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good for the goose, good for the gander

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“Darry.”

“Wayne.”

“You wanna know what? I been thinkin’ so here’s the scoop an’ I’m gonna tell ya.”

“Yuh.”

“I’m not meanin’ to kiss an’ tell.”

“Get after it.”

“But just between us girls, I think we’ve got a bit of an imbalance in things.”

Darry tilts his head at a curious angle and lowers the magazine he’s been thumbing through so it hangs between his knees, forefinger stuck in the pages so as not to lose his spot. “Imbalance in what?”

Wayne inhales through his nose and takes a sip from his beer. “Well. Not polite to be talkin’ ‘bout.”

Darry frowns, his brow furrowing. “Can’t cast a line an’ not reel it, Super Chief.”

“Like. Fuckin’ jus’. Well. ‘Bout toe-curlin’?”

A little panic rises in Darry. “Yuh?”

“We’ve got a good arrangement, sure as a sheep bleats.”

“Oh, I’d go so far as to call it a great arrangement.”

“Excellent arrangement, but I reckon you’re not gettin’ much a honey-dickin’ as you give to me.”

Darry raises his eyebrows and any doubt he had had in him about not giving Wayne some good rod floods out of him. “You worryin’ ‘bout whether or not I get the same attentions as ya?” Darry laughs out of his nose. “Darlin’, I think you might be forgettin’ that when I give ya a poke, feels good on my end, too.”

Wayne’s face scrunches up and he goes red in that way of his, despite him being the one who brought the topic to the table. “Know that, Dar,” he mumbles. “Jus’. Givin’ me a go all these times an’ never give you a good lather.”

Darry snorts. “I don’t mind gettin’ my boots knocked, but I like better to be the one layin’ pipe.”

Wayne turns his face away, stretches his arm out to take a mechanical sip of beer. “Can confirm.”

“So whaddya wanna go an’ change sheets that ain’t dirty for?”

Wayne squints off at the sun then up to the rafters of the barn, his top teeth showing a bit. “Figgure you might have an itch you need scratched an’ ain’t lettin’ on ‘bout it.”

“Oh, no fun anyhow if I go an’ tell ya. Then it’ll be an act on yer half.”

“You like callin’ me the vanilla one, but now you’re soundin’ like JFK’s favorite ice cream there, bud.”

“Nothin’ to get excited about,” Darry mutters, going back to his magazine.

Wayne studies Darry silently, trying to deduce what it might be that Darry likes and hasn’t gone and opened his mouth about yet. The guy’s pretty straightforward: soft and childish. Giggles at farts and chases ducks till they flap their wings with annoyance and turn back round on him. Darry’s not one for secrets so whatever it is he likes in the bedroom, it must not be too outrageous because he would’ve slipped up and talked about it by now.

Wayne empties the last half inch of his beer into the hay. “Somethin’ you figgure I won’t go fer?”

“Oh, sort yerself out.”

“Somethin’ you gotta order off the Internet? Say… like you gotta hide it in a drawer or somethin’?”

Darry pauses to actually consider this, his bottom lip jutting out thoughtfully. He shakes his head. “Nothin’ of the sort."

"Must be mild as milk then."

Darry flips a page. "Come off it, Wayne."

"Bein' a fuckin' dial tone for someone who likes hay rustlin' so much he can't even wait to get his coveralls off."

"Bein' a fuckin' badger for someone who's too shy to go up his sweetie's shirt less they're alone in a locked room."

Wayne spits off to the side. "10% off an' I'll do the same."

"Good stuff."

Darry keeps at his reading, which is just a tractor and farm parts mag so he can't be that involved with memorizing the number you've got to recite via phone if you want a new accessory for your combine and Wayne knows that Darry knows you shouldn't go too crazy with accessories.

To be cheeky, Wayne adds, "What's good for the goose is good for the gander."

Without looking up, Darry says, "Give ya the beats if you keep comin' this way."

