way he knew would get him punished, hands open on his knees. “No, sir. I’m countin’ the ways you’re tryin’ to disappear on me. My daddy did this too, you outta remember that.”

That hit deeper than Wade wanted it to. He looked away, throat working, eyes shining under the low light. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he muttered, voice breaking somewhere between anger and shame. “I ain't drank bad in a long time. Sometimes it's just the only thing that keeps me.”

Ethan leaned forward, slow, like approaching a spooked colt. “Maybe so,” he said softly, “but I don’t want quiet if it means losin’ you to it.”

Wade’s hand twitched at his side, knuckles white. “You can’t fix it, Ethan.”

Ethan leaned forward, elbows on his knees again. “You told your momma once you don’t drink like that no more,” he said quietly. “Said you didn’t like what it made you turn into. I don’t wanna see you turn back into that, Wade. Not when you got me here. Not when you don’t have to fight it alone.”

The room held still. Only the hum of the fridge, the drip of water from Wade’s hair, the faint creak of the old couch between them.

Wade finally sat, head bowed, the anger bleeding out into something smaller—defeat, maybe. His voice came out low, rough as gravel. “You don’t get to save me.”

Ethan’s eyes softened. “Wasn’t tryin’ to. Just don’t wanna lose you while you’re still right here.”

Wade’s shoulders went rigid the second Ethan’s tone shifted—soft, but firm. Like he’d been holding back for too long. Ethan spoke again carefully, eyes fixed on the man beside him.

“If you drank all that while we were workin’—that’s not just worryin’, Wade. That’s dangerous. Unprofessional, too. You know that.”

Wade’s head snapped up, eyes flashing under the low lamplight. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice carried that sharp edge Ethan only heard when a horse kicked too close or someone struck a nerve too deep.

“I think maybe you forgot for a minute,” Ethan said, quieter now. “And I get it, I do. You been through hell. But you can’t drag me down with you like that. Ain’t fair to me.”

That hit something raw. Wade stood up suddenly, the movement sharp enough to make the old couch creak and the picture frames rattle faintly against the wall. “Fair?” he repeated, a low, humorless laugh breaking out of him. “You got the nerve to talk to me about fair, after all this shit?”

Ethan looked up, steady, though the faintest flicker of hurt crossed his face. “Yeah, I do. ‘Cause fair’s what keeps us decent. What keeps this place runnin’, Wade.”

Wade paced a few steps, bare feet slapping against the wood floor. The air was thick with the smell of beer, hay dust, and sweat clinging to his shirt. He raked both hands through his hair, chest heaving, eyes wild with exhaustion and grief.

“You think I wanted this?” His voice cracked halfway through, low and ragged. “You think I wanted to bury her? Watch every damn thing we built fall apart? I can’t even walk past her stall without—” He stopped himself short, breath shuddering. “You don’t know what that’s like, Ethan.”

Ethan’s throat worked as he stood, slow and calm. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I don’t. But I do know what it’s like watchin’ someone I care about ruin himself.”

Wade’s head snapped toward him again, eyes hard, burning red around the edges. “Don’t you dare talk like I’m some damn drunk.”

Ethan lifted a hand, steady but gentle. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to!” Wade barked, taking a step closer. The air between them went tight and hot, full of that bitter tension that felt like a storm about to break. “You think I don’t see it? That look you get? You pityin’ me? Waitin’ for me to fall apart so you can pick up the pieces?”

Ethan’s jaw set. “No, Wade. I was hopin’ you’d let me help before you fell apart.”

Silence crashed between them. It wasn’t peaceful—it was heavy, ugly, alive with everything neither could say. Wade’s breathing came uneven, chest rising hard beneath his worn shirt, the smell of beer still sharp on him.

Finally, Ethan sighed, the sound barely louder than the hum of the fridge. His voice softened, almost pleading. “We’re just talkin’ in circles now. I ain’t fightin’ with you anymore tonight.”

Wade frowned, eyes narrowing. “What’s that mean?”

“It means I’m takin’ the couch.” Ethan moved to grab his hat, his movements careful, deliberate. “You take the bed. You need it more’n I do.”

Wade blinked, disbelief cutting through the anger. “The hell you are. You’re not sleepin’ on the damn couch over this bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said quietly, already turning toward the living room. “I am.”

“Ethan,” Wade warned, voice low and rough like gravel dragged across stone.

But Ethan didn’t stop. “You’re angry, and I get it. But I ain’t gonna sit here and let it get worse. We both need some space tonight. You sober up, get some sleep. We’ll talk when you got a clearer head.”

Wade took a half-step forward, voice rising again, hoarse with something close to shame. “You’re makin’ this into somethin’ it’s not—”

“I’m makin’ sure we don’t say somethin’ we’ll regret.” Ethan’s voice cracked, just a little, the hurt bleeding through. “You been mean tonight, Wade. I don’t do mean.”

That stopped him cold.

Wade’s mouth opened, but no sound came. The anger drained slow, leaving behind a hollow ache that felt worse than rage. His shoulders slumped, towel slipping from his neck to the floor.

Ethan turned, set his hat on the armrest, and dropped down on the couch. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft as dust. “Get some rest.”

Wade stood there a moment longer, bare feet on the cool wood, staring at the man who wouldn’t give up on him. Then he muttered something—maybe “dammit,” maybe “sorry”—before disappearing down the hall. The bedroom door shut harder than it needed to.

Ethan stayed in the dim light of the living room, hands clasped tight, the house whispering around him. The fridge hummed, the crickets outside sang low, and the smell of beer still lingered in the air—sharp, bitter, and sad.

The night felt too long. Too quiet. And for the first time, Ethan didn’t know if Wade would still be the same come morning.

The house had gone quiet—heavy, aching kind of quiet that pressed against the walls like it meant to stay.
Ethan lay half-curled on the couch, Charlie nestled against his chest, the old cat's slow, steady breathing the only sound in the dark.

He hadn’t bothered turning on the lamp or the TV; just kicked off his boots, tugged a blanket over himself, and let the stillness settle in around him. The air smelled faintly of soap and beer, casserole and pine—the messy remnants of a night gone sideways.

He could still feel Wade’s words rattling around in his head, the heat of them, the sting that hadn’t faded. He wasn’t angry—not really. Just tired.

Tired of watching the man he loved try to outdrink his own grief.

Tired of loving someone who didn’t know how to stop running from pain.

At some point, the tension in his shoulders eased, and exhaustion finally won. The couch wasn’t comfortable—too short, too worn—but it carried Wade’s scent in the fabric, faint traces of smoke and cedar and sweat. Not the same as lying beside him, not the same warmth, but close enough that Ethan could pretend. Charlie’s weight rose and fell with each breath, and the rhythm lulled him toward uneasy sleep.

Sometime after midnight, Wade sat up in bed. The air felt wrong—too still, too cold, the kind of quiet that hums in your ears when you’ve run out of things to say.

The space beside him was too empty.

His chest ached—not just from the dull hammer of the hangover pressing behind his eyes, but from the memory of Ethan’s face before he walked away. That look. That quiet surrender.

He’d rather Ethan had yelled.

Thrown something.

Anything but that silence.

“Dammit,” Wade muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His skin was warm, sticky from sleep, the room smelling faintly of beer and stale cologne. His stomach turned, and his head pounded in rhythm with his heartbeat.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a long minute, rubbing at his temples before pushing himself up. The old wood floor creaked beneath his bare feet as he padded down the hallway. Charlie stirred but didn’t wake fully—just shifted his body, sneezed once, and then rested again.

The living room was dim, only a stripe of moonlight slipping through the blinds, silvering the edges of Ethan’s blond curls. He was half-tangled in the blanket, one arm slung over Charlie, lips parted in sleep. He looked so damn peaceful.

Wade’s throat tightened. That peace was something he’d taken away earlier.

He crouched down beside the couch, the floor cold beneath his knees, and hesitated before reaching out—his fingers trembling as they brushed lightly along Ethan’s shoulder.

“E,” he whispered.

Nothing.

He tried again, quieter this time, voice rough. “Hey, cowboy. Wake up, will ya?”

Ethan stirred, brow furrowing as his eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep. “Wade?” His voice was hoarse, soft. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Wade shook his head quickly, though his voice caught halfway through. “No—no, nothin’s wrong, I just…” He looked down, jaw working, breath shaking. “I can’t do it. Can’t sleep in there alone. Not tonight.”

Ethan pushed himself upright, confusion melting into worry. “You alright?”

Wade nodded, then shook his head again, tears threatening hot behind his eyes. “I ain’t drunk, I swear it. Just—” His voice cracked, breaking open in the quiet. “Hell, I’m sorry, E. For yellin’. For… shit, for all of it. I don’t wanna talk about it tonight. Don’t wanna fix it, don’t wanna fight. I just…”

He reached for Ethan’s hand, rough fingers curling around it, desperate and trembling. “I just need you. Need to not sleep alone, just for tonight. Please.”

Ethan studied him a long, quiet moment. He saw the glassiness in his eyes, the tremor in his jaw, the exhaustion written deep in the lines of his face. Then he nodded, voice soft as the night around them.

“Alright, Wade.”

Wade exhaled, something between a sigh and a sob, the sound fragile and human.

Ethan pulled the blanket back, shifting over, patting the space beside him. “C’mere.”

Wade didn’t hesitate this time. He slid down beside him, careful not to wake Charlie, curling into Ethan like he’d been meant to fit there all along.

Ethan’s arms came around him, sure and steady, one hand finding the back of his neck, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against his skin. Neither spoke. The silence was full, warm, forgiving.

Wade buried his face in Ethan’s shirt, breathing him in—soap, hay, alcohol, home. “We can fight in the mornin’,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “But not tonight. I can’t do mean no more.”

Ethan pressed a kiss to his hair, his voice barely above a whisper. “No more mean tonight.”

And just like that, the house settled again—quieter, softer this time.
They fell asleep tangled together on the couch, wrapped in half a blanket, exhaustion, and the fragile peace they’d managed to find in the wreckage.

***

The morning came slow.

That kind of gray, heavy light that seeps in under the curtains, hushin’ the world like it knows better than to rush. The fire in the stove had long gone cold, leaving the cabin chilled enough for their breath to fog when they moved. The air smelled faintly of ash and coffee grounds, the kind of quiet scent that belongs to mornings after long nights.

Ethan stirred first, his neck stiff from the couch, Wade still curled half against him, the man’s weight solid and familiar. Charlie’s paws gave a lazy thump somewhere on the rug, but otherwise, the house stayed still.

He didn’t move right away. Didn’t say a word.

Just laid there for a while, eyes half-open, listening to Wade breathe — slow, uneven, like he was fightin’ off the morning itself.

When Ethan finally shifted, Wade did too. He blinked awake, face scrunched, then froze when it all hit him — where he was, who he was pressed against, and the memory of last night hangin’ in the air like woodsmoke.

“Sorry,” Wade muttered, voice low and rough, gravel catching in his throat. He rubbed his eyes, wincing at the light slipping in through the window. “Didn’t mean to—”

Ethan didn’t let him finish.

He stood slow, moving Wade gently aside, the old couch creaking beneath him. “Mornin’,” he said simply, voice warm but worn at the edges. No anger. No bite. Just quiet.

Wade blinked up at him, searching for something sharp in the tone that wasn’t there. Ethan moved around the small cabin barefoot, calm as ever, the sound of the coffee pot kicking on filling the space with a soft click and hum. Mugs set down, the faint rattle of food poured into Charlie’s bowl, the dull scrape of a chair leg on wood — every sound steady, grounding.

Wade sat up straighter, rubbing a hand over his face. His chest felt tight, heavier with every casual motion Ethan made.

Ethan’s silence wasn’t cruel.

It was worse. That kind of silence that made a man see himself too clearly.

He tried to speak once — opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come. When Ethan handed him a mug, Wade managed only a hoarse, “Thanks.”

Ethan nodded, a faint smile ghosting across his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. “Coffee’s strong today.”

Wade let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. “Reckon I need it.”

But he didn’t drink. Just stared at the thin tendrils of steam curling up and vanishing.

Ethan grabbed his hat off the hook by the door, tugged on his boots, leather creaking sharp in the stillness. He was halfway out, the cold morning light pooling in the doorway, when Wade finally broke.

“E,” he called, voice rough as sandpaper.

Ethan turned, unreadable. “Yeah?”

Wade swallowed hard. His throat ached from everything he hadn’t said. “I’m sorry. For... last night. For yellin’. You didn’t deserve that.”

Ethan paused, hand resting on the doorframe. Wade’s voice cracked, words spilling out like a confession he’d held too long.

“You were right. About the drinkin’. About me. I been tellin’ myself I had it handled, that I just needed a little somethin’ to take the edge off.” He shook his head, eyes down. “But I don’t got it handled. Not even close. Don’t even feel good no more. It’s just—” His breath hitched. “I’m so damn full of it, all this hurt, and I don’t know what to do with it, E. Don’t know how to carry it.”

He rubbed his palms against his jeans, voice trembling. “I ain’t never been good at hurtin’ right. Don’t know how to talk about it, don’t know how to fix it. All I know is it’s eatin’ me alive, and I don’t wanna take it out on you again.”

Ethan watched him for a long, quiet beat, the ticking of the cooling stove loud in the space between them. Then he stepped back inside, closing the door against the chill. He crossed the room and set a hand on Wade’s shoulder — firm, steady, grounding like earth.

“I know,” Ethan said softly. “I know you don’t mean it. But it can’t keep goin’ like that. I can’t stand by and watch you drown in it.”

Wade nodded, eyes wet. “I know. I just— I don’t know how to ask for help without feelin’ weak.”

Ethan’s voice gentled, all honey and worn edges. “Ain’t weak to hurt, Wade. Ain’t weak to reach out. It’s just human.” He gave his shoulder a small squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. Together. But you gotta meet me halfway, alright?”

Wade nodded again, words stuck somewhere deep in his chest. “Alright.”

Ethan smiled — tired, but it was real this time. “Good. Now finish your coffee and eat somethin’ before you come out. I’ll start feedin’.”

And just like that, no fight, no storm — Ethan opened the door again, the faint gold of morning spilling through, soft and forgiving.

Wade sat there a long time, hands trembling around the warm mug, breath fogging faint in the cold.

For the first time since Cilia passed, the weight in his chest didn’t feel so impossible. He could breathe again — slow, shaky, but real.

Chapter Text

The house smelled faintly of coffee and cedar cleaner, the kind Wade used on the floors when they started to smell like the barn. The sun was just high enough to slip through the kitchen curtains, a weak November light painting everything slightly gold. Outside, the pasture was empty except for a few yearlings playing at the fence line and a couple of slow-moving clouds. Inside, it was too quiet—Ethan’s kind of quiet. The kind that came before he started to spiral.

Wade stood in front of the dresser, half-buttoned shirt hanging loose over his jeans. He was running a hand through his hair when he heard it—the sound of Ethan pacing down the narrow hallway. Socks whispering against the floorboards, back and forth, back and forth.

“E,” Wade called gently, not turning yet. “You’re gonna wear a path through the damn floor if you keep that up.”

Ethan didn’t answer. Just stopped and stood there by the doorframe, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, eyes darting between the clock and his reflection in the window. He looked cleaned up—hair brushed back, nice shirt tucked in, collar a little stiff from being ironed—but he was shaking. His hands wouldn’t stay still.

“I fed Charlie,” Ethan mumbled finally, voice small. “Brushed my teeth twice. You think this shirt’s too nice? They’ll say it’s too nice. I should’ve just worn—”

“Ethan.”

That was all Wade had to say. His voice—low, steady, full of that quiet weight that always brought Ethan back to the room. Wade crossed over, grabbed his wrist, and stilled it against his chest. The tremor ran right through both of them.

“Breathe,” Wade said. “Just breathe for a minute.”

Ethan’s throat moved like he wanted to speak, but the words caught. He looked up at Wade instead. Those pale blue-gray eyes of his were full of it—fear, shame, something half-swallowed.

“They invited me,” Ethan whispered, like it was something that still didn’t make sense. “She said she convinced them. My mom did. But she—she doesn’t mean it, Wade. She just wants to see if I’ll show up. Wants to prove I won’t. Cody’s gonna be there, you know he’ll—”

“I know,” Wade said quietly. He thumbed over Ethan’s knuckles. “And I don’t care. You’re not walking into that house alone.”

Ethan looked away. “They don’t want you there.”

“Tough,” Wade said, simple as that. “They can want whatever they want. I’m still comin’.”

The clock ticked. The old heater kicked on, rattling like it always did before it settled. Charlie the cat jumped up onto the couch arm, tail flicking as if he could sense the tension. Ethan’s eyes flicked to the clock again. His whole body was wound tight as a rope, shoulders drawn up, stomach hollow.

“You think they’ll—”

“No,” Wade cut him off gently. “I think they’ll be polite long enough to get through lunch. Then we’ll leave, come home, nap off the turkey, and go over to Darlene’s. She’ll have pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, gravy, and we’ll forget the rest of it ever happened.”

Ethan tried to smile, but it didn’t hold. He pressed a hand to his chest, over the spot that ached most. “I can already hear him,” he whispered. “My dad. I can hear what he’ll say before we even get there.”

Wade didn’t argue with that. He knew better than to tell Ethan it’d all be fine—it wouldn’t be. It’d be something they just had to walk through, slow and steady, together.

He reached out, fixing the collar on Ethan’s shirt. “You look good, baby,” he said, brushing his thumb under Ethan’s jaw where a faint tremor still lingered. “Smell like me, too. That’s dangerous.”

Ethan finally let out a small breath that was almost a laugh. “Borrowed your cologne.”

“I noticed,” Wade said, eyes crinkling faintly. “I don' t know how long I'm gonna last bein’ all respectful for your family when you smell like you’re mine.”

That got Ethan to huff out something closer to real laughter. His hands were still shaking when he went to button his cuffs, but slower now, steadier under Wade’s gaze.

“Hey,” Wade said softly, catching his wrist again before he finished. “Look at me.”

Ethan did.

“There’s not a thing in that house,” Wade spoke, “that can make me take a step away from you. You hear me?”

Ethan nodded, but Wade didn’t move his hand until he got an answer out loud.

“I hear you,” Ethan said, voice breaking just enough to make it real.

Wade let go and reached for his hat, setting it on his head before turning toward the door. “Good. Now let’s go let your mama overcook a bird and pretend we’re impressed.”

Ethan swallowed hard, managed a shaky grin, and grabbed his jacket. When Wade opened the door, a burst of cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke. Ethan hesitated, just for a heartbeat—then stepped through.

And Wade was right there, close enough to touch.

***

They pulled up to the old white house around noon, gravel crunching under the tires and a low wind whistling through the bare pecan trees out front. The place looked smaller than Ethan remembered, but somehow meaner too—like time had sharpened its edges. There were too many cars parked crooked along the fence line, the same rusted swing set leaning off to one side, and that same tired American flag hanging from the porch beam.

Wade cut the engine, but neither of them moved.

Ethan sat with his hands folded in his lap, knuckles pale. His leg bounced once, then twice, before he pressed his foot flat against the floorboard. Through the window, he could see kids running across the yard, shrieking, a dog barking somewhere near the porch. He swallowed hard, chest rising shallow.

Wade glanced over. “You don’t have to do this.”

Ethan didn’t answer at first. His eyes were fixed on the front door, where a blur of family passed in and out—voices, laughter, movement that all felt foreign now.

“I mean it, E,” Wade said, leaning a little closer. “We can turn right around. Go home, kick off our boots, nap, clean up the barn if you’re feeling guilty about it. Darlene’ll still have a seat for us come supper.”

