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Lance was raised on a small farm in the country Cuba. His hobbies included horse-riding, going to the beach, swimming, going on adventures and tormenting the farm boy. His name was Keith, but Lance never called him that. It was always ‘Mullet’ or ‘Farm Boy’ or ‘Dropout.’ They used to go to school together in the countryside, until Keith’s temper and his loss of parental care became too much for him to bear. Lance was bereft, as their rivalry had kept him going through school, egging him on to do his best. Without Keith there, he was recognised as one of the top riders in the academy.
But the recognition that he had been fighting for so long to receive meant nothing without a certain mullet.
To rub his nose in it, of course.
At graduation, Lance looked out in the audience for traces of a flicker of black hair, but he never turned up to celebrate his former classmates.
They reunited a year later. Lance’s parents were looking for seasonal workers. Lance thought he was dreaming and had to blink several times to verify that it was indeed Keith milking his cow, Kaltenecker. He would recognise that mullet anywhere. Those purple eyes turned to him, stunning him. Lance felt his breath halt, his jaw drop. How dare he get even bigger and more grizzled!?
Keith blinked. Straightened up and ran a hand through his thick hair. The line of his throat bobbed as he looked at Lance, tongue darting to wet dry lips. “Hello, you must be Leandro’s son.”
Lance blinked. “Ah. The name’s Lance?”
Keith cocked his head, as if the name sounded familiar, but he shrugged as he couldn’t place it. Lance flustered. “We were in class together at the Garrison. You know. Lance and Keith. Neck and neck?”
Keith shook his head and Lance let out a scream of frustration, storming off all the while watched by a sad pair of eyes that were wondering what they’d done wrong.
A season quickly gave way to another, and then another, until Keith had been working at Lance’s family farm for a whole year. By that time, Lance’s father considered him ‘practically part of the family’ and would invite him in for wine and dinner, letting him sit at the adult’s table (Lance was still stuck looking after his niece and nephew at the children’s table, being their best friend had its drawbacks) to discuss any problems with the machinery or soil, going over crop cycles and yield like it was the most riveting of discussions. Lance would sink into his chair, wishing Keith would turn around to glance at him, include him in something interesting for once. But other than the occasional furtive glance that Lance only caught because he was watching Keith so closely, he spoke only of professional topics. Lance’s dad would look between them with a hearty smile, eyes twinkling with mischief and this would only make Lance pout more. How dare he act like his father’s favourite?
Even Kaltenecker loved him. She’d snuffle her snout through his mullet as he sat down, affectionately snorting and licking him on the cheek every morning before slowly, with bovine calm, presenting her hindquarters for milking. Damn Keith had a way with animals, and his favourite girl at that. It was so unfair! So he could be forgiven for being a little mean. He wasn’t proud of himself, but he was human damnit with his own feelings and hurt.
Before he knew it, he was chucking a bucket at Keith with a grumpy pout. He didn’t do it directly at him—refused to entertain the possibility of hurting him—but made it clang on the ground for dramatic effect.
“Farm boy. Get me an extra cups worth. I want to drink it,” his eyes narrowed. “Unpasteurised.”
Keith’s eyes widened in alarm. Surely the boy wasn’t such a madman? He bit his tongue on the anger at the demand, throwing out a sarcastic “As you wish,” as he began grumpily tugging on Kaltenecker’s teats.
Lance had not expected him to follow his rude request. Couldn’t back down himself. But honestly … he was a little chuffed. He drank from the bucket with a smile, cheeks warm at the knowledge the other boy would do anything for him.
Even hold his hair back as he vomited into the toilet.
Lance worried he was only following his requests due to financial pressure and felt … a little guilty. But once he knew Keith would not refuse him, like many a man with power, he abused the privilege.
“Farm boy, fetch me some water.”
“Farm boy, my saddle needs polishing.”
“Farm boy, could you fetch me an extra jumper? I’m cold.”
And every-time, without fail, the scowling young man would follow his orders. Thrusting the glass at him. Shining the saddle until he could see his face in it with a heavyset scowl. He looked like he wanted to chuck the jumper at him, but he didn’t, instead handing it to him with a slight touch of the fingers as they met in the middle. Both would deny the blush painting their cheeks, for it was cold & that brought colour to their noses and ear-tips, too. It was just the cold. The electricity between them was just the lightning in the air.
And every time, as you wish.
Lance felt he was wearing his spirit down. Gone were the days of him snapping it out, instead replaced by a small sigh, a fond shake of the head and a soft-voiced “as you wish.”
Lance would feel guilty … and yet the warmth pooling in his stomach gave him a sense of pride and happiness that cut it out.