Wayne snorts. Holding up his pinky, he says, "1. I'd like to see your sally soft attempt at a scrap." Up goes his ring finger. "2. Not sposed to lay hands on a sweetie." Middle finger. "3. What sense does it make to give a tilt to the man tryna give you attentions?"

"Man doesn't want attention, you don't pay it to him."

"You want me to believe you don't want any attention paid to… Well. You don't want any attention paid to yer dipstick?"

"Like it left in the oil."

Wayne goes red again. "Oh, that's fuckin' ignorant."

"Sides, I'm ticklish as all hell."

"Not everythin' gonna give you a tickle."

"Well, most likely, but that leaves a lot to be desired with remaining options."

"Feels like I'm in yer boots here."

"How do you figgure?"

"Well. Typically, I'm the one tellin' you to take a walk when it comes to different ways to get yer rocks off, but now I'm here givin' ya shot at what it is you'd like done to yerself an' yer stubborn as an old mule."

"Wanna know what you could do for me?" Darry perks up with a devious smile. "Say yes to wearin'—"

"WannaknowwhatIthink? I think I'll close that door." And with that, Wayne marches toward the produce stand to grab a Puppers from the cooler.


Next day, they're all sat out by the produce stand in the nice heat of the evening sun with their Puppers.

Dan pipes up and says, "Mighty fines silage scoopin' there, Darry."

Katy bobs her head in a nod. "Never seen a man move a shovel quick as that."

Darry giggles. "Cows gotta eat."

Wayne watches his sweetie through squinted eyes, still on high alert to any hint or clue as to what it is Darry might like between the sheets that Wayne ain't keen to. Darry ain't shy and Wayne's seen the skin mags Darry thinks are so well hidden between the wall and the side of the washer in the laundry room, but they're plain old nudies. No leather or whips or any of the stuff Wayne's overheard Gail talk about with Glen.

Any insight will have to come straight from the horse's mouth.

"Cows sure appreciates it," Dan continues.

"Oh, Darry's just workin' double because he's sleeping with the boss."

"Katy!"

That really makes Darry get to laughing, his tongue caught between his teeth as he snickers.

Katy cranes around in her reclined lawn chair. "Ain't you gonna give Darry a good word for his efforts today, Wayne? Even you gotta admit that was some fine chorin' on his part."

Wayne is quiet a moment, arms crossed. He places his hands to his knees as way of looking less reserved and says, "Darry, that was A-1 out there today." He's not big on the whole verbal deal, would rather give Darry a strong, knowing nod in passing, but Katy's got a point and fuck, if Wayne ain't proud to be cuffed to such a genuine farmhand, soft as Egyptian silk but there's no arguing he'll work till his boots bleed.

Darry drops his eyes down quick and his lips wrestle a smile that comes bounding out despite his attempt to hold it in. "Don't need a clap on the back fer chorin' how we always chore," he mumbles softly down to the dirt at his boots.

Wayne lingers on this reaction. Darry had let Dan and Katy give him a good word, but now that Wayne's come around to do it, he looks shy as a kid hiding in his mama's skirt tails.

Unlike Darry to be bashful.

Wayne lets that one marinate.


"Darry."

"Wayne."

Darry's seated in Wayne's lap with his head leaned back to Wayne's chest while he nurses a dart, sat up in the hayloft post choring. Darry passes Wayne his smoke and Wayne takes a good drag before continuing.

"Yous said you don't like having attentions paid to you."

Darry groans.

"But. I've done my fair share of sluethin' an' come to a conclusion."

"Fuckin' preoccupied."

"Darry, I think you like what others might call… bein' praised."

Darry goes quiet on him and that's for certain a tell on account of if Wayne was in the wrong, Darry would be squealing like a pig snagged between two slats, but instead he's clammed up right quick. Wayne rewraps his arms around Darry's middle.