Ethan’s throat worked. He shook his head, slow. “No,” he whispered. “I… I want to. I have to. It’s my family, Wade. I can’t just—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “And it’s a meal we didn’t have to pay for.”

Wade gave a quiet snort through his nose, not quite a laugh. “You’re the only man I know who’d walk into a war zone for free turkey. You know I could buy you the whole damn bird right now, don’t you? Make it myself, we could just stay home.”

Ethan almost smiled at that—almost. His eyes flicked to Wade’s, then back to the house. “They invited me,” he said softly, like he was reminding himself. “I just… I don’t know if they meant it.”

“Then we’ll find out together,” Wade said.

Ethan finally let out a breath. Wade reached across the seat and straightened his collar, smoothing the fabric over his chest. “You look sharp,” Wade murmured. “Real handsome, E.”

Ethan’s hands were still trembling in his lap. “You say that like it’ll help.”

“Maybe it will.”

Wade brushed his thumb under Ethan’s chin and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Ethan shut his eyes for a second, trying to steady his breathing, and Wade could feel the shake that ran through him.

“Hey,” Wade said quietly, “whatever happens in there—you’re not on your own. You get me?”

Ethan nodded, though the motion was small. “Yeah.”

But Wade could see it—the way Ethan’s chest hitched, the way his fingers curled into his jeans like he needed to hold something still. Wade wanted to say more, to tell him he’d take on every last one of those bastards if it came to that. That he’d rather spend Thanksgiving in a holding cell than let Ethan walk out of that house feeling small again.

Instead, he said, “If anyone starts something, you just look for me. I’ll handle it.”

Ethan didn’t have the strength to argue. He just nodded again, quiet, tired.

When they finally got out of the truck, the cold air hit hard—biting and dry. Ethan’s breath fogged in front of him, his shoulders rising up toward his ears. Wade adjusted his hat, walked around the hood, and caught Ethan’s eye.

“C’mon,” Wade said, trying for lightness. “Give me a smile, huh? Let ‘s see it.”

Ethan tried, but it came out more like a tremble than anything close to a grin.

Wade gave a sharp wolf whistle at that, tugging lightly on the hem of Ethan’s shirt where it fit a little snug around his chest. “Damn near perfect.”

Ethan looked down, swallowed, then took one long, shaky breath. “You’re right behind me?”

“Always,” Wade said.

They climbed the porch steps together. The front door swung open before they even knocked, laughter and voices spilling out.

“Ethan!”

A blur of cousins—three, four of them—rushed forward, crowding the doorway, all chatter and hands tugging at his sleeves. They were little, maybe middle school age. Some younger.

 “We haven’t seen you in forever!” “Where’ve you been?”

 “Who’s that?”

Ethan went pale, mouth opening but no sound coming out. His pulse hammered visible at his throat. Wade could see the panic rising—the way his shoulders went rigid, his eyes flicking from face to face like he was trapped. He was a dead man if he said it, even the little ones would hate him. It’s what they'd been taught to do. 

So Wade stepped forward, laid a steady hand at the small of Ethan’s back, and smiled down at the kids.

“I’m Wade,” he said, voice easy, warm. He tipped his hat like he wasn't talking to people he’d rather knock out.

“Ethan’s boyfriend.”

The words landed like a match dropped in oil—sharp, clean, final. A hush swept through the doorway, small faces blinking up in surprise, a few adults turning from the hallway to look.

And Ethan—Ethan just stood there, pale and trembling, but for the first time since they’d left home, he wasn’t alone in it. Wade stayed close enough that their shoulders touched, unflinching.

If anyone was going to make a deal of it, they’d have to go through him first. And one Ralston towered over all of these Reyes. 

The warmth hit them first when they got all the way inside—overheated air from the woodstove mixing with the smell of turkey and canned cranberry sauce and too many people in one place. It wrapped around Ethan like a blanket he didn’t want, thick and suffocating.

But the first sound he heard was soft.

“Ethan?”

A tiny voice, then a blur of curls and corduroy barreled into him. His littlest cousin, Lacy, maybe five years old now. She clung to him like she’d been waiting by the door for days.

“You’re here!” she squealed.

Ethan’s eyes softened instantly. His hands—still shaking—found her shoulders and he crouched slightly, letting her wrap around him. “Hey, Lacy-girl,” he said quietly. “Look at you. You’re so tall now.”

“I’m not tall,” she said, pouting. “But I’m bigger! And I can read!”

“Yeah?” Ethan whispered. “You’ll have to show me later.”

Another cousin piled on, then another—older kids, younger kids, sticky hands tugging at him, all babbling. Ethan tried so hard to smile, to soak them in, but Wade could see it like cracks running through porcelain: he was overwhelmed, overstimulated, emotional already.

Wade stayed at his shoulder, letting Ethan handle the hugs but keeping close enough that Ethan didn’t have to look far to find a steadying presence.

His aunts came next—two of them, arms outstretched, soft hellos and tight squeezes that smelled of perfume.

 “Look how thin you’ve gotten,” one of them clucked, patting his cheek. “You eating out there?”

“He eats,” Wade answered gently for him, tipping his hat with a respectful nod.

They both looked over Wade like he was a stray cat that wandered onto their porch. Not mean—just confused. Out of place.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Wade said anyway. His voice stayed warm, polite, sturdy.

More people greeted Ethan—some barely glancing up, others giving half-formed hugs, distracted hellos. His mother came fast, fluttering in like a wind-up toy on overdrive, apron already stained, cheeks flushed from the kitchen heat.

“There you are,” she said, brushing her hands on a towel and squeezing Ethan’s arm. “Food’s almost ready. Green beans still need stirring. Don’t let anyone touch the rolls yet.”

She didn’t even look at Wade the first time. Didn’t register him at all. She was already moving toward the oven, muttering instructions, overwhelmed by her own chaos. But she came back—half a beat—and touched Ethan’s cheek.

“Glad you’re here, baby,” she said softly.

It stung him, the way gentle words could hurt. He felt twelve years old again. Times were better then.

Wade saw the flinch.

And then—Cody.

He stormed across the kitchen like a bull turned loose, boots thudding heavy, jaw clenched so tight his teeth might’ve cracked. His eyes locked on Wade first, then Ethan, and anger rolled off him like heat.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Cody snapped. “You brought this fag?”

Ethan froze. Wade didn’t. He turned, calmly, shoulders broad and steady.

Cody’s voice began rising, the beginning of a yell—
But their mother’s voice cut through like a whip.

“Cody Reyes, you raise your voice in this house, you’ll wake those babies, and I swear I’ll put you outside with the garbage. Don’t you start.”

A hush fell. Somewhere behind them, a baby in a bouncer stirred, then settled.

Cody snarled, low and bitter. “We didn’t invite him,” he spat, jerking his head at Wade. “Didn’t ask for—”

He muttered something else, ugly and sharp-edged, just under his breath. Wade heard it. Ethan heard it.

“We didn't invite that damn frilly sodomite, don’t want his sickness spreadin’.”

Ethan’s hands curled into fists, not to fight—just to hold himself together. His breath grew thin, his shoulders tight. His skin went pale almost instantly.

Before Cody could come back for more, the mother of one of the babies called Cody’s name sharply, asking for help with something in the back room. He stomped away, door slamming behind him.

Ethan looked like he might fold in on himself. His stomach had dropped somewhere between his ribs and his spine.

Wade touched his elbow—light, careful, grounding. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Let’s sit down. C’mon.”

Ethan nodded, stiff and small.

Wade guided him through the crowded kitchen, nodding respectfully at anyone who met his eyes. He didn’t care that most didn’t nod back. Didn’t care about the looks—appraising, suspicious, some outright cold.

He wasn’t here for them.

He was here for Ethan.

They found a loveseat in the corner of the living room, wedged between a coffee table and an old lamp. Ethan sank down like his knees didn’t quite work. Wade sat next to him, shoulders close enough to shield him from half the room.

Wade watched the doorway with that quiet, dangerous focus—the look of a man who would put himself between Ethan and anything that moved wrong.

Ethan whispered, “I’d hoped they’d be civil, just for lunch.”

Wade turned to him, voice low and steady. “You ain’t alone in it. Not for one second.”

Ethan nodded, blinking fast, trying not to fall apart.

Across the room, Cody reappeared, standing partially in the hallway, staring at them with murder in his eyes.

Wade stared right back.

Not challenging—just unmovable.

Cody’s gaze cracked first.

Ethan drew in a shaky breath, the sound barely audible over the chatter of the house. Wade reached for his hand, hidden between them on the couch, giving a gentle squeeze.

He didn’t say anything else.
He didn’t have to.

Wade’s whole presence said it for him:

I’m here. Nothing touches you as long as I’m breathing.

***

The call came from the kitchen—Ethan’s mother announcing, “Food’s ready! Y’all come fix your plates!”

People began drifting that way in loose, uneven lines. No order. No waiting for the elders. No gathering. Just everyone grabbing plates like they were strangers in a break room.

Wade glanced over at Ethan.

He hadn’t moved.
Not a muscle.
Just sat hunched against the arm of the loveseat, staring at his shoes like there might’ve been an answer written on them.

Wade let a beat pass.
Another.

Then he leaned in, gentle but firm.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get you somethin’ to eat.”

Ethan didn’t look up. His voice was small. “I’m not that hungry.”

“You barely touched breakfast,” Wade reminded him softly. “Just a little plate. Nothin’ fancy. For me.”

Ethan swallowed hard. His fingers trembled against his thigh. “I don’t… I don’t want to go in there right now.”

Wade nodded, because of course he understood. He rested his arm along the back of the couch so he could lean closer without crowding him.

“You ain’t gotta talk to nobody,” Wade murmured. “Ain’t gotta smile or pretend. I’ll be right next to you the whole time. Just a plate, darlin’. Then we come right back here if you want.”

Ethan’s breath hitched at the pet name—quiet and steadying.
He nodded. Barely.

Wade stood first, offering him a hand up without making a big show of it. Ethan took it, his palm cold and shaky.

They walked to the kitchen together. Wade positioned himself just slightly behind Ethan’s shoulder—close enough to shield, far enough to let Ethan stand on his own feet.

But the second Ethan crossed into the kitchen, conversations quieted just a little. Eyes flicked toward them. Some curious. Some disapproving. Some downright ugly.

Ethan’s throat tightened. Wade felt the flinch through the air.

He reached past Ethan calmly, taking a plate from the stack and handing it to him.
“There you go,” he murmured, like they were the only two people in the world.

Ethan forced himself to serve a scoop of mashed potatoes. His hand shook so badly Wade steadied the bowl without a word, making it look casual.

The room felt wrong to Wade—sterile, disconnected, joyless.
People just grabbed what they wanted and drifted away again, disappearing into separate rooms like they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.

This was Thanksgiving?
This scattered silence?
This coldness?

Back home, Darlene’s table would already be full of kids arguing over rolls and uncles telling stories loud enough to shake the walls. Someone would be fighting over gravy. Someone would spill tea.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was together.
It was family.

This?
This was people sharing space and nothing more.

Wade swallowed the bitterness that rose in his throat. He made himself keep moving, scooping a little bit of this and that onto Ethan’s plate, making sure Ethan nodded or mumbled consent first. He didn’t take over.

A soft, “You want this?”

A, “More? Tell me.”

Sometimes, “You eat some off my plate, that ain’t even enough for the cat at home.”
He just stayed close—quietly, solidly, devotedly there.

By the time Wade made his own plate, Ethan looked exhausted, shoulders tight, breath thin. Wade touched his elbow.
“You wanna sit?”

Ethan nodded again, smaller this time.

But before they could turn toward the living room, Ethan’s mother clapped her hands.

“Alright everyone, circle up for grace!”

It wasn’t really a circle—more a lumpy, loose chain of people half-committed to standing near each other. Ethan stepped into the gap his mother gestured toward, Wade directly beside him.

Ethan’s mom bowed her head.
“Lord, we thank You for family, for good food, for safe travels, and for another year of blessings…”

Wade bowed his head out of respect, but his eyes flicked open every so often—scanning, protective.

“…and we’re grateful for having everyone home—” she added, squeezing Ethan’s wrist briefly.

Before she could continue, Cody cut in.
Loud.
Deliberate.

“And I pray,” he announced, voice carrying like a sermon, “that God suck the devil right outta some people here today.”

Silence snapped into place.
Ethan went cold.
Wade felt him sway.

Cody wasn’t done.
He lifted his chin, looking straight at Ethan, then Wade.

“I pray the wicked find the Lord. That even sinners can be saved if they stop their foolishness and open their hearts.”

It was a knife disguised as scripture.
And everyone knew it.

A few aunts shifted awkwardly.
Someone coughed.
One of the babies whimpered.

Ethan stared at the floor, wishing—desperately—that he could melt through it.
The heat of shame crawled up his neck.

Wade didn’t bow his head anymore.
He looked at Cody with a calm so cold it could’ve frozen the house solid.

Cody looked away first.
He always did with men who didn’t play his game.

Ethan’s mother hurried the prayer to a close, trying to smooth the moment over.
“Amen.”
A scattered echo of “Amen” followed.

Plates shifted. People dispersed again too quickly.

But Ethan couldn’t move.
He stood rooted in place, breath shallow, eyes shiny, throat tight.

Wade stepped in front of him—not blocking anyone, but blocking the room from Ethan.
A soft, protective shield.

“You okay?” Wade asked quietly.

Ethan shook his head, barely.

Wade didn’t touch him yet. Didn’t grab him or pull him in.
He just stood there, unmovable, giving Ethan something to focus on besides shame and eyes and Cody’s venom.

“Alright,” Wade said gently. “We’ll take a minute. No rush.”

His voice was low.
Controlled.
Dangerously calm.

No one else in the room noticed—
But Wade was already calculating just how fast he could get Ethan out of this house if it came to it.

Cody’s words landed like a slap, and Ethan’s body reacted before his brain did. His breath hitched, shoulders tensed, and whatever strength he’d gathered to get through this meal drained right out of him. He didn’t even realize he’d frozen until Wade’s hand found the small of his back, steady and warm.

“Ethan,” Wade murmured—quiet enough it didn’t carry, firm enough that Ethan’s mind snapped back into his body. Wade didn’t grab him, didn’t shake him; he just guided, coaxing Ethan’s chin up with two fingers, nudging him until their eyes met.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. There was no scolding in it. Just clarity. Protection. “Don’t give him that. Deep breaths. Right here with me.”

Ethan’s bottom lip trembled anyway. Wade stepped a little closer, blocking out Cody, blocking out the whole room, shielding Ethan from those circling, judgmental eyes.

“Look at me,” Wade said again, softer this time. “What’s the matter?”

Ethan tried, tried so hard, but all he could manage was a small shake of his head. His breathing was shallow, like his lungs didn’t want to work in this house. Wade brushed his thumb along the back of Ethan’s hand once—slow, grounding—and he waited. He didn’t push, didn’t drag words out of him. He just stayed.

“Come on,” Wade eventually murmured, and he gently steered Ethan through the half-circle of relatives, ignoring every stare and whisper. He kept a hand at Ethan’s elbow, his body angled just enough that no one could brush against him or get too close. Back to the loveseat, back to the small sanctuary they’d managed to carve out earlier.

Wade guided him down first. “Feet up,” he said quietly, his hand already out to scoop Ethan’s ankles up for him so he didn't have to move much.. “Helps you breathe.”

Ethan obeyed automatically, curling sideways so his legs draped across Wade’s lap. Wade covered them with his arm, warm and protective, as though shielding him from the room without making a scene.

The noise of the house faded into a dull background hum—clinking plates, murmured conversations, Cody’s heavy-footed pacing somewhere down the hall. Wade ignored all of it. His whole focus was on Ethan.

“You hardly ate,” Wade murmured, scanning the barely touched food on Ethan’s plate still on the end table. “You’re gonna feel sick later if you don’t get something in you.”

Ethan looked down, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I—I couldn’t. I already felt like throwing up after what he said.”

Wade sighed quietly, brushing a strand of hair off Ethan’s forehead with a gentleness that would’ve shocked every person in that kitchen. “Talk to me,” he said again. “Let me listen.”

Ethan leaned into him just enough that Wade felt the weight of it—the trust, the exhaustion, the breaking point.

“He used to do that shit when we were kids,” Ethan whispered. “Said I needed saving. Said God would fix me. But now that I’m… datin’ you, now that he knows for sure I’m not what he wanted me to be, he’s worse. He uses the cross like a… like a weapon. Like God’s some punishment waitin’ for me.”

Wade’s jaw locked, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He wanted to get up, find Cody, drag him outside, and make him swallow every damn word he’d ever said to Ethan—but he stayed still. Because Ethan needed him more than he needed a fight.

“Ethan.” His voice was low, steady, unshakably sure. “He’s wrong. And he knows he’s wrong. That’s why he’s loud about it. People like him always get loud when they’ve lost control.”

Ethan’s eyes flicked up, searching Wade’s face.

“You’re not wicked,” Wade continued, voice softening again. “You’re not broken. And God isn’t waitin’ to punish you. If anything?” He brushed his knuckles along Ethan’s knee, slow and comforting. “I think God’s real proud of the man you’re becomin’. Not them. You.”

Ethan breathed out shakily, tension loosening one notch.

“And I’m right here,” Wade added. “I don’t care who’s in this house or what they think. They don’t get to take Thanksgiving from you. Or from us.”

Ethan nodded, swallowing another wave of emotion. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Wade’s voice gentled even more. “You tell me when you’re ready to try eatin’ again..”

Ethan’s cheeks flushed—embarrassed, comforted, overwhelmed—but he nodded.

Wade squeezed his calf lightly. “Good. And if Cody comes over here again?” He leaned close enough that Ethan felt the warmth of his words. “I deal with it. No problem.”

Ethan let out a breath that almost sounded like relief.

Because for the first Thanksgiving in a long time… someone was in his corner. Fully. Fiercely. Without shame.

And Wade wasn’t going anywhere.

Ethan tried. He really did.

He sat angled into the loveseat, posture tight, Wade’s plate within reach, his own untouched on the table beside him. He managed small bites here and there—a green bean, a piece of turkey, a corner of a roll—mostly because Wade nudged something his way with that steady, unhurried patience he never had to announce. 

It wasn’t coddling; it was practical. Effective. Ethan could get through scraps of food easier if someone else handled the portions, if it didn’t feel like a mountain he had to climb by himself.

Wade knew how to work with that. He’d done it with nieces, nephews, hell—grown men at the ranch who forgot to eat when life got heavy. He wasn’t gentle about it, just matter-of-fact. 

“Here,” he’d say, low enough no one else had to hear. “Try a little more.”

Ethan didn’t feel babied. Just… steadied. Enough that he eventually leaned into Wade’s side, shoulders dropping, breath settling into something calmer.

They stayed like that a while—Wade’s arm resting behind him, Ethan drawn into the familiar spot just beneath his shoulder—until footsteps came down the hall.

Heavy. Dragging. Irritated even without intent.

Wade straightened, attention sharpening. But Ethan froze first.

His father.

Mr. Reyes wandered into the kitchen in pajama pants and an old T-shirt, hair smashed flat on one side, the other sticking up wild. He blinked hard at the overhead lights, scratched at his jaw, and shoveled food onto a plate with a kind of careless aggression that made a few relatives avert their eyes. No one stepped in. Everyone there knew the pattern.

Wade watched him with a tight jaw.

If he’d shown up to Thanksgiving like that back home—
Darlene would’ve met him with the business end of a broom and a lecture that’d last until Easter.

But this wasn’t his family. He wasn’t here to pass judgment. He was here strictly for Ethan.

Ethan was folding in on himself again, shoulders knotting, breath picking up in shallow hits Wade recognized on instinct.

Then Mr. Reyes looked up.