It had been a long day. His father had noticed one of their sheep struggling in the back paddock, twisted in the wire of the fence through his binoculars, but worse than that: there was a gap in said fence, and the number of sheep had thinned out. Keith had immediately declared he would ride out to collect the escapees, already walking to set up his horse’s tack before Lance’s father had even finished his sentence. Not to be bested, Lance had said “oh no you don’t” and followed him out. How hard could it be with the two of them?
The answer was very.
The sheep, for all their feigned stupidity, were cunning and quick and had scattered across the acres of his dad’s fields. They spent the entire day riding in tandem together, splitting up when they saw sheep at different ends, then regrouping to find some more. Despite the stress of having to herd the animals back—and there was a good hundred of the bastards—he found himself grinning the entire day. He’d occasionally glance over to his rival to see him wearing a similar smile, gaze fixed ahead as he scanned for the merino time-marauders. Lance was used to riding hard for long periods of time, but the speed and deftness required to follow after Keith made him want to be a better rider. His back ached from jolting over hills and fields, but it was the pleasant kind. The sun was setting by the time they’d gotten the last sheep back into the main paddock, the gap in the fence thankfully fixed by Lance’s father during the day.
“Whew, what a day,” Keith said, surprisingly companionably as he turned to Lance with a shy smile. “Um. Thank you I guess for helping me get them back inside. I,” he looked away with a bashful smile, “Think we make a really great team.”
Lance floundered. His face lit up, redder than the chestnut of Keith’s horse, mouth gaping like a fish. He’d never seen Keith openly wanting to talk before, and so kindly too. Thankfully, Keith was looking away from him now and towards the sunset. He took a long swig out of the water flask previously attached to his hip. Lance took in the sharp definition of his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple. The line of water glistening and rolling down his chin. He didn’t know what to do.
So he fell back on being obnoxious.
“Farm boy,” he whined. “I have a cramp. May I have a back massage?”
Keith choked on his drink, eyes wide, but he gulped it down. He turned back towards Lance, eyes still wide and a little spooked. Sounds escaped him, but they weren’t words. He recollected himself and silently nodded.
The sun was painting the reeds of the field a golden red. Everything was lit up most intensely at this time of night. The wind was at a gentle lull, whipping the long grass against their knees. The sky was fading from blue to red where it chased after the sun, clouds bruising it in places a dark purple.
Lance, not expecting an affirmative to his impulsive, underthought demand, gulped. He turned around, his broad back to the farmhand as he glanced over his shoulder. Keith was walking towards him, hands fists at his side, until he’d gotten closer and reached them out. Beneath his fingerless gloves, they were shaking. Lance’s throat went dry. He felt terrible, wanted to stay stop if he was uncomfortable, but the words caught in his throat in a slight pained whine, and the other young man’s hands steadied as they landed on his shoulders. Fixed. As if safe, where they should be. The dark strands of his thick hair were tinted burgundy in the light, his eyes a dilated almost black, the last bit of light catching and bringing out a purple supernova.
He could feel his warm breath tickling the hair on the back of his neck in heavy puffs. The callouses on his finger-tips brushing against the dip in his shoulder blades. The scars on Lance’s back—puffy, broken, aching on bad days—had been received saving Kaltenecker from a wild wolfdog. They only caused pain in the winter, when things were cold, and on days he had overexerted himself. It was one reason his father relied on him less for the heavy lifting Lance knew he could do. But generally he could not feel them. Right now? They felt aflame. But it did not hurt. Keith tripped into his back, foot clipping a rock. He landed with an ‘oof’ against Lance’s back, but they both stood firm. Lance gulped as he could feel the whole line of Keith’s body against him before he straightened out again with a mumbled apology. Lance wasn’t sure whether Keith’s heavy, firm hands were as sweaty as he felt.
“Heh,” he said—well, more like rasped out, voice coarse & struggling. “When I asked for a massage, I didn’t mean with your whole body, farm boy. I meant just … with your hands. Upper back, around the shoulder blades and no further than the dip in my spine just under.”
Bossy directions. He could do bossy directions. Gave him something to focus on with the rising panic. Why was he panicking? It was just two dudes, one giving the other a back massage in a romantically-lit field. No biggie. Must happen all the time. Nothing to get distressed about.
Lance could feel the words against his neck before he heard them, Keith’s head practically ducked down into the crook. His raspy voice was heavy, the timbre vibrating against the hair of his neck. Lance felt himself gasping involuntarily. Those hands, soothing down his spine and then up again.
“As you wish,” Keith whispered like a prayer, reverent.
That day he was amazed to discover that when Keith said ‘as you wish’ what he meant was ‘I love you.’
Lance shivered, back slumping back into Keith’s chest.
And even more amazing was that it was the day he realised he truly loved him back.