Cock-A-Doodle-Doo

A Roll in the Hay

Someone with more decorum would have continued on and taken Richard home. Laid him out all nice on a proper bed. Treated him soft and tender. Instead, Hank cast his eye about for the nearest workable surface. He could drop him on the ground and pin him against a tree or bend him over the fence, of course, but he did have some standards. There was a stack of hay bales piled in the next field, probably stores for the cows or horses. Either way, a few of those would be perfect to drop Richard's smaller body on. Fuck, if he got him on his knees, two would probably bring his ass to the perfect height.

Halfway across the field, Richard's teeth found his lobe, and those creeping fingers finally rubbed over his nipple. Reaching the stack of bales, Hank tossed him down on the loose ones dotted around the base of the stack. Richard looked stunned, lying on his back like a squirming ferret as he watched him pull down a few more bales to make a small mattress. Lowering his feet and resting on his elbows, Richard seemed almost coy as he looked up at him. Hank cursed under his breath as he noticed the first button of his shirt had been popped, enjoying the light breeze as it ruffled his hair.

"I warned you, your highness," Hank groused as he planted his knee between Richard's parted thighs and leaned over him. A small sound choked in Richard's throat as he leaned further back, seeming almost shy. Hank chuckled as he pressed closer and laced a hand in his hair. It was a little too late to be acting like that. Richard didn't fight or pull away as he leaned in to claim his lips, though he sucked in a surprised breath as Hank's tongue went in for the kill. Fuck, it was better than he'd dreamed. Richard was a clingy little fucker when he got going.

He was also whiney. Hank had always suspected he might be, but those little whines were sweeter than he'd ever imagined. He settled against him, grateful for the moonlight that lit the open fields as he gazed upon him. Richard's breath was warm against his lips, mouth open and needy for his tongue. The scratch of Hank's whiskers was driving him crazy, one hand gingerly reaching up to stroke the thick beard. Hank chuckled and rocked against him, enjoying the way he squirmed and bucked, trying to get some relief.

"Tell me, Richie. Have you ever been fucked?" Richard looked utterly indignant at the question.

"I'm over forty! Of course I've had sex!" Hank smirked, an almost predatory look in his aged blue eyes. Richard fell silent as he leaned down and kissed him again. The whiskers on his lips made him moan again, warm breaths mingling as they drew back. A gentle hand laced in his hair and teased his scalp before moving lower to caress his smooth cheek.

"That's not what I asked...I asked if you'd ever been fucked." The look on his face, that silent question, was all Hank needed in response.

"What's the difference?" Biting his bottom lip, a breath hissed through the gap in Hank's teeth. His cock swelled at the words.

"You have no idea how fucking happy I am that you have to ask..." Richard was still confused, and more than a little coy, as Hank reclaimed his lips. He was pressing so close, lips and tongue so insistent, that Richard was finding it hard to keep up. He was flushed and breathless when Hank finally drew back and looked down at him. Despite all their tumbling, Richard was still remarkably put together. His collar was loose, but his shirt hadn't budged an inch. It was almost like...Oh, fuck yes! Leaving his shirt untouched, Hank stroked his way down Richard's legs to pull off his fine shoes, letting them fall carelessly on the ground. "You got something in here for me, Richie?" Richard looked flustered as Hank pulled his belt loose, lips stammering as he rested the back of his hand against his lips.

Hank cursed under his breath as he pulled those grey slacks off and tossed them on the ground. He'd pay for the dry cleaning later. Getting to Richard's cock was far more important, and what a treat he was. Sock and shirt garters! All those fucking straps! He looked like a pinup boy from the 1940s, laid out as he was. Resting his hands on those delicate knees, Hank gently pushed them apart to get a proper look. Tight boxers hugged his lower half, his cock a clearly defined lump within, the tip just peeking through the waistband. He was pretty as a picture, and a picture Hank would have. Richard remained looking coy, half hiding his face as Hank pulled his phone out. If anything, the act of being photographed turned him on more.