Saw Ethan.

Then Wade.

His face twisted. He marched toward them, plate rattling.

“What the hell did I tell you about him?” Mr. Reyes barked, pointing at Wade with a shaking hand. “Didn’t I say not to sneak around with this—”

Ethan recoiled.

Didn’t cry. Just flinched so hard it looked like it hurt.

Wade stood in one abrupt motion, the loveseat creaking beneath the shift.

“Sir,” Wade said, voice low and even, “you need to take a breath and step back.”

Mr. Reyes snapped, red flooding up his neck. “You don’t tell me what to do in my own house! Ethan James, I said never bring this—this—” He jabbed toward Wade, the word already curdling in his mouth. “faggot under my roof. And you go behind my back? You think I won’t put you out on the street?”

Ethan’s pulse slammed in his ears. His stomach lurched. He tried to speak—
“Dad—Daddy, please—just stop—”
—but the words barely made it out.

Mr. Reyes didn’t slow.

He took a step toward him.

Wade moved first.

He stepped directly between them, solid, unflinching, blocking the view of Ethan entirely.

“Lower your voice,” Wade said, steady as poured concrete. “There are kids in this room.”

Mr. Reyes scoffed. “Don’t act like you’re some saint, you little shirt-lifter. Get the hell out of my way. Ethan knows what happens when he disrespects me in my own house.”

Behind him, Ethan went cold. Breath stuttering.

Wade heard it.

Without looking back, he eased a hand behind him until his fingers brushed Ethan’s knee—just enough contact to anchor him—while never taking his eyes off the man in front of him.

“No,” Wade said, quiet but edged. “Nothing happens. You need to settle down.”

Mr. Reyes stepped closer.

Wade didn’t budge.

He didn’t raise a hand or push or threaten. He simply stood—broad-shouldered, steady, immovable—like the kind of man who’d spent his life breaking colts and didn’t scare easy.

“You should find a seat,” Wade said, voice so controlled it cut. “Greet your guests. Cool off. But you’re not going to shout at him. And you’re sure as hell not going to threaten him.”

Mr. Reyes’s lip curled. “You think you can tell me how to raise my son?”

Wade dropped his chin slightly, gaze locked and unwavering.

“No,” he said. “I’m telling you how to treat him.”

The older man hesitated—not because he respected Wade, but because no one had ever stood between him and Ethan before. No one had ever pushed back without fear.

The entire room felt pulled tight, every breath waiting.

And behind Wade, Ethan trembled—but he breathed.

For the first time since his father entered the room… he breathed.

But Mr. Reyes wasn’t finished.
Wade had barely gotten him to back off half a step when the shouting started again—louder, sharper, bouncing off the low kitchen ceiling.

“I said get out!” Mr. Reyes barked, jabbing a finger toward Wade’s chest. “You hear me? You ain’t welcome here. I didn’t invite you. I don’t want you sittin’ in my house, eatin’ my damn food, hangin’ around my son—”

“It’s my house too,” Ethan said quietly, voice tight.

Mr. Reyes didn’t even glance at him.

“Out!” he thundered. “I’m not askin’ again. I don’t want you on my couch, and I sure as hell don’t want you eatin’ off my table—”

Wade’s eyebrow twitched. Barely.
But he stayed rooted where he was—no flinch, no retreat, his focus pinned on Mr. Reyes like he was waiting to see if the man was gonna swing.

“Sir,” Wade said, steady and low, “you can yell all you want. I’m not leavin’ him here by himself.”

That poured gasoline on the fire.

Mr. Reyes slammed his plate onto the counter hard enough food splattered. A couple of kids jumped. Someone fetched a crying toddler and carried them to the back of the house.

“You think I want him here?” Mr. Reyes barked, rounding on Ethan now. “Boy, you think I wanted you draggin’ that—your breed—into my house? You think I’m sittin’ down to a family meal with the two of you? Hell no. You better get him out of my sight—right now—”

Ethan flinched hard enough Wade felt it.

Wade shifted, stepping in front of Ethan again—not dramatic, just solid, instinctive.

That sent Mr. Reyes storming forward, voice booming, “I’m not tellin’ you again! Get him out of here!”

Ethan’s breath snagged, sharp and painful.
His hands gripped the loveseat cushion, knuckles white.

And Wade—thank God for him—didn’t escalate. He just inhaled once and said:

“If Ethan wants to go, we’ll go. If he wants to stay, we’ll stay. But you don’t get to make that choice for him.”

Only then did he look back at Ethan.

Ethan—pale, shaking, humiliated—managed, “I want to stay.”

Wade nodded once. Calm. Certain.

“Then we stay.”

The room fell quiet.
Not supportive—just stunned that Ethan had spoken up.
Stunned Wade treated his choice like it mattered.

Mr. Reyes sputtered, “Absolutely not. You—”

But someone else stepped in before the next explosion.

A woman in her mid-forties—hair pulled back, apron still tied around her waist—moved between them. Ethan’s aunt. Younger sister to his mom. The one who used to sneak him dessert when he was a teenager having a rough day. The one who would come over after school just to make sure Ethan had a good day. 

“All right, that’s enough,” she said firmly. Not yelling—just done. “Kids are scared. Everyone’s uncomfortable. It’s Thanksgiving, for God’s sake. Let them be. Let him breathe.”

Her younger brother—Ethan’s cousin—hovered behind her, arms crossed but eyes worried.

“Yeah, Uncle Jim,” he muttered. “You’re makin’ a scene.”

Mr. Reyes rounded on them too, but the wind was leaking out of him. The room wasn’t with him. Even the relatives who shook their heads at Ethan didn’t want a blowup in the middle of lunch.

Behind Wade, Ethan swallowed hard.

“Aunt Caroline?” His voice was barely there.

Her face softened.

“You’re fine, baby. Sit down.”

She touched his shoulder—light, reassuring, human. Ethan leaned into it without meaning to.

Mr. Reyes drew a breath to start up again—

—but Caroline shot him a look.

Not disrespectful.
Not challenging.
Just tired. Deeply tired of this same fight.

“Jim. Enough.”

And for once—maybe because the room was watching, maybe because he’d lost the momentum—Mr. Reyes backed down. Not gracefully. Not quietly. He muttered curses all the way to the back hallway and slammed the bedroom door so hard the wall rattled.

The whole room finally exhaled.

So did Ethan. Not steady—but breathing.

Wade put a hand between his shoulder blades, slow and grounding.

“You’re all right,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”

And Ethan nodded. Fragile, but certain.

“I know.”

***

Caroline didn’t leave right away.

As soon as the shouting died down and Jim’s bedroom door stopped vibrating in its frame, she crossed the room toward Ethan, wiping her hands on her apron like she was coming over to check on one of her own kids.

“Come here, squirrel,” she murmured, and before Ethan could brace himself, she reached out and ruffled his hair.

Just like she used to.

Not condescending. Not awkward. Just that same familiar, gentle affection she’d always had for him when he was little and skinned-kneed and shy—when he’d hide behind her legs instead of talking to relatives.

Ethan’s eyes went glassy immediately, like the touch dug right into a place he’d been trying hard to keep steady.

“There you are,” Caroline said, cupping the back of his neck for a second before smoothing his hair down. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Look at you—still handsome as ever.” She clicked her tongue. “You all right? He didn’t grab you?”

Ethan shook his head, swallowing. “No, ma’am.”

“Good.” Her voice sharpened for only a moment. “Because if he ever tries, you call me. I don’t care if I’m an hour away, I’ll get in the car.”

The promise hit him harder than the words.

Then Caroline finally looked at Wade.

And not with suspicion. Not with hostility. Not with that cold, polite smile other relatives had plastered on.

She looked at him like he was a normal person. A guest. Someone she’d have offered coffee to under better circumstances.

“You must be Wade,” she said warmly, sticking her hand out. “I’m Caroline. This one’s aunt.”

Wade—who’d been bracing, shoulders slightly tense—actually let out a small, surprised breath. He shook her hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“No need for ma’am,” she said, waving him off. “Lord, that makes me sound like I’m ninety. Caroline’s fine.”

She gave him a quick once-over—assessing, but kind.

“Jim didn’t take a swing at you, did he?”

“No,” Wade said. “I wasn’t gonna let him get that close.”

“I figured,” she said, lips lifting. “You’ve got that look.”

That pulled a tiny, involuntary breath of a laugh from Ethan.

Caroline turned back to him, her expression gentling again—not pitying, just attuned.

“You scared me for a minute there, squirrel,” she said, brushing a thumb under his eye.“You had that look like you were folding inward. Jim can make anyone feel two sizes smaller if you let him.”

Ethan’s gaze dropped. His voice came out quiet. “I just didn’t want him to ruin all this.”

Caroline touched his cheek—barely—and shook her head.

“He doesn’t get to ruin anything for you,” she said. “And you just feel things deep, Ethan. You always have.”

Wade’s eyes flicked down at Ethan like he agreed with every syllable.

Caroline noticed.

“So,” she said—simple, not prying—“you two came together?”

Ethan stiffened, breath tightening, but Wade answered before panic could.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The steadiness in his tone made Ethan’s throat close.

Caroline didn’t even blink.

“Well, good,” she said. “He’s needed someone decent in his corner for a long time.”

The shock on Ethan’s face was almost funny if Wade hadn’t known how deeply that kind of approval would cut.

Caroline exhaled, looking between them.

“I’m glad you came,” she said gently. “Even if Jim’s determined to behave like a bull in a funeral home and your momma would rather sit and watch than come wrangle her husband..”

She patted Ethan’s cheek once more.

“You sit. Eat a little more. Breathe,” she said firmly. “Your mom’ll want to see you once she gets that turkey carved. And your niece’s been itchin’ to show you her new book. You don’t let Jim scare you off from your people.”

Ethan nodded—soft, shaky, but meaningful.

Then she gave Wade a final, warm look.

“Keep lookin’ out for him,” she said quietly.

Wade’s voice came out low, steady.

“Yes, ma’am. Always.”

Caroline smiled at that—truly smiled—then headed back to the kitchen to check on the plates.

And Ethan watched her go, jaw trembling just the slightest bit.

Not from fear—this time from relief.

From relief.
From being seen.
From being claimed by someone who’d loved him long before today.

And Wade felt it too.

Caroline eventually drifted back toward the kitchen—hovering close enough to keep an eye on things, but far enough that Ethan could breathe without her orbiting him. As soon as she stepped away, Wade shifted on the loveseat, moving just a touch closer. Not hovering. Not fussing. Just there.

Ethan picked halfheartedly at the mashed potatoes Wade had nudged onto his plate. Wade raised his eyebrows at him—an easy, wordless come on—until Ethan took another bite.

After a moment, Wade asked quietly, “So… that your Aunt Caroline? The one who sent Charlie those catnip toys for his birthday?”

Ethan let out a small laugh. “Yeah. That’s her.”

Wade looked toward the doorway where Caroline was wiping down a perfectly clean counter just so her hands had something to do. “She seems real kind. Guessin’ that’s where you get some of it.”

Ethan ducked his head, the compliment hitting deeper than Wade probably meant it to. “She is. I don’t talk about her much, I guess. Not on purpose. She’s just… not around a lot these days.”

Wade didn’t push. Just waited.

“She got a job offer—good one. Couple towns over. Way better than anything she could’ve had here. And her kids needed outta the school district. Badly. So she took it. I was really proud of her.”

“I can hear it,” Wade murmured—soft, approving.

Ethan breathed in slow. “I do miss her, though. She wasn’t my mom, but she… kinda filled that space. When she still lived here, she treated me the same as Cody. Didn’t matter if I was quiet, or weird, or… different. She just let me be.”

Wade stayed quiet in that way of his—steady, present, absorbing all of it.

“I never had to tell her I was queer,” Ethan’s voice dropped. “She just… knew. And didn’t make it a thing.”

Wade’s mouth curved into something small and warm. “You can tell. It’s in the way she looks at you.”

Ethan finally poked at a green bean because Wade nudged the plate closer again, pretending not to notice the emotion in his face.

“She checks in every now and then,” Ethan said. “Texts me once in a while. Asks if I’m eatin’, sleepin’, if Charlie’s still knocking down the blinds. She likes getting pictures of him. Says he’s handsome.”

Wade huffed a quiet laugh. “She’s got taste, clearly.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, a reluctant smile breaking through.

Wade leaned his arm along the back of the loveseat, turning slightly toward him. “I’m glad she’s here today. Good to know somebody in this family’s got sense.”

Ethan’s throat tightened—not painfully this time, more like pressure from something warm expanding in his chest.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “She always felt… safe.”

“Yeah?” Wade nudged the plate again with one finger. “Then talk about her more.”

Ethan blinked at him. “Huh?”

“You tell me plenty of things,” Wade said, voice low. “But not the people who cared about you. Not much, anyway. I like hearing about this stuff. ’Bout who loved you before I got here.”

The words stunned Ethan more than the shouting earlier had.

After a beat, he whispered, “Okay.”

Wade nodded, satisfied, and tapped the edge of the plate with a tiny smirk. “Now finish your lunch before your aunt comes back and tells me I’m not feedin’ you right.”

Ethan huffed another laugh and picked up his fork. And this time, he ate because he wanted to.

***

The tension in the house never fully disappeared—quiet whispers slipping down hallways, a stiff silence hovering over the living room, a cabinet shut just a touch too hard now and then. But the worst of it had passed, and everyone settled into a strained but workable version of Thanksgiving.

Ethan stayed close to Wade on the loveseat, his shoulder brushing Wade’s every so often, like he needed the anchor.

It was Lacy who saved him.

A small, bright blur of curls, denim overalls, and determined little stomps hustled toward them with a picture book hoisted over her head. “Ethan! Ethan, look—I can read now! I wead real good!”

Ethan blinked, startled, then broke into the softest smile Wade had seen on him all day—warm, unguarded, real.

“You can read, can you?” he drawled. “That so? C’mere then. Lemme see.”

Lacy climbed straight into his lap like she’d been doing it her whole life. She was all loose limbs, bubblegum breath, and cookie-sticky fingers, flipping the book open with absolute purpose. It was one of those kid Western stories—bright horses, silly barns, a cowboy with a star too big for his hat.

She read. Slow but steady, sounding out the words with a lilting, chirpy drawl that had Ethan melting.

“Oh, you sound just like your daddy,” he whispered against her curls. “You keep talkin’ like that, little miss, you’re gonna break hearts all over this county.”

She giggled and leaned back on him, elbowing his ribs with the soft force of a five-year-old who didn’t know her own enthusiasm.

Wade watched—quiet, unmoving, arms crossed like he was relaxed. But his eyes told on him. There was heat there, sharp and startled, something almost primal in the way he stared at Ethan with that little girl tucked against his chest. He was entranced. Completely gone. And absolutely not ready to admit how hard that hit him, how something low in him tightened at the sight. 

Ethan was good with kids. Better than good. Gentle, patient, steady in a way Wade didn’t get to see often. He held Lacy so she wouldn’t slip off his knee, pointed to the words when she froze, praised every page like she’d conquered a mountain. Wade had never wanted kids, neither him nor Ethan had the parts for it. But seeing him like that, a toddler on his lap all happy, had Wade thinking he could build a crib out of the scrap wood in their shop.

“‘Cattle drive,’” Ethan said softly. “Try it with me.”

“Caddle dwive,” she announced, triumphant.

“There you go,” he murmured, proud. “Perfect.”

She stayed glued to him through the whole story, then told him all about how she got a pony for her birthday and he’s been giving her trouble. A Shetland, figures. Ethan laughed—full and bright, the sound cracking through the heavy tension like sunlight.

Aunt Caroline watched from across the room, eyes shining with something tender—gratitude, pride, maybe relief.

Eventually, plates emptied, conversations thinned, and some of the older relatives had started to walk out. Ethan’s shoulders sagged, his body finally registering how wrung-out he was—exhaustion softening him instead of dragging him down.

Wade leaned in, voice low enough only Ethan heard. “Hey. We should head out. Clean up a bit. Maybe nap before Darlene’s.”

Ethan blinked at him, eyes half-lidded. “We’re still goin’ to your mom’s?”

“Yeah,” Wade smirked. “She’ll skin me alive if I miss her stuffing.”

Ethan huffed a tired laugh. “Yeah. Okay. I’d… I’d rather be there anyway.”

Wade’s eyes softened. “I know.”

Ethan set Lacy down gently, kissed the top of her head, and promised to read with her again next time. Caroline squeezed his arm as he passed, murmuring something Wade didn’t catch—but whatever it was, it made Ethan’s breath catch and his eyes go soft.

Then they stepped out into crisp, clean air—cool enough to sting, quiet enough to breathe in. Ethan exhaled long and shaky.

Wade opened the passenger door. “Nap first,” he said. “Then supper. And you’re eatin’ at least two plates.”

Ethan slid in, finally smiling like it reached him. “Yeah,” he said. “I can do that.”

And for the first time all day, he sounded like he meant it.

***

They barely made it off the porch.

Ethan was standing at the passenger door, waiting for Wade to find the key to unlock it so he could sit back. 

Jim Reyes stormed out after them.

“Don’t you walk off this property without sayin’ a damn word to me!” he bellowed. “You think you can sneak off like cowards?”

Ethan jerked, hand slipping on the door handle. Wade hit the unlock button again, but Ethan’s fingers fumbled with panic.

Wade didn’t get in.

He stepped away from the truck, planting himself between Ethan and the man barreling down the porch steps.

Jim didn’t even slow. His boots chewed up the grass, face blotchy red, shoulders wound tight as wire.

“You think you’re too good to say goodbye to your father?” he shouted over Wade’s shoulder. “You think you can disrespect me like that? You ain’t leavin’ this property without talkin’ to me—both of you!”

Ethan made a tiny, strangled sound—barely a whimper, but Wade felt it like a knife to the chest.

He’d been patient. Respectful. Careful.

But that sound ended all of it.

“Back up,” Wade warned, voice low.

Jim didn’t. Instead he lunged straight for the truck, grabbing the door—Wade’s door—and yanking it hard enough the hinges groaned.

Ethan flinched like he’d been hit.

And Wade—finally, fully—snapped.

He slammed the door shut himself, knocking Jim’s hand off the metal, stepping into his space.

“Don’t you put your hands on my truck,” Wade growled. “And don’t you go grabbin’ at him like that ever again.”

Jim squared up, breath heaving, spit shining on his lip. “I’ll talk to my boy how I damn well please! You don’t come into my home, eat my food, disrespect this family, then slink away like nothin’ happened!”

“You embarrassed yourself,” Wade shot back, “in front of your whole damn family. That’s on you.”

Jim’s face twisted. “You don’t ever set foot in this house again! Not you, not him!” He jabbed a finger past Wade. “I’m done watchin’ you two prance around like—like—”

Ethan’s eyes squeezed shut. Shoulders curled.

Wade stepped forward. “Don’t you say it.”

“You gonna stop me?” Jim snarled. “You gonna tell me how to talk in my own house?”

“Raise your voice at me again,” Wade said, shaking with fury, “and we’re gonna have a different kind of problem.”

Jim leaned in, chest brushing Wade’s. “You threatenin’ me?”

“Not threatenin’,” Wade said. “Settin’ a boundary.”

Before Jim could bark back, the screen door slapped open behind him.

Cody stepped out onto the porch—eyes widening as he caught the tail end of Jim shoving Wade, Wade shoving him back, Jim grabbing for the truck again.

To Cody, it looked like a fight already happening.

“What the hell—” Cody muttered, and came down the steps fast, fists curling like he thought he was supposed to jump in.

Jim reached again for the truck handle.

Wade smacked his hand away—harder this time. “Do not touch my truck,” he barked. “And don’t lay a damn hand on him.”