"An' suddenly all is quiet on the Western front…"

Darry kind of squirms and leans forward to stub his dart safely out on the edge of his mucking boot since they're in the loft and lord knows the next thing they need is a barn full of hay catching fire from a stray butt. He settles back in against Wayne's front.

"Ain't somethin' I'm goin' fishin' for," Darry says softly.

"Got a hook in whether or not you meant to."

"So what? You gonna jus' dump yer peaches an' cream down over me like readin' off a list?"

"Talkin' to yer sweetie ain't sposed to be a peacockin' act. Ain't sposed to be a fuckin' horse an' pony show."

Darry worms down so he can look up at Wayne and Wayne can look down at him. Wayne's practically got his arms hooked around Darry's armpits with how low he's sunk himself just to make eye contact.

" Jus' like. Can't imagine ya sayin' somethin' 10-ply without it soundin' like yer recitin' show cards."

"What like. Can't imagine me sayin'. Oh. Spose like. Darry, best man with dairy cows I know in least 60 kilometers."

Darry swallows. "'Kay. Sounds like yer outta the gate there."

Wayne brings his hand up and brushes some of Darry's curls out his eyes, which is getting to be a real problem lately, but Darry ain't on the market for gals and therefore don't need a haircut and Wayne ain't complainin', that's for sure.

"Curls comin' in quick," Wayne murmurs.

"Callin' me raggedy?"

Wayne keeps toying with Darry's hair. "Nup. Callin' ya pert near handsome."

Darry gasps a tiny, "Oh," like he can't believe Wayne would ever compliment him and he shifts his eyes away.

Wayne wants to swing for that tee, to steal Darry's line and give him a good old "D'aww, she's bashful," but he knows what a kick in the plums it is when you're trying something new with your sweetie and they make it a joke. Sides, Darry must be sensitive on it. Wayne recalls when they were discussing the trouble with French girls and Darry flat out said his looks weren't enough to attract someone. He's had addiction problems and prior to being with Wayne, a lot of strike outs in the pursuit of love, so it's not hard to see why Darry wants approval so bad it aches, but also feels he might not be worth the breath.

"Lucky to have ya," Wayne continues. "Good hand with uh… good hands."

Darry goes red quick as a flash and he sits upright in a bolt, almost giving Wayne a sock in the nose with his sudden movement, but Wayne dips out the way and gets his arms around Darry's middle and pulls him close before he can skitter off.

"Whoa now, bud, where's the fire?"

"Wayne, I don't want ya goin' an' gettin' yer foot in somethin' that ain't like you jus' cuz you figgure you owe me."

"If I didn't like it, I wouldn't do it, now would I? Sort yerself out there."

Darry exhales and puts a hand to the spot above Wayne's knee. "Uh. Good hands," he mumbles as way of getting them back on track.

"Can confirm. Nothin' wrong with lettin' yer sweetie know he's A-1 at givin' a good squeezer."

Darry tenses his hold on Wayne's leg, his blunt fingernails biting into the thick of the denim of Wayne's jeans.

"An' nothin' wrong with lettin' yer sweetie know he's good at givin' ya a knock around with that uh, that Canadian wrestling."

"Workin' a front stunt in my trousers, fair warnin'."

"Well. Yer a yard boy if I ever met one. An' if I'm goin' for a dip, I might as well dive." Wayne noses at Darry's throat and gives him a small kiss at the pulse point that's thrumming where his neck meets his shoulder.

Darry inhales until he shudders and he reaches between his legs to start with humping his own palm through his coveralls and fuck, if that don't give Wayne's engine a good crank, but it's not fair to let your sweetie jerk off there in your lap when you've got two good hands, so Wayne trails his hand up and unzips the front of Darry's coveralls. He gives Darry a stroke down the front of his chest, over his white undershirt, then dips his hand down to his waist and squeezes him through his boxers.

"Christ," Darry whispers, breathless.