“You don’t get to take my son—”

“He ain’t bein’ taken,” Wade snapped. “He’s goin’ home. With me. Because he wants to.”

Jim stepped forward again, fury boiling over—

And Wade shoved him back. Open-handed. Controlled. But enough to make Jim stumble.

The tension snapped.

The porch. The door. Cody halfway across the yard. Everyone braced for something worse.

Ethan’s voice finally cracked out of him—barely audible. “Wade—please. Let’s just go.”

Wade didn’t take his eyes off Jim. “Stay in the truck, Ethan.”

Ethan scrambled back in, slamming the door with shaking hands.

Wade backed away, slowly, breath shaking but words steady. “Don’t follow us. Don’t yell after him. Don’t touch my truck again.”

Wade didn’t even make it one step back toward the truck.

Cody flew off the porch like he’d been fired from a gun.

“What the hell’s your problem?” he snapped, getting up in Wade’s face before the dust from Jim’s stumble even settled. “You don’t put your hands on my father. You hear me? You don’t shove him. What the hell do you think you are, comin’ in here and—”

Wade stared past him, jaw set, not engaging.

He was done.

Cody didn’t like that.

“You think you’re tough?” Cody barked. “Think you can push around your elders? Real big man, huh?”

Wade stayed still. Quiet. Too quiet.

Cody kept going.

“Dad’s right. You two strut in here like you’re better than us—”

Still no reaction.

“—and Ethan’s over there actin’ like a damn—”

Wade turned his head finally, eyes sharp, deadly calm.

“Watch your mouth.”

Cody smirked like he’d been waiting for that. “Why? Because he’s too soft to take it? Always has been. He started all this crap—”

Wade inhaled once, long and furious.

“I’m done with you,” he muttered, and turned to walk away—

Ethan’s panicked eyes were huge behind the windshield.

Wade didn’t get two steps.

Cody’s fist smashed into his jaw with a sound so violent Ethan heard it inside the truck—a wet, cracking thud that didn’t belong in a family yard.

Wade’s head whipped sideways. He staggered.

For one horrific second, everything froze.
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
His mother’s voice cracked through the open door, thin with fear.
“Cody! Stop it right now! QUIT!”

But it was too late.

Wade never threw the first punch.
But the second?

He spun, fast as a whipcrack, and hit Cody so hard the man’s teeth clicked together. Cody stumbled, caught himself, and came right back—swinging, shoving, breath ragged.

And then it was real.

Two grown men colliding like storm fronts—heavy fists, heavy bodies, the kind of strikes meant to hurt, not distract. The kind of fight that adults don’t bounce back from. No schoolyard pacing. No holding back.

This was violence.

Ethan scrambled out of the truck, almost falling as his boots slipped on the gravel.

“AYE! Wade, STOP! Please—Wade, just get in the truck—we need to go—please—”

Neither of them even glanced at him.

Cody grabbed Wade’s shirt, yanking him forward. Wade tore free, slammed Cody back, took a wild hit to the shoulder, then drove one into Cody’s ribs that made a sick, hollow sound.

Cody spat blood into the dirt. “Come on then! Fight me, you ain’t a hero—fight me!”

“Ethan, get back in the truck!” Wade barked, voice sharp, furious, edged with real danger. He didn’t even turn his head.

Ethan froze mid-step—heart pounding so hard he tasted metal. His hands shook like he couldn’t force them to obey.

Ethan’s mother rushed onto the porch—barefoot, terrified, voice cracking.

“CODY! Enough! Wade—stop—please—stop! You’re gonna kill each other—”

Cody laughed breathlessly, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. “Nah, Ethan—come on out here. Come see what your boyfriend’s really like.”

Wade saw red.

He lunged—pure reaction, pure protectiveness, pure fury—and tackled Cody backward, both of them tearing up grass, fists flying. The sounds they made weren’t words—just grunts, impacts, snarls of pain, the raw violence of men old enough to know better and still too angry to stop.

Ethan’s voice broke. “Wade—Wade, please—please, let’s go home—please—”

Cody shoved Wade’s chest. Wade slammed his forearm across Cody’s jaw. Cody swung wild. Wade blocked and hit back hard enough that even Jim flinched from the porch.

Cody spat on the grass. “You want a show? Here—”

“GET. IN. THE. TRUCK,” Wade roared—so sharp, so raw, Ethan jerked like he’d been slapped.

Ethan stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own boots before catching himself on the truck door. “Okay! Okay, I’m going—I’m going—just stop—please stop—”

He dove inside and slammed the door shut, sobs shaking out of him before he could hold them in.

Outside, the fight only escalated—two men too angry to quit, fists heavy enough to break things, breaths ragged, blood starting to show.

This wasn’t a small argument.
This wasn’t family tension.
This was danger.

And Wade was not backing down.

Ethan’s mother’s voice cut through the yard, sharp and strained.
“Hunter! Get out here, now!”

Twice she called, and each time the panic clawed deeper into Ethan’s chest. He could see the truth in her eyes: these two men weren’t stopping, and they weren’t holding back. His stomach turned sick.

He stayed where he was, rooted, hands trembling at his sides. He was terrified—not for himself—but for Wade, for Cody, for the violent inevitability of two grown men letting resentment explode in the dirt. He’d seen enough fights on this land to know where they could end.

Finally, Hunter, Cody’s buddy and a favorite cousin, came barreling out, jaw set, shoulders tensed like he already knew the kind of hell he was walking into. Even he looked reluctant, eyes flicking between the two men like he was calculating the odds of surviving without a scratch.

Hunter grabbed Cody first, wrapping powerful arms around his chest, dragging him backward. Cody fought like a cornered animal, spitting curses over Hunter’s shoulder. Wade stumbled as Hunter shoved Cody away, gasping, bent over with his hands on his knees.

“Enough!” Hunter barked, voice ragged, teeth clenched, trying to maintain control. Cody surged again.

It didn’t stop. The fight shifted from fists to venomous words, ugly and cutting, raw as exposed nerves. Every insult, every accusation. Wade’s voice cracked with fury; Cody’s shook with anger and disbelief. Hunter jostled between them, bracing for sudden lunges, sweat and dirt smearing across his forehead.

From the porch, the windows, the half-open curtains, the rest of the family watched silently. Adults whispered, children were pulled away, one small voice crying softly from inside. No one dared step in—not fully. The fear was thick enough to choke.

Ethan swallowed, dry and sharp. This wasn’t a fight. This was every fracture, every old hurt, every grudge unraveling in the dirt beneath them.

Finally, Cody stumbled back, chest heaving, red-faced and raw with fury. Wade straightened slowly, dragging a hand across his mouth. And Ethan saw him—really saw him.

His stomach dropped.

Wade’s face was a battlefield. Blood trickled from a split lip, cheek already swelling dark and angry. One eye was bruised, shadows pooling beneath it. His shirt was torn, hands scraped, wrists raw from ground contact and hitting back. He looked like hell had chewed him up—and somehow, he was still standing, still towering over Cody with a mix of fury, exhaustion, and stubborn pride.

Ethan’s throat tightened painfully. The helpless ache pressed on his chest like iron bands. Cody had done more damage than he’d imagined. Way more than Ethan had thought possible.

He wanted to scream at them, to demand reason, to rip them both from their fury—but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He could only stand there, shivering, and watch Wade spit blood into the grass and wipe at his mouth, caught between exhaustion and the raw, unrelenting need to protect.

Finally, Wade straightened fully, bleeding, bruised, battered—and still radiating a kind of anger that could split stone. He looked at Cody, eyes dark, burning with a mixture of fury and quiet heartbreak.

“Cody,” Wade said, voice low and lethal, “you never come near him—or me—again.”

Cody rubbed a smear of blood from his lip, chest heaving. “Next time I see him running around with you? I’ll kill you.”

Wade flinched at the words, hurt flashing across his face—not at the threat, but at the thought of it: what Cody would do to protect his own ego, what he would take from Ethan if given the chance.

Ethan’s breath caught. He could see it all: Wade’s anger, the hurt behind it, the sacrifice he’d make in a heartbeat. Everything he’d take—everything he’d endure—just to keep Ethan safe.

It broke him.

He sank into his seat, hands over his face, silent sobs shaking him.

The dirt, the blood, the echoing shouts—it all pressed in, a grim reminder that love sometimes came at a terrible, terrifying cost. And Wade, bruised and bleeding and still standing tall, had paid more than anyone should have ever asked.

***

Wade limped across the yard, boots dragging through the grass, each step heavier than the last. His shirt was torn, streaked with dirt and blood, and every movement sent a wince across his face. His breathing came in ragged pulls, shallow and uneven, but he didn’t slow—not for Cody, not for Jim, not even for himself. All that mattered was Ethan.

Ethan watched as Wade stumbled back towards him, hands pressed to his face as sobs shook him to the core. He couldn’t process it—the yelling, the fists, the blood, the fury. His chest heaved, every inhale sharp, and his voice cracked when he whispered, a tremor of terror cutting through the chaos.

“Wade—Jesus Christ—what the hell did you do?” Ethan’s voice cracked, but it wasn’t soft. It was sharp, strangled panic. His hands shook violently as he watched Wade stumble closer. “You’re hurt—Wade, you’re bleeding—”

Wade’s hand rose, catching a smear of blood at his jaw in his palm, spitting thick, coppery liquid before it could stain the seats. His chest heaved as he tried to catch breath, voice rough and ragged.

“Ethan…” he rasped, every syllable strained. “Get— get in the driver’s seat.”

“No. No—are you crazy? You can barely stand.” Ethan took a step forward like he wanted to grab him, hold him up, shake him—he didn’t even know which. His chest was heaving, anger and fear tangling together. “You shouldn’t’ve gone after him—what were you thinking?”

Wade’s hands were gentle but firm, gripping Ethan’s waist and lifting him over the center console as if he weighed nothing. Ethan’s arms curled instinctively around his neck, chest pressed tight, as Wade carefully lowered him into the driver’s seat. He didn't want him stepping outside, didn't want him risking Jim getting a hold of him. Then he sagged into the passenger side, head leaning back, panting, trying to gather what little breath he had left.

Once Wade collapsed into the passenger seat, Ethan stared at him in horror. His face was a mess of swelling and blood. His lip was split wide. His eye was darkening by the second.

“You… you okay?” Wade asked, voice low but intense, still spitting into his palm to keep the blood from dripping. His bruised, swollen eye and split lip didn’t mask the ferocity in his gaze. “Tell me… what’s the matter? You scared?”

“Oh my god,” Ethan whispered—but then his voice kicked back up, rough and angry. “Wade, look at you. You look like you got thrown under a damn tractor.”

Wade blinked slowly, trying to smirk. “Tractor’d been kinder. M’fine though, baby.”

“You’re not fine,” Ethan snapped, tears burning hot in his eyes. “You look awful. And you just—what—expect me to pretend it’s nothing?”

“Darlin’. I’m here. That’s what matters.”

“That’s not good enough!” Ethan choked out. “You can’t just—just jump into a fight like that. You scared the hell outta me! Cody could’ve—” His voice split apart. “He could’ve killed you.”

Wade swallowed hard—pain or emotion, Ethan couldn’t tell. He reached over, covering Ethan’s shaking hands on the wheel with his own unsteady ones. 

“I ain’t lettin’ anybody take you from me. Not him. Not anyone. I don't give a shit if I have to fight every single man in that house.”

The words didn’t soothe Ethan—they made him glare harder, eyes glassy and furious. “You can’t promise that. Not after looking like this.”

He gestured to Wade’s entire battered body, voice trembling but strong.

Wade’s eyes softened, exhaustion pulling at every word. “I can promise I’ll do damn near anything to stay beside you.”

“You scared me,” Ethan admitted, quieter, but no less raw. “I didn’t know it’d get that bad. I didn’t know he’d—” His voice buckled. “That he’d do that to you.”

Wade shook his head. There was nothing either of them could do about it now, it was over, Cody had hit first. 

“Hey, we’re all okay now,” Wade murmured, squeezing his hand. “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

“No,” Ethan said, shaking his head hard. “I’m not okay. Not when you’re like this.”

Still, he drove. Slower than normal, careful, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the engine. Every few seconds, he glanced at Wade—and every time he looked worse. Ethan’s jaw set, breath sharp.

“I swear to God,” Ethan muttered under his breath, wiping tears with the heel of his hand, “if you ever pull somethin’ that stupid again—”

Wade lifted a brow, weak but teasing. “You’ll what, honey?”

Ethan’s voice broke. “I’ll… I’ll lose you.”

Wade went still, fight gone out of him. “You ain’t losin’ me. Not tonight.”

Silence filled the truck, heavy and aching.

***

When they parked, Ethan didn’t wait for anything—not keys, not breath, not sense. He slammed the door and rushed to Wade’s side just as Wade limped out and nearly buckled. Ethan caught him with hands that were angry and terrified at the same time.

“You idiot,” Ethan whispered, voice splitting at the seams. “You absolute idiot.”

Wade’s arms wrapped around him, weak but stubborn, pulling Ethan against his chest despite the pain. Ethan finally folded into him, fists grabbing the back of Wade’s ruined shirt like he was afraid it might disappear.

“I thought I was gonna watch you die,” Ethan murmured, devastation hollowing out his voice. “Don’t do that to me. Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

Wade pressed his forehead to Ethan’s temple, breathing him in. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here, baby. I won’t scare you like that again. Promise.”

Wade barely got the front door shut before Ethan had him by the arm, dragging him toward the kitchen table.

“Sit,” Ethan ordered, voice shaking but firm.

“Baby, we just—”

“Sit.”

Wade sat, slumping into the chair with a hiss of pain. Ethan was already under the sink, digging for the first-aid box. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped it twice before slamming it onto the table beside Wade.

Wade watched him with that soft, worn-out, lovesick look he only ever had for Ethan. His lip was still bleeding. His cheekbone was swelling by the second. But his eyes—those were steady, locked on Ethan. “Ethan,” he murmured. “You don’t gotta—”

“Stop talking.”

Ethan cupped Wade’s jaw, turning his bruised face up into the light. As soon as his thumb grazed a torn patch of skin, a tear fell straight down onto Wade’s jeans.

Wade flinched. Not from pain. From that.

“Hey,” he whispered, thumb rising to wipe it away from Ethan’s cheek.

Ethan jerked back like Wade’s touch burned him. “No. Don’t—just let me do this.”

Wade didn’t want that look on Ethan. Didn’t want his fear to settle like dust. So, without thinking, he leaned forward, going for Ethan’s mouth.

Ethan dodged, catching Wade’s chin and holding him still with fingers far gentler than his voice. “Quit it,” he muttered, wiping blood from Wade’s cheek. “You look awful.”

Wade tried a grin. “Awful handsome.”

The glare Ethan gave him should’ve cut through bone. “Don’t joke.”

“I am not jokin’, sweetheart.”

Wade leaned again for a kiss—slow this time, trying to charm him into it—but Ethan popped a hand to his forehead to block him. “Wade, please. Let me make sure you’re okay. Just this once.”

Wade froze. Ethan almost never said please like that—cracked down the middle, begging on instinct.

So Wade went still.

Ethan got to work. He cleaned every cut, every scrape, every split in Wade’s skin. The sting made Wade hiss more than once, and every time he did, Ethan blew softly over the spot, like cooling a burn on a child. His fingers traced bruises with trembling reverence, and his breath shuddered every time he found a new mark.

Wade didn’t take his eyes off him—not once.

By the time Ethan finished, his shoulders slumped and his voice had gone soft. “Okay,” he breathed. “That’s… that’s good enough.”

Wade took the chance—reached for his waist, slow, wanting to pull him closer.

Ethan stepped back, tired eyes flicking over the mess of him. “You need to shower. You’re covered in blood and dirt and sweat and—God, Wade, Darlene’s gonna take one look at you and throw us off her property.”

Wade chuckled—and groaned immediately. Everything hurt. “Probably will.”

“Go.” Ethan pointed toward the hall.

“Alright, alright,” Wade sighed, pushing himself to his feet.

But before Ethan could turn away, Wade hooked two fingers through his belt loop and tugged him in close enough their foreheads nearly touched.

Ethan blinked up at him, exhausted and tearful. “What?”

“Come and clean me up, baby,” Wade murmured, voice dropping low, “You always do the best job, get me all nice and clean.”

Ethan opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked utterly, painfully done. “Wade,” he groaned. “You’re impossible.”

Wade leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose—quick enough Ethan couldn’t dodge this time. “Yeah. But you love me, huh?.”

Ethan’s jaw flexed, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t. “Fine. I’m comin’. But you’re not doin’ anything. You’re getting clean and going straight to bed.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“And if you pass out on me in there—”

“I won’t,” Wade promised softly. He pressed his forehead to Ethan’s for a moment, breath mingling. “Not while you’re with me.”

Ethan’s hand found Wade’s. Held tight. Tight enough Wade could feel the fear still lingering in his grip.

“Come on,” Ethan said quietly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Wade followed—limping, bruised, wrecked—but lighter with every step Ethan guided him with. Because Ethan, even shaking and furious and wrung-out, had stayed. Had tended to him. Had held him. Had chosen him in every trembling breath.

And Wade would be damned if he didn’t follow him anywhere.

***

The steam from the hot shower filled the small bathroom, turning the air thick and warm as Wade guided Ethan inside. Water cascaded from the showerhead, soaking their clothes before Wade peeled off Ethan's shirt, then his own blood-streaked one. The fight with Ethan's brother had left Wade's knuckles raw and a cut above his eye red, but his focus was on the younger man trembling slightly beside him. Ethan had watched the whole thing, wide-eyed and frozen, and now Wade wanted nothing more than to wash away the fear.

“Temperature’s fine,” Wade murmured, voice soft in a way it hadn’t been all day. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

He stepped in first, pulling Ethan in after him by the hips, shutting the curtain with a quiet swish. The spray hit Ethan’s back in a hot wave, making him yelp.

“Wade—! You didn’t even check—”

“I did,” Wade lied without shame, dragging both hands up Ethan’s sides like he was checking him for wounds. “Perfect for you.”

“This was supposed to be your shower,” Ethan argued. “You’re the one who got—”

“Baby,” Wade said, voice dipping into that low, warm place he only ever used when it was just the two of them. “You watched me fight your damn brother. And you cried the whole drive home. Lemme take care of you first.”

Ethan’s breath stuttered. “I wasn’t—crying, I was—”

“Tremblin’ like a little wet cat,” Wade teased, grinning against the curve of Ethan’s neck as he reached for the soap. “A sexy wet cat, but still.”

“Oh my god—”

“Turn around,” Wade said, spinning him gently by the shoulder.

Ethan obeyed, cheeks flushed, and Wade began to massage soap into his back—slow, steady circles that made Ethan’s legs wobble. Then Wade moved up to his neck, thumbs gliding over tendons with unexpected tenderness.

Every time Ethan exhaled, Wade melted a little more.

“Lift your arms,” Wade whispered.

Ethan did. Automatically. Like he couldn’t imagine not listening to him right now.

Wade washed his ribs, his sides, his stomach—touches reverent, almost worshipful. He wasn’t teasing now. He was quiet, focused, like Ethan was something breakable he’d been trusted to carry.

When Wade slid his fingers into Ethan’s hair and started working shampoo into his scalp, Ethan’s eyes fluttered closed. His shoulders slumped. Wade’s thumbs pressed gentle circles until Ethan was leaning back against him fully, trusting him with his whole weight.

Wade breathed a soft, needy sound into Ethan’s ear.

“Could do this forever,” he murmured. “Take care of you like this.”

Ethan swallowed hard, voice thick. “O-okay. My turn. That’s why I came in here.”

Wade smirked, eyes low and hungry but soft. “You sure? ‘Cause I could get a lil’ lower next and—”

“Wade.” Ethan put a hand flat on Wade’s chest and nudged him under the spray. “Stop talking.”

That shut him up real quick.

Ethan soaped his hands and started on Wade’s chest, careful around the bruises. Wade hissed, jaw tightening, but he stayed still when Ethan murmured, “Let me.”

Ethan cleaned every inch of him—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing Wade’s body and rebuilding it at the same time. He traced the cut above Wade’s eye with his thumb, gentler than breath.

“Does that hurt?” Ethan asked softly.

“Nope,” Wade lied.

“Wade.”

“…yeah,” he finally admitted.

Ethan leaned closer, voice barely a whisper over the water. “This is why I came with you. I’m not letting you fall apart alone.”

Wade’s breath actually hitched.

Something in him broke open—something raw and needy and aching for love. Wade leaned forward, pressing soft kisses wherever Ethan’s hands weren’t in his way—his shoulder, his temple, the back of his neck. Slow, needy kisses like he’d been starving for this kind of closeness.

“Wade,” Ethan murmured, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. “I’m trying to clean you.”

“I know,” Wade breathed, kissing just under Ethan’s ear. “And I’m tryin’ to love you.”

Ethan shivered so hard it shook them both.

“That makes it… really hard to focus,” he whispered.

“Good,” Wade murmured, nuzzling his cheek. “You focus too damn much.”

Ethan finally stopped resisting. He leaned in, resting their foreheads together as the water washed over them—Ethan’s hands still cleaning him, Wade’s arms sliding around his waist, pulling him in slow, needy, like he’d been starving for this softness all day and only Ethan could give it to him.

Wade kissed him again—gentler than the steam, warmer than the water.

“I love you,” he whispered against Ethan’s mouth. “Even when I’m bleedin’. Especially then.”

Ethan breathed out, shaky and undone.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “I know.”

And he held Wade close, soap-slick hands sliding over bruised skin, as if cleaning him was the same as loving him.

Wade slowly hardened against Ethan's thigh, thick and insistent, and he felt Ethan's breath hitch against him. Wade noticed, not only that he was aroused but that Ethan knew too. 

“Let me love you, E. It’s alright.”  Wade cooed, cupping Ethan's face to tilt it up. Their lips met again under the water, a slow kiss that deepened as Wade's hands gripped Ethan's behind, kneading the firm bulbs of flesh. Ethan melted against him, his own erection starting to press into Wade's abdomen, but there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes when Wade's fingers slipped down and eased between his legs.

“Wade…you know we've never done this in the shower. I don’t wanna slip.” Ethan admitted, cheeks flushing hotter than the steam. His voice was small, yet relaxed. Wade pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.

“I know, E. I know. We'll go slow. You tell me if it's too much for you. And you won’t slip, I’ve got you.”  Wade's words were tender, wanting to assure Ethan he’d be just fine. They didn't experiment or get too creative with sex, this was new and good. 

He lifted Ethan effortlessly, strong arms hooking under his pale thighs, wrapping those thin legs around his hips. Ethan's back pressed against the cool tile wall, the temperature contrast making him gasp. 

“I know, it’s cold. I know.” Wade spoke, kissing Ethan’s cheek and cupping some water to splash on the shower tile, trying to warm it up for him.

Wade kissed and mumbled to his boy while he lined himself up, nudging against Ethan's entrance, slick from the water and soap. But he didn't push in yet. Just teased, he had no intention of rushing him, of hurting him. Instead, one hand wrapped around Ethan's slick length, stroking it firmly from base to tip, thumb circling the head to draw out a moan. He made sure to keep him secure, hold him tightly so he didn’t slip down. 

“How’s that? You okay?” Wade asked, watching Ethan's face as he pumped his hand steadily, building that pleasure to ease the tension of the day.

“Ah hell—yeah, it’s good.” Ethan breathed, head falling back against the tile. His fingers gently dug into Wade's shoulders, still trying to focus on the cuts near his eye, but the strokes on his shaft made his hand falter when it reached to touch the cuts and bruises on Wade’s face.

Wade kept up his movements, stroking him soft and gentle. He kissed Ethan’s lips, then his cheeks, then his jaw, and his neck. Then he'd start all over, letting Ethan capture his mouth here and there. 

Ethan reached down to take hold of Wade’s shaft after a moment, thumbing at the head how Wade liked. 

Wade groaned, tossed his head back into the spray of the shower. Ethan had soft hands for his line of work, and they always seemed to be warm. Wade could’ve blown his load just letting Ethan jerk him off, something about it made Wade weak. 

Ethan was weak to it too, clinging to Wade and bucking his hips as Wade stroked him. Not much was said in those moments, both boys grunting and panting at the other’s hand, frotting when hands just weren't enough. 

Wade had taught Ethan how to jerk him off, how to jerk himself off. Religion and such, some kind of moral value only held by Southern twats, had kept Ethan from the knowledge of pleasure until he was an adult. 

Wade would never let him forget it now, he’d never let him be without this, not after living in that hellhole. 

When Wade couldn't hold himself anymore, he halted Ethan’s hands with his own.

“Hey—hey, that’s enough. Let me be inside you. Let me make it up to you.” Wade panted, still squeezing and rubbing Ethan. 

It took Ethan a second to respond, blissed and warm and floaty. Once he heard Wade, his eyes opened a fraction after being squeezed tight. 

“Make—shit, make what up to me, Wade?”

“The fighting, your stupid family’s excuse for Thanksgiving, your stupid brother, all of it. I wanna fuck you so hard you forget all about it. I want them to know what you and I’ve been up to next time they see ya.” 

Ethan’s breath hitched at that, at Wade’s determination more than anything.

“You don't have to make anything up to me, baby. None of that's got anything to do with you.”

Wade leaned forward, capturing Ethan’s lips in a soft and feather light kiss.

“I want to.” He whispered, lips still pressed to Ethan’s. “I want to make it better, you've had a shit holiday so far and I can’t have that.“

With that, Wade pressed the tip of his length inside of Ethan, using the water, leftover soap, and precum from Ethan’s shaft as lubricant. The head stretched Ethan's tight ring slowly, gently as Wade tested him, warmed him up. Ethan tensed, a whimper escaping, and Wade froze, kissing his neck softly. 

“Breathe for me. You're doing so good—taking me like this.” He resumed moving his hand on Ethan's cock, matching the rhythm to distract and soothe, the dual sensations pulling Ethan back from the edge of nerves and discomfort. Inch by inch, Wade sank deeper, his thick length filling Ethan completely, bottoming out with a shared groan when he knew Ethan was okay to handle it. He knew he was doing this without Ethan's usual prep, he'd fingered him that early morning, but it wasn't his usual preparation. He was mindful, waiting when needed, he was so proud of Ethan for taking it, for relaxing. 

Ethan's legs tightened around Wade's waist, his body adjusting to the fullness.

“Easy…Wade, please.” he panted, but there was no real protest, just that sensitive vulnerability Wade loved him for. It took a little bit for Wade to feel comfortable to thrust into him, shallow at first, angling his hips to hit Ethan's prostate with each gentle push. The water cascaded down on them, slicking their skin, making every slide easier. It was still warm, making the entire experience so much more enjoyable.

“Right there? That okay?” Wade growled softly, increasing the pace as Ethan nodded and whined.

"Mmhm, please—Wade. Right—mh—right there."

He drove in harder now, his length rubbing against that spot relentlessly, but his free hand switched to cradle Ethan's head, thumb brushing his lips. Ethan's attempts to tend to Wade's bruises dissolved—his hands clutched at Wade's back instead, nails scraping as the pleasure overwhelmed him. The cuts and bruises on Wade's face were forgotten in the haze; all Ethan could do was rock his hips down to meet each thrust, his prostate throbbing under the pressure.

Ethan took Wade’s thumb between his lips, sucking softly as Wade quickened the pace even more, softly asking if Ethan was okay after each increase. Ethan never complained, he had an understanding that Wade wouldn’t hurt him, not ever. 

“Okay, E?” 

“Need more? Tell me.”

“I want words, Ethan. Tell me what you need.”

Wade's mouth found Ethan's collarbone, sucking lightly, then trailing kisses up to capture his lips again. He could tell Ethan was close, and he wanted him to climax first. He stroked Ethan's length faster as his pace increased, getting sloppier as he got closer and knew Ethan was too, twisting his wrist at the top, feeling him twitch in his grip. Ethan was so sensitive, always, his shaft practically jumped in Wade's hands. 

He softly pressed at Ethan’s stomach, murmuring words of praise and encouragement as Ethan squirmed and panted, squealing when Wade hit a softer spot inside him. Ethan mewled when he felt pressure on his core, letting Wade hold his weight and have total control of his body. 

"Wade—hey, woah."

"You okay, E? Talk to me?" Wade replied immediately, he'd never let Ethan go unheard.

"Yeah, good. Just...close. I like—ah—like when you press on my stomach." 

Wade smirked, chuckling to himself. He added more soft pressure to Ethan's stomach, right where he could feel the slight bulge of his length inside the boy. 

"Oh yeah? That good, huh?" Wade smirked, kissing the blonde's nose and nipping his bottom lip. 

Ethan only whined and moaned, clinging to Wade one last time before he released. 

Ethan cried out first, his body shuddering as his seed spilled over Wade's hand, his stomach, his thighs ropes of it mixing with the water streaming down. Wade held him up through it and rubbed his stomach with his knuckles until the blonde caught his breath, his length slowly going soft.

Ethan's sounds and the sight of his cum all over Wade's body pushed Wade over the edge—he thrust deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came, flooding Ethan with thick pulses of his liquid. He tossed his head back and moaned deep, guttural. Ethan always tightened around him right before he came, making it even better for Wade and even harder to pull out.

 They held each other through it, breaths mingling, Wade's arms unyielding as he kept Ethan pinned and supported. Ethan tried to hold Wade, hands in his hair, open-mouth kissing his neck. He was tired and spent, but he was trying to soothe him. 

Wade did a better job, holding Ethan until they both calmed down. 

"Can you stand up, darlin'? I need to get you cleaned off." Wade spoke, out of breath. He went to pull out of Ethan and set him down, holding his weight while Ethan found his balance. 

"I think so, I don't want to, though." Ethan admitted, whining as Wade's length was pulled out of him gently. He still allowed Wade to set him down, let his shaky legs hit the tile floor. He was unbalanced and unstable, but he was able to stand with Wade's help. 

"Just for a minute, just for one second. I'll carry your ass to bed if you let me rinse you off."

***

By the time the water shut off, their bodies were loose and warm, breaths slowed, everything between them soft as cotton.

Wade didn’t let Ethan step out on his own.

He hooked an arm around Ethan’s waist and lifted him clean off his feet again—Ethan giving a tiny, startled sound as Wade carried him out of the tub like he weighed absolutely nothing.

"Mmph, Wade—” Ethan mumbled, face flushed and sleepy. "Carry me."

“Mhm,” Wade hummed, nudging the bathroom door open with his shoulder. “I'm on it, even if I've been servin' you all day anyway.”

He set Ethan down on the bath mat and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around Ethan’s shoulders first. Ethan blinked up at him, damp lashes heavy, hair flattened to his forehead. A little dazed. A little spoiled.

Wade loved him like this—warm and quiet and letting himself be taken care of.

“Hold still,” Wade said gently.

He towel-dried Ethan’s hair, his neck, his shoulders, slow enough to be tender but firm enough to get him warm. Ethan leaned into him, hands resting on Wade’s hips like he was too tired to let go.

When it was Wade’s turn, Ethan perked up just enough to fuss.

“Let me—let me see,” he mumbled, snatching the towel and bringing it up to Wade’s cheek. The bruise there was changing color already, deep and ugly.

Ethan’s lips pressed flat, eyes narrowing.

“You’re gonna look awful at Darlene’s,” he whispered.

Wade smirked. “I won't, I'll look hot. Rugged cowboy look, gets all the ladies.”

“That’s not funny,” Ethan said, voice cracking with leftover fear from the fight.

Wade softened immediately, hands coming up to hold Ethan’s wrist. “Ok, I'm sorry. But I’m alright, all good.”

“You’re not,” Ethan muttered, quietly rubbing the towel over Wade’s jaw in little, careful motions. “You’re hurt. And tired. And you scared the hell out of me.”

Wade didn’t argue. He just bowed his head a little, letting Ethan finish drying the blood-stained strands of hair near his temple.

“There,” Ethan whispered, stepping back and wiping under his own eye. “Okay. We’re done. Bedtime.”

Wade nodded like he’d been waiting for that command.

Wade padded down the hall, Ethan in tow, still warm from the shower, and a little unsteady with exhaustion. Ethan dug through the drawer when Wade set him down to get dressed, tugging out a worn pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt for Wade—something soft, something that wouldn’t rub his bruises.

“You nap better in this one,” Ethan said, holding it out.

Wade kissed his forehead for that.

Ethan changed too—climbing into his softest shorts, tugging on the loose henley Wade had claimed as his but let Ethan borrow whenever he wanted comfort. They both looked like rumpled laundry, hair damp, eyes half-closed.

Wade crawled into bed first, flopping down with a groan that was definitely pain—but he hid it well. He lifted an arm for Ethan wordlessly.

Ethan climbed in like it was instinct. Like it was home. He tucked himself carefully against Wade’s chest, mindful of every bruise and cut, blanket pulled up just high enough to keep Wade warm without pressing on him.

Wade’s hand found his hair, combing through it slowly.

Ethan pressed his forehead to Wade’s collarbone, breathing out a long, shaky sigh that sounded like release.

“You alright?” Wade murmured.

Ethan nodded into him. “Are you?”

“Now I am,” Wade whispered, kissing the top of his head. “Now I really am.”

Within minutes, Ethan’s breathing evened out—warm and soft against his chest—and Wade let his eyes drift shut too, holding Ethan as gently as a heartbeat.

Thanksgiving supper at Darlene’s would come soon enough.

But for now, they had this.

A quiet bed, warm skin, and finally—finally—peace.

Chapter Text

Wade woke first.

The bedroom was dim, steeped in late-afternoon gold that poured through the curtains like warm honey. The air still carried the faint scent of steam, skin, and the detergent of the sheets they’d tangled in. Ethan slept heavy on his chest, one arm draped over him, fingers curled loosely in the sheets. His breathing was slow, deep—the kind that only came after warmth and trust and the kind of intimacy that left a man boneless.

Wade didn’t want to move.

But they couldn’t show up to Darlene’s wearing the wrinkled clothes they’d peeled off hours ago. So he shifted carefully, easing himself out from under Ethan’s arm, cradling Ethan’s head so he wouldn’t stir. Ethan let out a soft, warm sound—more content than complaining—but stayed asleep.

Wade pressed a quiet kiss to his hairline before standing. That was when the pain came back in—or rather, the reminder of it. A dull, dragging ache beneath the skin. A handful of hot points where bruises were forming. A pull at his ribs when he stretched. He swallowed it all down, jaw set. He wasn’t giving Darlene a reason to fuss.

He dressed slowly—nice button-down in deep blue, sleeves rolled once so they wouldn’t scrape cut skin; his date-night jeans; loafers instead of boots. The fabric felt cool against his sore body, a contrast he tried not to flinch from. He checked the mirror, smoothing a palm over damp hair, arranging himself into something that looked… fine. Presentable. Definitely not like a man who’d been clobbered earlier in the day.

When he turned back, Ethan hadn’t moved an inch.

He was curled around Wade’s pillow now, face pressed into it like he was chasing warmth. His hair was mussed, his mouth soft, his body loose with that tender, post-intimacy exhaustion that Wade felt in his own bones.

Wade crossed the room and brushed his knuckles along Ethan’s cheek.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Time to wake up, cowboy.”

Ethan breathed in once, slow, then burrowed deeper.

Wade huffed a laugh. “C’mon, baby. We gotta get movin’ if you want Darlene’s dinner instead of leftovers.”

One eye finally cracked open—sleep-blurred, warm, focused slowly on Wade’s neat clothes. Ethan reached up, fingertips brushing the collar as if confirming Wade really did look that good.

“You look… real nice,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep.

Wade kissed the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. Your turn.”

Ethan didn’t whine—he just exhaled, a long, weighted breath as he pushed himself upright. Wade supported him automatically, a palm steadied between Ethan’s shoulder blades. Ethan’s movements were slow, careful, his body heavy with the softness of earlier rather than clumsy tiredness.

“You okay?” Wade asked.

“Mhm,” Ethan said, rubbing the heel of his hand over one eye. “Just… feelin’ you still.”

Wade let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I know it.”

At the dresser, Ethan let Wade help choose clothes—a soft gray sweater, jeans that wouldn’t irritate skin still buzzing from touch, his too-big dress shoes. Ethan didn’t resist, just leaned into him, trusting and quiet.

“You fussin’ over me,” Ethan said, low and fond.

“You’re lettin’ me,” Wade answered, fixing a misaligned hem.

Ethan leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly on Wade’s shoulder. The warmth of it, the weight, the quiet certainty of closeness—it nearly undid Wade. He cupped the back of Ethan’s neck, thumb brushing once.

“Alrighty,” Wade murmured, voice gentler than he meant it to be. “We outta go before Ma starts callin’ neighbors.”

Ethan nodded, finally awake enough to smile. He slid his hand into Wade’s, giving it a soft tug.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Wade then locked up the house, checked the door twice out of habit, then walked Ethan out to the truck with a hand still linked through Ethan’s—steadying him, guiding him, touching him just because he could.

The cold air hit them both at once. Ethan tugged his sweater tighter around himself, still a little sleepy-soft, cheeks warm from the nap, hair pushed over to one side from Wade’s pillow. Wade opened the passenger door first.

“Ladies first,” he murmured, a smirk in his voice.

“Oh you quit it, you ain’t funny.” Ethan clapped back, even though he was snickering.

Wade could only laugh and shake his head.

Ethan climbed in, settling into the seat with that little sigh he always made. Wade shut the door, walked around, and eased himself into the driver’s seat with a quiet groan he tried to muffle. His ribs tugged. His arms stung. His jaw throbbed.

Ethan noticed.

He always did.

But he didn’t say anything—not yet. Just watched Wade snap his seatbelt in, roll his sleeves once more so they didn’t brush any raw skin, and adjust the mirror.

By the time Wade started the truck, Ethan had fully woken up, eyes clearer, posture straighter, hands folded loosely over his lap.

Wade put on the radio—some old country playlist he kept on for short drives—and then rested his hand on Ethan’s thigh, thumb brushing back and forth in soft, lazy strokes.

They pulled off down the road, the evening sun dropping low.

“Told you my family’s big,” Wade said after a minute, glancing over with a crooked smile. “Bigger than that Halloween party. Hell, bigger than any dinner you’ve probably had in your life.”

Ethan smiled, leaning slightly into the seat. “Bigger than the lunch with my family?”

“Oh, dalrin’—way bigger.” Wade barked a quiet laugh. “My folks don’t do quiet. We don’t do ‘small.’ Everyone’s comin’ tonight. Cousins, grandparents from both sides, my brother-in-law’s people… Carla’ll be there too—you know her. And her kids. Whole damn Ralston clan shows up for Darlene.”

Ethan snorted. “You say it like I should be scared.”

“I’m bein’ serious,” Wade teased, squeezing his thigh. “There’ll be people for you. You’ll be just fine. They’re gonna love you.”

“They already do,” Ethan said softly. “I love them too.”

Wade glanced over at him again—long enough that Ethan felt it, short enough not to swerve. Something in Wade eased at those words. Shoulders relaxed. Smile softened. His thumb slowed its rhythm on Ethan’s leg.

The drive stretched out peacefully.