"Now I don't wanna go an' be cliche here," Wayne murmurs right in Darry's ear. "An' I don't wanna sound like some tit in a porno. An' I don't wanna treat ya like a pup—"

"Can get to the point anytime there, darlin'," Darry interrupts, impatient. He shakingly raises his hips to chase after Wayne's touch, so Wayne gives him an inch of slack and slips his hand under the strap of his underwear so the touch is skin to skin.

"Wanna say yer a good boy, Dar, cept it sounds foolish comin' from someone like me, I reckon an'..." Wayne trails himself off on account of Darry making a choking noise and wriggling his hips greedily, humping himself into Wayne's hand and that lights a fire in Wayne like a match in a pile of dry straw, so he strokes Darry to a good rhythm.

Darry isn't too dominant when he's hitting a homerun on Wayne's diamond, not the type to pull hair or be crass about the whole thing with dirty talk, but Wayne's never been in a position of power like this, even when he's topping. Darry isn't one to embarrass easy, less it's about grade 9 O Canada boners, so him going so pliant, acting needy as a dog in heat here in Wayne's lap is a whole new field to play in.

"'Kay. Spose a good boy'll do it…" Wayne peels Darry's coveralls down a bit more, his chin tucked gently into Darry's shoulder so he can see him working Darry in his hand, precum glistening on his fingers already from how worked up his sweetie is.

"Wayne…" Darry turns his face as far as he can to find Wayne's mouth and he kisses him, needy and heated and sloppy in a way that Wayne doesn't usually go for, all teeth and tongue and Wayne leans into it. His jeans are tented enough to fit a dozen good hikers, pressing obviously into Darry's lower back.

Wayne breaks the kiss and gives Darry a solid twist that makes him exhale harshly. "Give ya shit, hun, but yer a good guy." Wayne picks up the pace, Darry's slick pecker making a wet, slippery noise as Wayne's fingers goes over him. "Real good guy." Wayne cranes his neck forward and spits into Darry's lap, hot drool sliding down his rod in foamy trails around Wayne's grip. "Oh, an excellent guy. Best bo I had."

Darry's getting shivery down to his boots. He's got both hands full palm gripping Wayne's thighs. "Can'ya say it again?" Darry mumbles, strained.

"Which part?"

"C-Callin' me g-..."

"Oh, yer a good boy, Dar," Wayne says, even though it's a foolish thing to say to your sweetie who's a full grown man about to shoot his groin gravy into some hay in the loft, but in the moment, it's about what Darry wants and Wayne wants Darry to feel good and sometimes when you're hot, it doesn't matter what you're saying.

Darry tenses up and digs his boot heels into the hay, kicking it up as he drives his hips towards Wayne's fit and Wayne kisses his neck through his orgasm, wrenching him as seed spurts and dribbles down his fingers, puddling in Darry's pubic hair. Darry makes an embarrassing, unintelligible sound, Wayne's name slurred in there somewhere, then slumps back down into Wayne's lap.

Wayne's about to say something about cleaning up and heading in when Darry twists around and gives Wayne another fierce kiss, grabbing the collar of Wayne's plaid with both hands, his dink hanging out and going soft with no shame about it at all. Wayne brings his non-jizzed hand up to cup the back of Darry's head, true sucker for those curls of his, and kisses him back.

"Honey dickin' if I ever had one, hoo boy," Darry breathes.

"Ever need yer dipstick ripped, let me know, but fer now, how's 'bout we hit a shower an' you can give me a tug with those good hands'a yers."

"Oh, 10-4, good buddy," Darry says, enthusiastic with a wide smile.

"Zipper up there then an' let's get at her." Wayne gives Darry an affectionate hair ruffle and stands slow, not wanting to crush his erection, his legs asleep from being in one position for so long.

"Give you a proper shot of dick liqueur soon as I can get the copilot up again."

"Oh, I wouldn't say no to that."

And Wayne starts slowly down the wooden ladder, with Darry following closely after.