Country music hummed low through the speakers—guitars, fiddles, that warm, easy drawl Wade always mouthed along to. The windows fogged a bit from the heater. Ethan tapped his fingers to the beat. Wade hummed under his breath, voice rough from the day but still warm as ever.

Compared to the tension they’d felt before visiting Ethan’s family… this was nothing. This was the road home. The road to people who cared for both of them. Who’d feed them, tease them, pass them rolls and pie.

Wade looked at Ethan again, this time more thoughtful.

“You really okay?” he asked quietly.

Ethan nodded. “Yeah. Actually… I’m excited.”

Wade’s smile widened at that.

His hand stayed right where it was on Ethan’s thigh—their own little grounding point—as the truck rumbled down the long country road toward Darlene’s house, the glow of the porch lights waiting for them like a welcome sign.

***

Wade turned into the long gravel drive, headlights sweeping over a full yard of cars—lined up crooked, truck beds up, someone’s dog wandering between them. Ethan blinked at the sheer number of them.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

Wade grinned, easing into a spot. “Told you. Early is on time for Darlene.”

Before Ethan could open his own door, Wade leaned over and fixed the collar of his sweater, smoothing it down, tugging lightly so it sat right on his shoulders. He brushed some lint from Ethan’s sleeve, double-checked his hair, then gave him a soft, proud smile.

“You look so handsome,” he said. “C’mon.”

They walked up the steps together. Ethan’s heart thumped—not with nerves this time, but something closer to excitement. Warmth. Hope. He’d come to like Wade’s family… and now he was walking into the biggest part of it.

Wade knocked twice, but the door opened before he even dropped his hand.

And the house erupted.

Voices, laughter, squeals from kids somewhere in the back, the smell of turkey and casseroles and a dozen pies hit them like a wave.

“There they are!” Darlene practically sang.

She pulled them both into her arms immediately—Ethan first, surprising him, kissing his cheek and patting his back like he was another one of her boys.

“So glad y’all made it! Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart,” she told Ethan, squeezing him once more before grabbing Wade. “And you—”

But before she could fuss, Wade’s cousins swooped in.

Three tall, broad-shouldered southern boys, all smirks and heavy boots, came striding over to clap Wade on the back hard enough to make him wince.

“Bout time you showed,” one said.

“Who’s this, huh?” another asked, chin jerking toward Ethan. “Wade finally bring home a pretty one?”

Ethan flushed, Wade rolled his eyes, and Darlene snapped, “Boys, hush.”

But then she really saw Wade.

Her smile dropped.

“Oh good lord,” she breathed, stepping closer. “Wade Andrew Ralston—what on earth—?”

Before Wade could sidestep, she grabbed his face between her hands, fingers pressing gently along his cheekbones, turning his head this way and that, inspecting the bruises, the dried cuts, the swelling. She touched his shoulders, his arms, checking every inch she could reach.

“You’re beat all to hell! Who did this? What happened? Why didn’t you call me? You look like you went through a meat grinder, I outta—”

“Ma, I’m fine,” Wade cut in, voice patient but tired. “It was just a scrap.”

“A scrap,” she repeated, like the word offended her personally.

“Mama,” Wade said again, firmer. “I’m okay. Promise.”

“What happened?” one cousin asked.

Wade shot him a look sharp enough to cut. “Nothin’ that needs talkin’ about.”

That shut everyone up fast.

Because the Ralstons knew their rule:

If Wade didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t ask.

Darlene’s boy had always been one that wasn't to be prodded, not by anybody.

Darlene sighed, pressing a kiss to his cheek anyway, scolding even in affection. “You better not be lyin’ to me, Wade Andrew.”

“I ain’t,” he murmured. “I’m good.”

Her eyes softened. She patted his chest, then turned back to Ethan with a bright warmth.

“You hungry, sugar?” she asked, reaching out to guide him in. “C’mon. You’re family tonight. Fix yourself a plate.”

Wade put a hand on the small of Ethan’s back and leaned in close.

“Told you,” he whispered with a small smile. “Big. Loud. And they’re already obsessed with you.”

Wade barely got Ethan over the threshold before the house swallowed them whole.

Warm air, voices layered over voices, the clatter of dishes—Ethan didn’t even get the chance to be overwhelmed. Wade’s hand stayed firm at his back, steady and grounding as the entire Ralston clan descended.

“Hey, pretty woman,” Wade grinned, pulling his sister, Carla into a hug.

“Boy, look at your face!” she said, smacking his shoulder. “What’d you get into this time?”

“Nothing,” Wade lied, immediately, which fooled absolutely no one.

Grandparents got kisses, uncles got rib-crushing hugs, and Wade’s cousins—oh, the cousins—hovered like friendly wolves sizing up a new pack member.

Ethan barely snatched a small plate before Wade shoved half the appetizer board into his hands.

“Eat,” Wade mumbled, slipping away to greet another aunt. “You didn’t get enough at lunch. Eat, baby.”

Ethan laughed into a cracker, and then the children struck.

“UNCLE WADE!”

Two tiny bodies barreled into Wade’s legs. Wade scooped his niece up—Reida, five, already talking a mile a minute in her tiny drawl—and then hoisted the toddler boy in dinosaur pajamas with his other arm.

“There’s my little cowboy,” Wade said, bouncing him gently, kissing Reida’s forehead. The sight carved something bright and aching into Ethan’s chest. Wade was so good with them. Effortlessly soft.

People came up to Ethan too.

“Hi there, hon,” an older woman said. “You with Wade?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well bless your heart. You need some sweet tea?”

“Please,” he breathed.

Every question was warm—where he lived, what he did, how he and Wade met. Nothing judgmental. Nothing sharp. Just genuine curiosity from people who loved Wade.

And then he noticed the three men drifting toward him.

Keegan—broad-shouldered, early forties with the confidence of someone who’d lived a life and didn’t apologize for any of it. Ryder—maybe thirty, leaner, with a lazy grin that said trouble in the best way. And Steven—early thirties, ringless hand, faint tan line where one used to be.

They looked Ethan over like they were already rooting for him.

“Alright, back it up,” Wade said, pushing a hand into Keegan’s chest. “You’re scarin’ him.”

“He ain’t scared,” Ryder said with a grin. “He’s a cute one.”

“Quit,” Wade warned—still smiling.

They did not quit.

Steven jerked his thumb toward the sliding back door. “Porch is quieter. C’mon, kid. We wanna talk to ya.”

Wade groaned. “Don’t scare him off, jackasses.”

“No promises.” Keegan called back.

Outside, the porch lights glowed warm amber. The noise of the crowd dimmed, replaced by crickets and the hum of the evening.

The cousins casually formed a half-circle around Ethan—protective, not predatory.

Keegan crossed his arms. “So. How long you been with our boy?”

“A little while,” Ethan said bashfully. “I… really like him.”

Keegan snorted. “Yeah, we noticed. Wade’s been struttin’ like he’s the first Ralston man to fall in love.”

Ethan blushed so hard he had to look away.

Steven leaned in, friendly. “Just so you know—don’t let the straight-boy act fool you. We’re all queer. Whole lot of us.”

“All… three of you?” Ethan blinked.

“Hell yeah,” Ryder said. “I came out at nineteen. Keegan was what—twenty-three? And Steven’s been livin’ his best divorcé life for a year now.”

“Yep,” Keegan grinned. “Darlene’s side is gayer than a church choir on parade day.”

Ethan laughed—quiet, surprised, warm. The kind that bubbled up and didn’t feel wrong coming out of him.

No teasing. No tension. No suspicion. Just three grown men—older, open, utterly unbothered—welcoming him like they’d already decided he belonged.

“So,” Ryder said, tone gentler now. “How’d you two meet?”

Ethan told them. Not everything—just enough. How Wade had been patient. Steady. How being around him felt safe. Felt good.

They listened. Really listened. Nodding along, smiling, not interrupting once.

And somewhere in the middle of explaining how Wade held him the first time he cried into his shirt… Ethan realized something, bright and startling:

He wasn’t scared.

Not here.

Not with them.

For the first time in a long damn while—he felt seen.

The sliding door squeaked open again, and Wade stepped out onto the porch with a plate of cheese and crackers and dip, wiping his palms on his jeans.

“Y’all ain’t interrogatin’ him, are you?” he drawled.

Keegan clapped a hand on Wade’s shoulder and tugged him closer. “Interrogatin’? No. Interviewin’? Absolutely.”

“Same thing,” Wade muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

He slipped in beside Ethan—not pressed up against him, not shielding him, just there. His hip brushed Ethan’s, warm through their clothes, grounding him in a whole different way than the crowd inside.

“Here, eat some-a this. Cheese dip, you'll like it.”

Ethan looked at it, took a cracker.

Steven nudged Wade’s ribs. “When’s the last time you came to Thanksgiving, huh? We thought you died or became a monk last year.”

“I got busy,” Wade said, trying not to smile.

“Busy my ass,” Ryder said. “You were avoidin’ all of us. Until now.” His gaze slid to Ethan. “Guess we know what changed.”

Ethan’s cheeks burned. Wade rolled his eyes and slung an arm around Ethan’s waist—not pulling him in, just resting it there, easy and casual.

“Can y’all not rip on me in front of my boyfriend for, like, five minutes?” Wade said.

Keegan snorted. “Boyfriend. Hear that? He’s serious about you.”

Ethan blushed even harder. Wade squeezed his side gently.

“Anyway,” Wade said, redirecting, “how’s work? Y’all still doin’ that road project out near Dawson?”

Immediately the cousins fired off updates—who got promoted, who got chewed out by a supervisor, who nearly flipped a truck. They argued over details, teased each other, talked fast and loud like only family does.

Wade jumped right in, laughing along, tossing back jabs that made Ryder shove him playfully in the shoulder.

Ethan watched him—shoulders loose, eyes bright, accent heavier because he was happy. He almost never saw Wade like this. At ease. Surrounded. Home.

Every so often, Wade’s hand would shift at Ethan’s waist—thumb drawing small circles, reassuring without interrupting. Little touches that said you’re included, not you’re fragile.

“So, Ethan,” Steven said, nodding toward him again, “you scared yet?”

Ethan shook his head, smiling softly. “No. I… this is nice.”

Wade’s head tilted toward him, just slightly—with something warm and almost proud.

“Told you,” he murmured. “They’re good people.”

Ryder elbowed Wade. “You bring him around more, yeah? Not once every presidential election?”

Wade snorted. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll see him. Relax.”

Keegan raised a brow. “We mean it, Wade. Don’t disappear again.”

And for a second, Wade’s usual confidence cracked—just a little. Enough for Ethan to feel it.

He leaned his shoulder into Wade’s, offering quiet comfort back.

Wade straightened, exhaling. “Yeah. I know. I’m here now. Took a year off to get right again.”

Ethan smiled.

For once, every piece of the world around him felt steady. Warm. Safe. Wade wasn’t shielding him or apologizing for him or explaining him.

They were just… together.

And Wade’s family knew it.
Accepted it.
Welcomed it.

Ethan finally felt like he belonged.

***

Steven was halfway through recounting the story before Ethan even realized it was a story.

“So then,” Steven said, waving a hand dramatically, “my ex-husband calls for the eighth time this week, askin’ for his godforsaken T-shirts back.”

“Were they sentimental?” Keegan asked.

“No,” Steven said flatly. “They were ugly. And they were actually mine.”

Ryder wheezed. “You still got that thing where you label your laundry?”

“I live with trauma,” Steven shot back. “Anyway, then he starts goin’ on about our TV.”

“You did buy that TV,” Wade said.

“I know, Wade! I bought the fuckin’ TV! And he wanted it back because—and I quote—‘it matches his new apartment better.’”

Every cousin burst out laughing. Even Ethan tucked his chin, a soft laugh slipping out.

“And don’t even get me started on the damn leftovers,” Steven continued. “He thinks I saved him his half of the meatloaf. Man, I threw that thing out before you even finished movin’ your suitcase.”

“Jesus,” Wade muttered, shaking his head fondly. “You sure can pick ’em.”

“I’m workin’ on it,” Steven said, sighing dramatically.

The conversation drifted easily—family chaos, work drama, childhood stories, the kind of easy familiarity Ethan had never been part of. Until suddenly, Steven turned to him.

“What about you two?” he asked with a mischievous eyebrow raise. “Y’all fight yet? Or is it all sunshine and smoochin’ right now?”

Ethan blinked—but Wade nudged his thigh softly, giving him permission and encouragment to speak.

“We don’t… really fight,” Ethan said sheepishly. “We get grumbly sometimes. He gets quiet. I get… kinda stressed.”

Wade snorted softly at that.

“But then we eat dinner and go to bed and wake up forgetting what the fight was even about.”

“Healthy,” Keegan said, nodding approvingly. “That’s disgustingly healthy for a couple of dudes.”

Ethan beamed a little. Wade looked proud in that quiet, subtle way he always did.

But Ryder—who had been bouncing one knee like he was waiting for the right moment—finally leaned in.

“Aight, that’s all sweet,” he said, lowering his voice, “but we didn’t drag y’all outside just to talk about relationships.”

Wade’s eyebrow arched. “Oh here we go.”

Ryder reached into his back pocket, glancing toward the door, and pulled something out with the subtlety of a magician revealing a rabbit.

A perfectly rolled blunt. Thick, neat, sealed well.
The good stuff.

He held it out toward Wade between two fingers.

“For you, first hit honors” Ryder whispered, “and your boy, if he wants it.”

Ethan stared like someone had pulled a live snake out of their pants.

His eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. This was not his world. He looked very nearly like a scandalized church choir member seeing sin for the first time.

“Oh my god,” Ethan whispered. “Is that—?”

“Yep,” Steven said, deadpan.

Keegan snorted. “You ain’t gotta smoke. We just figured… tradition. Wade’s first Thanksgiving bringin’ someone here? It calls for a blunt.”

Wade dragged a hand down his face, laughing under his breath.

“Knew y’all were gonna pull somethin’.” He took the blunt and twirled it between his fingers with practiced ease. “Y’all remember I’ve got Ethan now, right? Not tryin’ to walk into dinner reekin’ and scare my ma half to death.”

Ryder scoffed. “We used to walk in baked as a ham, and she didn’t notice.”

Keegan snorted. “She noticed. She just didn’t care.”

Steven crossed his arms. “Plus we gotta see if you still got lungs after not smokin’ with us for—what, like a year?”

Wade looked at Ethan, grinning crookedly. “We been smokin’ together since I was sixteen. Used to see who could walk into dinner the highest.”
He nodded toward Steven. “These two fought for the crown every time.”

Ethan looked from the blunt… to Wade… to the cousins… like he was witnessing the most depraved, morally shocking tradition known to man.

“I’ve never even seen cannabis in real life,” Ethan whispered.

Three grown men stared at him.

Keegan blinked. “Like… ever?”

Ryder leaned forward. “Not once?”

Steven gasped. “What kinda Disney Channel upbringing—”

Wade chuckled and put an arm around Ethan’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Relax,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody makin’ you do nothin’. They’re just bein’ hillbillies.”

Ethan swallowed hard. “I—no, yeah, I know. I just… wow.”

Steven burst out laughing. “This is adorable. You brought home a good boy, Wade.”

Wade kissed Ethan’s temple. “Yeah. Sure did.”

Ethan clutched his tea and tried to process the wild, rowdy, affectionate tornado he’d found himself in.

For the first time in his life?

He didn’t feel out of place. He felt included.

God help him, he even felt liked.

Ryder held out the blunt out like it was a family heirloom, cupping it in his hands so the adults inside wouldn’t catch a glimpse. “Here. Early Christmas,” he murmured, the thing already rolled tight and perfect.

Ethan stared at it like Ryder had just produced a rattlesnake.

Wade noticed immediately. He touched Ethan’s back, gentle, leaning down. “We can go, y’know,” he said quietly, voice meant only for him. “We don’t gotta sit right here. We can go see the littles till these idiots are half-baked and stupid.”

Ethan was tempted—he could hear Darlene’s sisters laughing somewhere in the back, hear a toddler babbling near the kitchen doorway. Normal, soft things. Safe things. Things he understood.

But… he wanted to be here. With Wade. With his people. Included in something for once, even if the idea of being near weed made him feel like a nervous church kid in a movie.

He cleared his throat, cheeks pink. “No, I’m good. I wanna stay.”

Wade looked at him for a second, warm and a little proud, then nodded and tugged him closer by the waist. “A’right. You tell me if you change your mind.”

Ryder flicked the lighter. “Wade’s first.”

“Hell no,” Wade scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m finishin’ this plate first. Makin’ skinny britches here finish it too.”

“That ain’t no job, that’s a hobby,” Steven shot back.

Keegan waved him off. “C’mon, big dude. Been forever. Let’s see if you forgot how.”

Wade opened his mouth to argue again, but Ryder already had the thing outstretched, tip glowing faintly. All three cousins were grinning like hyenas.

“Go on,” Ryder urged.

Wade huffed… then sighed… then gave Ethan’s hip a squeeze, like to say I’m fine, you’re fine.

“Y’all are so damn annoying,” he muttered, taking the blunt.

“Take a big one,” Steven teased.

“Ain’t takin’ a big one,” Wade said—right before he did exactly that.

He pulled in deep, the motion practiced even after years without it. Then—

He hacked.

Hard.

Bent forward with his fist to his chest, coughing like he’d swallowed a dust storm. His cousins burst out laughing, Ryder slapping his knee and Keegan leaning back against the porch railing, wheezing.

“Could’ve called that one” Steven crowed. “Boy forgot how to breathe.”

Ethan stared, both horrified and fascinated. “Are you—are you okay?”

Wade wheezed once more, eyes watering, then straightened and waved a hand. 

“M’fine.” Cough. “Just… had t’remember what I was doin’.”

He handed the blunt off, still clearing his throat, while his cousins howled.

Ethan couldn’t help smiling—Wade, flustered and coughing, still keeping one hand on Ethan’s back, grounding him even while his own lungs fought for their lives.

The cousins passed the blunt around, porch growing hazier with each rotation, their laughter getting louder, slower, easier.

And Ethan stayed.

Because Wade was next to him.

Because they kept brushing his shoulder when they joked.

Because they treated him like a person, not a problem.

And because every time Wade leaned in—eyes a little softer, smile a little looser—Ethan felt like he belonged exactly here.

The cousins passed the blunt around like it was a family heirloom: long pulls, slow exhales, laughter loosening until even the porch boards seemed to breathe easier. Smoke drifted into the cold dusk, blurring the porch lights and softening everything.

Steven took a hit so long Ryder started counting aloud. “Eight… nine… ten. Jesus, Stevey, you tryin’ to sedate yourself?”

Steven released the smoke in a slow, dreamy cloud. “I’m tryin’ to get through Thanksgiving with Aunt Marcy askin’ me if I’m seein’ anyone new,” he sighed dramatically.

Keegan barked out a laugh and grabbed the blunt next. “Buddy, you would need divine intervention for that.”

They all shouted, shoved, bickered. The porch felt alive around Ethan, buzzing with inside jokes and chaotic cousin energy.

Wade was easing into it too. After his initial coughing fit, he’d taken another small hit—then another—and by now he was exhaling more smoothly, the sharp burn in his lungs replaced with a soft warmth. His shoulders unclenched, his voice dropped a little lower, and his smile… God help Ethan, his smile was loose and warm and sweeter than honey.

He rested against Ethan’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world, fingers brushing absent circles on Ethan’s spine.

When the cousins got busy arguing about whose turn it actually was, Wade leaned in, voice low, never coaxing—just offering.

“You wanna try? I can walk you through it.”  he murmured. “Tiny one. Only if you want.”

Ethan’s heart stuttered. His family would have killed him. His mother would’ve fainted. His father would’ve grounded him until he passed away. 

Ethan couldn't really decide, he had to think on it. He wanted to join them all in something, try something new. But then again, he wasn't even allowed to have alcohol at home when he turned twenty-one, his parents limited Tylenol intake for him as a kid. 

Wade didn’t push. None of them did. The blunt kept moving, the chatter kept rolling, and Ethan sat there thinking, feeling Wade warm against his side.

By the time the blunt circled back to them, Wade looked at Ethan again, eyes softened by the high but full of respect.

“You wanna try? Nothin’ wrong with sayin’ no.”

Ethan swallowed, then nodded—nervous but clear. “Just once. To try.”

The cousins reacted like he’d done something heroic.

“Let’s go!”

“Attaboy!”

“Wade, you corrupted another one!”

Ethan flushed so deeply his ears burned, but everyone was smiling, lighthearted, proud.

Wade gently took the blunt, then shifted fully toward Ethan, giving him all of his attention.

“Alright,” he said softly. “You don’t gotta pull hard. Just hold it like this—yeah, okay—don’t pinch it or it’ll burn funny.”

His fingers guided Ethan’s, slow and sure.

“Now,” Wade continued, voice patient, “you’re just gonna sip it. Do not breathe in deep, just… pull gentle. Then hold it for a second—one, maybe two—then exhale slow.”

Ethan nodded, wide-eyed, absorbing every instruction like a school lesson.

“Ready?” Wade asked, hovering close, prepared to stop the whole thing at the first sign of discomfort from Ethan.

Ethan brought it to his lips.

He inhaled—shallow, cautious.

And immediately coughed—hard.

His eyes watered, throat burning like he’d swallowed sandpaper. He panicked for half a second, chest hitching—

But Wade’s hand was already on his back, steadying him, thumb rubbing a slow line between his shoulder blades.

“Hey, hey, you’re fine,” Wade murmured, pulling him in gently. “That’s normal. First time always sucks.”

His voice was low, grounding. “Deep breath for me. You’re good.”

Ethan huffed a weak laugh between coughs, letting Wade’s slow, reassuring touch help him find his breath again. The panic eased. The heat settled.

He leaned into him, cheeks flushed, voice still raspy. “That… was awful.”

The cousins howled with laughter.

Wade pressed a warm kiss to his temple, chuckling. “Yeah. But you did it. Proud of you.”

Ethan felt the effects of that tiny hit quicker than he expected—warmth slipping up the back of his neck, the porch light blooming just a little brighter. It wasn’t scary, just… different. Floaty. Enough to make him lean harder into Wade’s shoulder and blink slowly.

And that was when it hit him:

If this is how one little pull feels… Wade does not need to have any more.

Wade, meanwhile, was starting to slouch—his arm completely around Ethan’s waist now, fingers hooked possessively into Ethan’s belt loop like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. His knee pressed against Ethan’s thigh. His head dipped toward Ethan’s collar.

Then, on the next pass of the blunt, he nudged Ethan gently.

“You want another?” Wade asked, voice low and lazy, eyes soft like melted honey.

Ethan shook his head immediately, smiling. “No, I’m good. I think I’ll just… watch you guys lose your heads.”

Keegan snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Ethan could tell the moment Wade started crossing from “loose” into “a little much.” His touches got slower. His decisions got delayed. He was sliding his hand up to Ethan’s thigh again, squeezing little patterns into the muscle. Not obscene, not anything Ethan disliked—but bolder than sober Wade would ever risk in front of family.

Steven noticed and cackled. “Wade’s goin’ now. Look at him, practically given’ us a free—”

Wade swatted him, missed by three inches, then grinned dopily.

Ethan reached up, brushing Wade’s cheek with his knuckles—gentle. “Hey,” he murmured low enough only Wade could hear. “Maybe let’s cut you off there, cowboy.”

Wade blinked at him. “Cut me off?”

Ethan nodded, still smiling, still soft. “So you can actually taste your mom’s food. And so I don’t have to carry you home like a sack of feed.”

Wade breathed a laugh—slow, warm, affectionate. “That’s fair. That’s… yeah, that’s fair.”

His better judgment wasn’t gone. Just softened around the edges.

Ethan squeezed his knee. “You good stopping?”

Wade nodded, leaning his weight into Ethan’s shoulder again. “Yup. ’M good. I’m real good.”

But the cousins?

The cousins were living to test him.

“Aw, c’mon, Wade was always the finisher!” Ryder groaned.

“Man used to stumble into dinner like a newborn horse,” Steven added proudly.

Keegan lifted the last inch of the blunt like an Olympic torch. “Just one more—”

Wade shook his head, weak but decisive. “Nah. E called it, he’s got better judgment here.”

Steven’s eyebrows shot up. “Ohhh, look at him, boy’s whipped for real.”

Ethan didn’t mind the teasing. He barely heard it, honestly. He was too focused on the way Wade’s arm tightened around him, so casual and protective and affectionate all at once. Wade high wasn’t mean, wasn’t sloppy—just warm and clinging and a little too open-hearted.

But Ethan could also see the line.

He leaned in again. “You get any more touchy, you’re gonna start kissin’ my neck in front of your grandma.”

Wade snorted—loud—and immediately hid his face in Ethan’s sweater.

“I know it,” Wade mumbled into the fabric. “Stoppin’ now.”

Ethan rubbed his back. “Thanks.”

The blunt died out between the cousins a few minutes later—Keegan triumphantly finishing it off, coughing into the evening air while the others heckled him. Wade kept his arm around Ethan’s waist the whole time, but didn’t drift any lower, didn’t try to sneak another hit, didn’t argue.

And Ethan wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

He just wanted Wade steady. Wade present. Wade himself, not swaying into dinner half-baked and hanging onto walls for balance like the rest of his cousins.

Wade—though loose and fuzzy and leaning into Ethan like a weighted blanket—was still there with him.

Still Wade.

Just a little softer around the edges.

***

Darlene’s voice cut through the porch haze like a church bell swung by God Himself.

“Alright, y’all! Food’s hittin’ the table. Come on in before it gets cold!”

The cousins groaned in unison, stretching, stumbling, bumping shoulders as they stood. Wade took a few slow breaths, straightened his shirt, smoothed down Ethan’s sweater for the fiftieth time, and finished the little snack plate he’d made for Ethan earlier. His eyes were slightly pink at the edges—but nothing like Keegan and Steven, who were blinking unevenly and trying to pretend they weren't swaying. Steven blinked like his eyelids were made of molasses. Keegan muttered, “We movin’ in slow motion,” as he tried to stand but misjudged the height of the porch rail and stumbled into Wade.

 “We’re fine,” he murmured, mostly to himself. His own pupils were wide, but he was walking in a straight line… mostly.

“Act normal, will ya?,” Wade muttered to them, even though he wasn’t exactly steady himself.

“Define normal,” Steven whispered.

They clung to each other like a cluster of oversized toddlers as they went back inside, laughter echoing off the porch walls.

The moment Ethan stepped into the house,warmth hit them immediately—the rush of indoor heat mixing with the lingering smoke on their clothes. The house smelled like cinnamon, sage, browned butter, and roasted turkey. People packed the dining room shoulder-to-shoulder. Elbows brushed. Laughter overlapped. Kids darted around ankles. Someone was already arguing about where the mashed potatoes should sit.

Ethan expected them to hold hands, bow heads, maybe have someone assigned to say grace.

Instead… they all just stood in a giant circle.

No handholding.
No pastor voice.
No memorized lines.

Just a family, waiting.

Darlene lifted her chin, hands folded gently in front of her like she was giving a toast rather than prayer.

“Alright,” she said. “One thing you’re thankful for this year. We’ll start with me.”

Ethan blinked.

No prayer? No blessing? No guilt-trip?

Just… gratitude?

Darlene began. She was thankful for good health, the roof over their heads, and the fact that her son had shown up looking handsome and not smelling like diesel fuel, even if he was a little beat up.

Her sisters followed—one grateful for steady shifts at the pharmacy, one for her new fiancé who “still knows how to shut up when asked,” one for finally mastering her embroidery machine, another for the fact that her youngest managed not to visit the ER since April.

The uncles spoke—grateful for job security, for the deer meat in the freezer, for the neighbor who returned a wrench after only eight months.

Family friends chimed in—one had paid off a truck, another had beaten another round of chemo, someone else was grateful their divorce was finally finalized (“and peaceful-ish,” they added).

Then were the kids.

Wade’s niece, maybe six, lisped out that she was thankful for spaghetti.

Another declared she was thankful for the puppy that “pees when it gets too excited but it’s okay, he learnin’.”

A little boy, five or so, said quietly, “I’m thankful my baby brother came home from the hospital,” and the whole room softened around him like warm taffy.

Ethan’s throat tightened.

This wasn’t performative.
This wasn’t guilt.
This wasn’t some performance of holiness.

It was just… people loving each other out loud.

When it reached Wade, everyone looked at him.

He didn’t hesitate.

“I’m thankful I met Ethan,” he said simply.

There were a few soft “aww”s, some whistles, Ryder elbowing Steven, and Darlene smiling so hard she covered her heart with her hand. Keegan mouthed, “You sap,” but he was grinning like he meant it.

Heat rushed up Ethan’s neck.

And then—it was his turn.

A hundred warm eyes. A room thick with spices, comfort, expectation—not pressure. Wade’s hand brushed the small of his back, not guiding him, not holding him up, just touching him. Telling him he wasn’t standing alone.

Ethan breathed once, steady.
Then he spoke—quiet, a little wavering, but wholly his own.

And the whole room, even the high, giggly cousins who could barely stand straight, went still and listened.

“I’m thankful I met Wade, and all of ya’ll. Guess I’m thankful for the whole Ralston family.”

A few people murmured, “Aww,” and Carla sniffled dramatically like she’d been waiting for an excuse to cry.

The circle continued—grandparents, cousins, friends, neighbors. A little girl froze halfway through her sentence and hid her face in her mom’s jeans; instead of laughing, half the circle cooed encouragement until she lifted her head again and whispered her thanks for “macawoni.” Another kid proudly announced he was thankful for dinosaurs and ketchup. An older aunt said she was thankful her knees still worked “well enough to gossip on the porch.”

No voice was too small.
No offering too silly.
Everyone mattered.

When the last person wrapped up with, “I’m thankful we’re all here and still speakin’ to each other,” Darlene clapped her hands like a gospel choir director dismissing service.

“Alright, go on. Get plates before I get trampled.”

They didn’t walk to the food table.

They surged.

The crowd moved like a familiar tide—shoulder bumps, playful shoves, exaggerated “hey now!” protests. People dodged around each other like this was an annual sport. Laughter rose above the shuffle of feet and rustle of foil lids.

Darlene had to hop back a full step as her grown nephews lunged at the turkey tray.
“Lord have mercy,” she muttered, swatting at them with a wooden spoon. “You’d think y’all ain’t been fed in months.”

Wade just stood back with Ethan, arms crossed, smirking.

“Ain’t no way I’m gettin’ in that mess,” he said under his breath. “Retired from fightin’ cousins for drumsticks. Last year I got headbutted by a six-year-old and almost saw the Lord.”

Ethan huffed a laugh, watching in disbelief as two of Wade’s cousins fake-argued over who got the last scoop of sweet potatoes. Meanwhile, three little kids had somehow created a pile on the floor with plates in their laps, each one shoveling Darlene’s famous “gator taters” into their mouths like they hadn’t eaten in days. Cinnamon, brown sugar, and melted butter everywhere.

Once the initial feeding frenzy thinned, Wade nudged Ethan’s shoulder.

“Com’ere, E. Let me show you around.”

He guided him to the table—well, tables plural. Three long folding tables end-to-end, covered in foil pans, casserole dishes, slow cookers, and serving bowls. It looked like a home-style buffet on steroids.

Wade pointed things out as if giving a museum tour.

“That’s Carla’s mac n’ cheese—she uses five cheeses, don’t ask which ones ‘cause she ain’t tellin’ nobody.”

“Those are Maureen’s deviled eggs—don’t eat more than two unless you’re brave.”

“Aunt Tess made that banana pudding—you gotta get some of that.”

“That’s the turkey Darlene stayed up ‘til 4 a.m. roastin’.”

“Those mashed potatoes? Pa Paw did those. Nobody knows how he gets ‘em that smooth.”

Ethan stared, overwhelmed by the abundance—the steam curling off casseroles, the shine of butter glistening on bread, the sweetness of baked apples mingling with savory herbs. Everything smelled like effort and love and home.

“This… this all looks amazing.”

“It is,” Wade said proudly. “Best food of the year, every year.”

Ethan grabbed a plate and started piling on anything Wade recommended—which was basically everything. He filled every inch of the plate until it looked dangerously full.

Then he glanced at Wade’s plates—plural.

“You got two?”

“Course I did,” Wade said. “Ralstons sample everything. It’s disrespectful to pick and choose.”

Ethan laughed, still taking in the smell of butter and herbs, brown sugar and roasted meat, baked bread and slow-cooked vegetables.

This was real food.

Warm food.

Food made by hands that cared.

Better than his mother’s—far better.

And as he looked at Wade’s soft pink eyes, his easy smile, the chatter around them, the warmth of the house…

It finally hit him.

He wasn’t just visiting a holiday.

He was being folded into a family.

***

The plates were full—comically full—layers of steaming food stacked so high Ethan was pretty sure one wrong step would send half of Thanksgiving sliding onto the floor. The smell drifted up in warm clouds: sage, garlic, smoked paprika, roasted turkey skin, butter melting into mashed potatoes, brown sugar still bubbling slightly on the sweet potatoes.

Still, Wade kept adding more.

“Try this,” he said, nudging a spoonful of green bean casserole onto Ethan’s plate.

“No—no, Wade—” Ethan tried to dodge, laughing as he did, “that’s enough. My plate’s gonna explode.”

Wade smirked, eyes bright and pink-edged. “Good. Means you’re doin’ it right.”

The dining room and living room had merged into one giant, humming, humid space. Body heat made the air thick, warm enough that the windows had fogged in their corners. Kids ran through the legs of adults like loose chickens. Aunts yelled halfheartedly to “slow down before someone gets stepped on,” while simultaneously reaching for another roll. Someone’s playlist of acoustic country covers played under all the talking, almost entirely drowned out.

Finding a place to sit was its own sport.

Beanbags were already claimed by toddlers who’d nested into them like tiny kings. The couch cushions were packed with aunts wearing fleece vests and earrings shaped like leaves. A squadron of uncles sat on the floor or on the arms of chairs—laughing, talking, eating like they didn’t notice their legs had gone numb. Darlene, naturally, had her own armchair beside the entry to the kitchen. Two cousins stood guard like bouncers, ready to bodily lift anyone who dared drift too close to her seat.

Ethan scanned the room with that overwhelmed-but-soft feeling swelling in his chest.

So many people. So much warmth. So many voices stacked on top of each other like overlapping blankets.

Wade just jerked his chin at the recliner in the corner.
“C’mon,” he said. “We’ll make it work.”

And they did—by some miracle or holiday magic. They squeezed into the recliner together, plates balanced precariously on their thighs. Wade’s shoulder pressed into Ethan’s; Ethan’s knee nudged against Wade’s thigh. But no one looked twice. In this house, physical closeness was just breathing—normal, expected, comfortable.

Wade leaned close and whispered, “You can sit on my lap, you know. I’m real comfy.”

Ethan stiffened, heat climbing up his neck. “We’re not doing that in front of your entire family.”

“You sure? They wouldn’t care. I could keep you warm.”

“Positive.”

Wade huffed a laugh, bumped their heads affectionately, then shoveled a giant forkful of turkey into his mouth.

Conversation swirled around them like steam off a pot:
Kids bragging about their new pets. Someone complaining about a cousin stealing their charger. An aunt describing her coworker’s disastrous attempt at frying a turkey. Two cousins whispering intensely about which uncle had farted and “ruined the sacred air.”

Ethan listened, half in awe. For once, he didn’t have to monitor how much noise he made when he laughed or how neat he looked when he chewed. He wasn’t being watched. He wasn’t being judged. He was just another voice in the chaos.

Wade, naturally, was the first of the two of them to talk with his mouth full.

He swallowed half-chewed turkey, sat forward, and pointed his fork—dangerously—toward Carla, who was lounging on the couch with her plate in her lap. Her husband was sprawled on the floor at her feet, and her two kids were using his legs like a table. Reida had butter all over her chin. 

“So,” Wade said, muffled and casual, “you pregnant again or what?”

Ethan froze mid-bite. Nearly inhaled a green bean.

He elbowed Wade. Hard.

“Wade—! You can’t just—”

But Carla barely blinked. She didn’t gasp. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t react like this was anything more outrageous than asking if she needed a refill.

She just shrugged and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.

“I mean… maybe,” she said. “We’re not tryin’, but we’re not not tryin’. Could be. Haven’t taken a test yet.”

Wade nodded thoughtfully, like he was checking off a box on a clipboard.

“Figured so.”

Two cousins nearby chimed in immediately, talking over each other:

“I told you she had that glow she gets—”

“Shut up, you said she looked tired—”

“Tired pregnant people glow, dumbass—”

Carla waved them off like flies. “Aye! Enough, I’ll tan all three of y’alls hides.”

Ethan stared, stunned.
In his house, that question would've caused a meltdown, a fight, a prayer circle, and possibly a lecture about moral failings. Here? It was… Tuesday conversation.

Carla saw Ethan’s expression and smiled softly to him, realizing maybe his family wasn't this close. Not many were anymore. 

“We took baths together as kids,” Carla said, rolling her eyes affectionately at Wade. “He’s got no boundaries with me.”

Wade beamed. “I was in the room when she had her first baby. Told her shitty jokes ‘til the kid shot out.”

Carla snorted so hard she nearly choked. “Worst jokes I’ve ever heard. I almost named the baby Disappointment.”

Her little boy looked up. “Is that my name?”

“No,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Yours is Nuisance.”

The kid cackled.

Ethan sat back, dazed and warm all over, trying not to laugh into his mashed potatoes. These people truly had no shame. No filters. No pretenses.

But somehow, instead of feeling overwhelmed or embarrassed it felt like ease.

***

Ethan tried a bit of everything, more out of curiosity than hunger at first. But the moment the first bite hit his tongue — the smoked turkey, the butter-slick rolls, the beans with bacon that had clearly been simmering all damn day — he finally understood why Wade’s family looked so… solid. Fed. Loved. Not a rib or hollow cheekbone in sight. Even Wade, who’d once been shy about the slight belly he carried when they met, suddenly made perfect sense.

The food was comfort made edible. It felt like the kind of cooking that put weight on a person’s soul in the best way.

He kept sneaking things off Wade’s plate until Wade nudged him with a knee and slid his dish a few inches closer.

“Just take it, babe. Ain’t like I’m gonna starve,” he murmured — right before popping another forkful into his mouth and missing completely, dropping it onto his shirt. A smear of gravy joined the constellation of stains he’d collected throughout the day. He didn’t even notice.

The room swelled around them — humidity from too many bodies, the clatter of forks against styrofoam, the faint smell of cinnamon and Pine-Sol and old carpet fibers. Kids squealed. Someone’s uncle let out a smoker’s laugh that rattled the windows. Darlene shouted for someone to bring her tea and five different people scrambled.

Then chaos began spilling toward them in waves — butter-smeared, sticky, loud waves.

Two little ones toddled over first, cheeks glossy with something that looked like barbecue sauce but might’ve just been unnamed toddler goo. 

They reached for Wade’s plate with the instinct of raccoons at a campsite.

Wade batted their hands away with practiced gentleness. “Hey now, hey — that’s mine. Y’all eat what’s on your own plates. Go on.” He ruffled their hair, smearing even more sauce into it. Didn’t bother him.

Then Reida appeared — Wade’s weakness in human form — bouncing on bare feet, having somehow acquired a strip of tinsel in her hair, cheeks flushed from sprinting through the house.

“Uncle Wade,” she whined, hands clasped behind her back. “Can I please have your roll?”

“No ma’am,” he said immediately, not even looking up. Then, softer, “Go get one from the table. And tell your momma I said you could. You tell her your Uncle Wade said so.”

Reida beamed, knowing damn well she’d just won. She was one of the only people on earth that could make Wade crumble — and she knew it. She darted off like she’d stolen treasure.

Next came the twins, or near twins — two boys with the same squinty grin and grass-stained knees. Ethan wasn’t sure whose kids they were. At this point he was convinced the Ralstons didn’t reproduce so much as replicate.

They climbed onto the arm of the recliner like squirrels, breath hot with sugar.

“Uncle Wade,” Dylan chirped, “do your horses miss you today? They do that? Missin’ you?”

“Oh yeah,” Wade answered immediately, shifting forward like this was a sacred council. “Red’s gonna be rea; upset tomorrow. He gets real dramatic when he don’t get her scratches.”

“And your other horses?” Dylan pressed, eyes wide.

“Some of ‘em don't miss nobody. Ethan’s horse is probably cryin’ right now though, he’s a big baby.” Wade nudged him with an elbow.

Ethan snorted into his drink, cheeks warming.

Then Jacob — the other twin, face glowing orange with Dorito dust — looked directly at Ethan with the blunt force curiosity of a six-year-old.

“Did you and Wade kiss before dinner?”

Ethan’s soul left his body.

“Uh— yes?” he said, voice cracking slightly. “We… have kissed before.”

Jacob nodded like he was filing the information away for future blackmail. “Okay. Just wonderin’.”

He wandered off immediately, spotting a bowl of chips like a predator catching a scent.

Ethan wanted to collapse into Wade’s shoulder from sheer embarrassment, but Wade only laughed under his breath, slow and crooked, sliding his arm around Ethan’s waist and tugging him closer into the already-too-small recliner — as if to silently say, Yeah. And?

“There,” Wade murmured, resuming his conversation with Dylan without missing a beat. “Now, about them horses…”

Ethan melted into him, the warmth of Wade’s side seeping through his shirt, the hum of voices around them blending into a low, steady chorus. The air smelled like sugar glaze, gravy, woodsmoke from outside, and the unmistakable tang of little-kid energy — sticky hands and fruit juice and grass.

This was loud, messy, unfiltered family.

And Wade was sharing it with him like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the damn world.

***

The food disappeared slowly, in waves — plates scraped clean, bowls rinsed in the sink, foil slapped lazily over leftovers. The Ralston house dimmed into that post-Thanksgiving haze where the air felt warmer, thicker, scented with gravy and cinnamon and the faint, comforting must of old upholstery. Everyone was too full to function, too warm to move, too content to speak above a mumble.

Wade was stuffed like the damn turkey he’d carved, slouched so deep in the recliner he looked half absorbed by it. His belly rose and fell in slow, satisfied breaths. Ethan was slumped against him, heavy as wet laundry, boneless with fullness and fighting sleep in tiny, twitchy increments.

He wasn’t asleep — not entirely — but he hovered there, eyelids fluttering slow as if he was moving underwater. Every time he tried to sit up straighter, a small determined effort surged through his shoulders… followed immediately by defeat as he sank right back into Wade’s side. Wade felt each attempt, each surrender. It was oddly endearing.

The whole room mirrored them. Aunts yawning into their shirts, uncles stretching like old barn cats, someone’s granddad snoring lightly from an armchair with a plate balanced on his stomach. Littles were scattered everywhere — some sprawled on beanbags, some curled up on laps, some whining softly, rubbing their eyes with sticky fists. 

Even Carla had her chin dropping toward her chest, blinking slow, while Reida lay draped across her thigh in a deep, slack-mouthed sleep.

It was officially Ralston nap hour — an inherited family instinct.

Wade had his arm loose around Ethan’s waist, thumb tracing lazy circles without thought. Not protective, not clingy. Just there. Solid. A simple permission: If you sleep, I’ll hold you up.

Ethan’s head dipped again, grazing Wade’s shoulder. A tiny startle shot through him, and he blinked awake, dazed.

“Go on, baby,” Wade murmured, voice soft and warm with fullness. “Everyone’s nappin’.”

Ethan didn’t answer, but something in him eased — his muscles going slack, his breathing slowing, the fight leaving his eyelids.

Then Wade’s aunt shuffled into view — slow, wobbly, carrying a half-dozing baby like he weighed a hundred pounds.

“Oh, sugar, hold him for me a sec,” she said—no pause, no room for protest. Before Ethan could even wet his lips to speak, the baby was dropped into his lap, warm and damp and too real. She propped the little boy upright with a firm pat and hurried off, muttering, “I gotta tinkle—don’t you let him fall!”

And suddenly Ethan was wide awake.

He stared at the soft, slumping bundle with something close to dread. His hands hovered stupidly in the air before he forced them into place—one behind the baby’s head, the other cupping his back. The instinct wasn’t confidence; it was fear. Fear of doing it wrong. Fear of being yelled at. Fear of disappointing someone who’d given him a job he didn’t feel allowed to refuse.

The baby cooed, then squawked. A warm, wet strand of drool slid onto Ethan’s sleeve, thick and slow like syrup. It soaked into the fabric, spreading cold at the edges. Ethan’s swallowing hitched.

He didn’t recoil. Didn’t shift. Didn’t ask for help. He just froze—shoulders locked, jaw clenched, a faint tremor in his hands. His eyes unfocused, dazed and trapped. Like a boy taught to hold still and be quiet no matter how much he wanted out.

Wade watched him over the rim of his arm, the way you watch a skittish colt: gentle, steady, waiting for the right moment.

“You good?” Wade asked softly.

Ethan nodded—too fast, too stiff, the kind of nod you give when saying no was never an option in your life. Wade saw the truth anyway. Ethan’s chest was tight. His breathing shallow. His whole body rigid with the effort of not offending, not complaining, not being the problem.

Wade sighed, long and low, and leaned forward. His hands came out not toward Ethan, but toward the baby.

“C’mere, little man,” he murmured to the baby, lifting him clean off Ethan’s lap with practiced ease. “Lemme give Ethan a break ’fore he melts straight through the chair.”

Ethan sagged back like his strings had been cut, exhaling a shaky breath of gratitude. His hands fell limp at his sides, the imprint of the baby’s weight still ghosting across his thighs.

Wade settled the infant on his own knee, bouncing him gently, wiping drool from the baby’s lip with the hem of his shirt — unfazed, unbothered, soft around the eyes. He didn’t tease Ethan. Didn’t make a show of it.

He just knew. Knew the point where Ethan tipped from okay into overwhelmed. Knew how to step in without making him feel small.

“Lay back if you need,” Wade murmured, eyes half-lidded. “I got this.”

Ethan eased sideways again until his head rested on Wade’s shoulder, the tension draining from him, his breathing softening into the rhythm of someone losing the fight against sleep. His eyelashes brushed Wade’s shirt with every blink.

And the room, full and warm and humming softly, continued drifting toward sleep — babies, grown men, and Wade’s tired, well-loved cowboy included.

Ethan drifted in that syrupy, half-floating space between waking and sleep — the kind where the world feels warm and heavy-lidded, where breath comes slow and the body sinks deeper with every exhale. His head rested against Wade’s arm, the fabric soft with wear and smelling faintly of laundry powder and the smoke clinging from the turkey fryer outside. The recliner groaned beneath their combined weight. His own belly was stretched tight, full past fullness, warm from the food and the closeness.

But beneath all that comfort, something stirred — a strange, tender ache he didn’t have a name for. Not fear. Not sadness. Just… unfamiliarity. Like stepping into a warm bath without meaning to.

Because no one had ever done that for him.

Growing up, “family gathering” meant chaos of a different kind. If someone shoved a baby in his arms, he held it till he couldn’t feel his fingers, because that’s what “good boys” did. If an uncle pressured him to try something he didn’t want, or cousins pushed him into some dare that made his gut twist, adults would laugh and say, Go on, be a man.
And that was the end of it. His discomfort didn’t matter. His hesitation wasn’t real to anyone but him. Once something was placed on his shoulders, it stayed there — expected, required, unrelieved.

So when Wade had simply… taken the baby from him, without judgement, without teasing, without a sigh or a smirk or some pointed comment — it hit Ethan somewhere tender and unused. A part of him he didn’t know could even feel this kind of softness.

Wade had noticed he was overwhelmed from one look. One twitch of hesitation.

And Wade had stepped in quietly, confidently, naturally. Not rescuing him — just helping, the way you help someone you care about. The way you help someone whose comfort matters.

It loosened something deep in Ethan’s chest, something knotted tight for years.

He let his body slouch further into Wade’s side, warmth pooling at every point they touched — hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, Wade’s steady breath brushing the crown of his hair. The whole room smelled of leftover pie, cooling casseroles, baby shampoo, and the faint sweetness of spilled cider drying on the table. Soft noises drifted around him: the thump of a cabinet shutting, the soft patter of a toddler somewhere, the low rumble of the muted football game on TV.

The baby’s mother returned whispering a grateful, “Thank you, sweetheart,” as she lifted the droopy infant from Wade’s arms. She kissed the baby’s cheek, gave Wade’s shoulder a fond pat, and drifted away like she’d simply borrowed him for a moment.

Darlene, passing by with a half-empty cider cup, caught sight of Ethan curled shamelessly against Wade — full, heavy, practically melting into the recliner.

Her soft snicker held nothing but fondness.

“Well look at that,” she murmured. “You got him right at home already.”

Wade grinned, lazy and half-asleep. “He’s full. I’m full. You did this to us.”

She clicked her tongue and tapped his shoulder like she’d personally orchestrated Ethan’s collapse before floating off to reclaim her cup.

No one disturbed him. Not a cousin barreling through. Not a toddler wobbling past. Not even the uncles navigating the maze of limbs draped across the living room floor. The entire house had sunk into the Ralston Thanksgiving Truce — that sacred, inevitable communal doze. The air felt heavy with heat and contentment, like the house itself was exhaling.

Blankets were draped over sleeping aunts; a pair of brothers had knocked out side-by-side on the rug; Reida snored softly against her mama’s leg. Everything was soft edges and warm breath and the creak of settling floorboards.

An hour from now they’d all wake refreshed and hungry again, ready for pie or gossip or cards. But now?

Warmth. Silence. The soft hum of a family at rest.

Wade tilted his head toward Ethan, voice barely a whisper.

“E? You want some cider?"

Ethan didn’t stir — just breathed slow and deep, chest rising against Wade’s side.

A few minutes later, Wade tried again, softer, “You cold, baby? Want a blanket?”

Ethan only nuzzled deeper, unconscious but seeking warmth by instinct.

Wade chuckled, low and sleepy. “Thought so.”

He slid a hand over Ethan’s side, brushing lightly — not to wake him, just to reassure himself he was still tucked safely there. Every so often he hummed, or whispered a quiet question — you alright, sweetheart? — not expecting an answer, simply offering one.

And Ethan slept like a man who, for the first time in his life, didn’t have to brace for anything being put on him. Didn’t have to perform, or endure, or swallow discomfort just to keep the peace.

***

They woke like a tide — slow and heavy at first, then the house hummed louder as one cousin after another stretched, yawned, and pushed themselves up from couches and beanbags. The sun had dipped into a lavender sky outside; porch lights flicked on like little campfires. Someone muttered about football. A kid whined for juice. An uncle announced that the pies were being put away for post-dinner snacking. The Ralston house rolled through its sleepy gears and came to life again.

Wade’s cousins were the first to find them. Keegan, Ryder, and Steven came back onto the porch carrying empty beer bottles like trophies, already laughing over something the rest of the family had missed. They all moved the way kin does — elbows and hips and familiarity — and collapsed into the chairs around the porch. They glanced over at the recliner where Wade still had Ethan tucked against him, sleep tousling his hair.

Wade blinked awake slow, half-lidded. He rubbed Ethan’s back with the heel of his hand and didn’t push him to move; he let him come back to the world at his own pace. The air smelled like woodsmoke, pie sugar, and the faint tang of something spicy someone had reheated in the kitchen. Crickets stitched a soft rhythm into the background.

And, right on cue, Wade’s cousins drifted back over like heat-seeking missiles.

Keegan plopped down on the arm of the recliner, hair a mess, eyes still half-lidded from his nap.
“Rise and shine, lover boy,” he teased Wade, nudging his boot. “You look like you died.”

Wade flipped him off, too lazy to put energy behind it. “Ate too much. Your fault for bringing that damn casserole.”

Ryder leaned over the back of the chair, grin too sharp for someone who had been asleep ten minutes earlier. “Whole house smells like hell now. Thanks for that.”

Steven wandered up last, sipping from a mug he very obviously did not fill with anything PG. “If y’all didn’t want me drinking during naptime, you should’ve said something before I poured this.”

It was chaos, but soft chaos. Gentle. The family kind that fills a room with sound without ever becoming overwhelming.

Wade loved them — that was clear — but there was also something calmer about him now. It wasn’t that he’d gone quiet. It was that he wasn’t chasing after every joke, or every story, or every troublemakers’ scheme. He listened more than he used to. He leaned against Ethan instead of the other way around. He let the wild swirl around them without needing to jump into the center.

Ethan blinked awake slowly, still heavy from sleep. Wade immediately rubbed gentle circles between his shoulder blades, warm and steady.

“You up, E?” he murmured.

“Mmhm,” Ethan breathed, rubbing his eyes.

“Guys want to go outside, maybe have a drink,” Wade said, not moving until Ethan shifted first.

When Ethan sat up fully, stretching like a sleepy cat, Wade slipped an arm around his waist and waited to see if he wanted to move. Ethan nodded, and Wade helped him up, steadying him just a moment — more out of affection than necessity.

Outside, the cousins were already mid-conversation.

“…and I swear to God, Ryder,” Steven said dramatically, “if another man on Grindr says he’s ‘masc’ but shows up wearing flip-flops in winter—”

Keegan cut him off. “Bro. Shut up. The rolls this year? Transcendent. I saw Jesus.”

Wade and Ethan stepped onto the porch just as Keegan declared this, and everyone cheered like the statement required celebration.

Ethan grabbed a beer bottle off the cooler and handed it to Wade before he sat down — they’d split it. No need for anyone to get sloppy. Wade popped the cap off and took a sip, giving Ethan the next.

They settled onto the porch steps, back against the railing, fitting easily into the lively conversation. Wade’s cousins were loud, occasionally filthy, but never mean. They laughed with their whole chests, spoke over each other affectionately, and acted like Ethan had always been part of the group.

Ethan found himself smiling — comfortably. He liked them.

After a while Ryder pushed the empty beer bottle toward the middle of the table and slapped the top of the deck. “We gonna play cards or just reminisce until dawn?”

“Blackjack,” Keegan said immediately. “Simple. Bet a dollar, bet a beer, bet some dignity.”

They all grinned. Ryder flipped the deck over with an embarrassing flourish and spread it, then stacked a few soda caps and bits of candy into a little pile for chips — stakes to fit the family’s mood: small, playful, and entirely symbolic.

Ryder cleared his throat. “Alright, listen up. Ethan — you ever play blackjack?”

Ethan shook his head. “Nope. Never been allowed card games.”

Ryder smiled like a teacher. “Perfect. It’s easy. We’ll do it slow.”

He plucked out two cards for Ethan and two for him, introducing the basics as he dealt, voice low so the rest of the porch could only hear the rumble under the jokes.

“Blackjack’s a simple goal,” Ryder said as he laid a 9 and a 4 in front of Ethan. “Get up to 21 without going over. Face cards — Jacks, Queens, Kings — they’re worth ten. Number cards are their number. Aces are special: they can be either one or eleven, whichever helps you more.”

He flipped over his own pair — a King and a 6. “See? That’s sixteen for me. You start with thirteen. So you decide: you hit, which means ask for another card, or you stand, which means you stay with what you got. If you go over 21 you bust and you lose.”

Wade watched Ethan as Ryder explained, thumb idly tracing circles on a hickey near Ethan’s hip. Wade’s presence was quiet and confident, not dominating the lesson, just the steady company by his side.

“Okay, so what do I do?” Ethan asked.

Ryder glanced up with a smile. “You can hit or stand. If you want, I’ll give you a suggestion — nothing too bossy. If you’re at twelve to sixteen and the dealer’s showing a seven or lower, it’s usually safer to hit. If the dealer has a low card showing, they might bust. There’s a lot of math but tonight we play by instinct and luck.”

Keegan reached for the deck and fanned a few cards like a magician. “Also, double-down is a thing,” he added, grinning. “If you’re feeling bold — you double your bet and take exactly one more card. Risky but delicious.”

Wade smirked. “Don’t be a hero, babe.”

Ethan laughed, nervous and excited. He laid his hand on the table, feeling the rough wood beneath his fingers, smelling the faint sweetness of the candy “chips.” He pushed a solid looking candy thing onto the little pile — his bet — and said, “Hit me.”

Ryder slid another card face-up: a seven. Thirteen plus seven — twenty. Ethan flinched, a happy shock coursing through him.

“Twenty’s pretty good,” Ryder said approvingly. “You can stand on that.”

Wade squeezed his thigh lightly. “Stand.”

Ethan swallowed and nodded. “Okay. I Stand.”

Ryder revealed the dealer’s second card

(they were playing without a real house dealer — one of the cousins rotated as the “dealer” each hand) 

and the numbers were tallied. When the dealer’s hand totaled lower than Ethan’s without going over, the porch erupted in a small cheer at Ethan’s first win. Ryder handed him a bottle cap from the winnings pile with exaggerated pomp.

They played hand after hand, and the cousins talked through the nuances: when to split (if you get a pair you can split into two hands), why you might double down when you have a strong starting hand and the dealer shows weakness, when the “insurance” bet is a sucker’s game (don’t take it unless you’re counting cards—joke, Keegan winked).

Ethan learned in fits and starts. He made mistakes — he split when he shouldn’t have, he double-downed timidly and lost, he once hit on an eighteen in confusion and got laughed at good-naturedly — but every time, someone said, “It’s fine,” or “Good try.” Nobody snickered the mean way his family might have. They explained again, patiently. Wade leaned in and murmured little tips, or shoved the beer over to him with a mock-serious look, gently coaching without taking over.

***

Ethan got the hang of blackjack quicker than anyone expected. After the first handful of clumsy rounds, the rhythm started settling into him: counting silently, glancing at Ryder’s face-up card, nudging Wade’s knee under the table to double-check his instinct. Every time he made the right call, Wade’s mouth tugged into this quiet, proud smile — not big, not bragging, just… there.

They shared the beer bottle between them, passing it back and forth like it was a secret. The cold glass sweated against Ethan’s palm, and the taste was mild and easy, cutting through the warm fog of sleepiness leftover from the nap. Wade didn’t drink much more — just sips — watching Ethan more often than he watched his cards. He didn’t need anything else in his system tonight; he was already happy.

The cousins grew louder as the game went on. Keegan slammed the table when he busted. Ryder claimed the cards were rigged. Steven blamed the lantern light for “messing with his math brain.” It all fell into a steady, comfortable churn of sound around Ethan, who played hand after hand until his shoulders loosened and he stopped second-guessing himself.

By the time the deck thinned, the porch had mellowed out. People were yawning through their jokes, stretching their necks, popping their backs. Kids were hauled inside by tired parents; empty plates were stacking; porch lights flickered with moth wings.

One by one, people peeled away.