Melina had certainly taken it seriously when Clark asked for a chore list. Punching through it for an afternoon and starting on the remainder the next morning distracted him from thoughts of long black hair, broad shoulders, and his mother warning him to be careful, among other things.
He patched a hole in the goat barn so a tricky brown goat named Marcus would stop escaping. Hopefully. Next he spent over an hour putting tools back where they belonged. Of course the breaker bar was one of the last things he found, tossed in a blue plastic milk crate under a half-mask respirator.
Melina was machining something when Clark heard the truck engine. He could tell it was his mom’s truck by the noise; he’d heard it drive away yesterday after Van and company came to borrow it. But potential playtime came after work time so Clark headed for the big farm to make a tractor behave, breaker bar in hand. When he was done he put in a few hours down at the biggest cobbled-together Franken-greenhouse he’d ever seen, packaging marijuana for the next trade run to Denver.
That whole thing was a bit odd. Clark had gathered during his Day One quasi-tour of the town that the weed farm held up a significant part of Freshtown’s current economy. The guy who owned it, Eduardo, had a few other undefined business interests as well, and apparently some kind of school.
Eduardo himself never appeared while Clark was working and both of the white guys he met introduced themselves as Eduardo’s students. Students in cannabis cultivation? It was all very mysterious. Also, Clark knew for a fact there were plenty of people growing pot in Denver, so he didn’t see how Freshtown made money hauling this up there. When he said as much to the cute guy working with him, the guy had grinned.
“Theirs isn’t like this,” he said. “Trust me.”
Clark made a mental note to see about sampling the stuff once he’d established himself as a useful member of his new soon-to-dissolve community, if he could barter for it.
He caught himself favoring his bad leg as he dried the dishes after dinner and forced himself to stand straight. The truck had been parked at the main hall when he got back from House of Weed but he hadn’t seen any human activity nearby. They’d be loading the truck with the crop he’d helped pack pretty soon.
“Enough work,” his mother finally declared. “Maybe go have a swim before it gets too dark. You can get back to the creek on your own, right?”
He dried another plate. She’d been bending over backwards to be polite to him since their junkyard showdown last night, but the last thing anyone here needed was to baby a newcomer. “I can get around fine.”
She didn’t respond.
A swim did sound good; in the water he could rotate his hip different ways without balance being an issue. What sounded even better was one of the bottles of beer he’d brought from Doberman. Melina had submerged all four in another of her milk crates just upstream from where people swam and bathed in what she’d called “the fridge.” There was a rock ridge right before the water tumbled down to the swimming area where crates could rest, tethered, without going over.
If Clark could enjoy it without remembering how Thao had looked handing it to him. Parting gift, he’d said sadly. Good luck. I mean it.
When they were done cleaning up he grabbed his jacket, his frayed towel from the curtained alcove where he was sleeping, and a couple of empty bottles to bring back water from the creek.
When Clark limped over the last hill he saw Van in the water, his long dark hair streaming as he came up for air. As if the universe had known Clark needed a distraction and had the perfect solution.
Thank you, universe.
The broad shoulders under Van’s beat-up leather jacket had been bad enough. This was impossible. Van’s arms and chest had the lean muscles of someone who did physical work for a living, and Clark said an internal yes please to the dark line of hair that ran down his belly. Clark glanced away so he didn’t see too much as the man waded into shallower water. Van was wiping water from his face and might not know anyone was here, so as much as Clark wanted to admire, it would be rude.
“Clark?” Van called, sounding a little surprised. There was a slight splash, like he’d sat back down.
“Yeah,” Clark called back, then chanced another peek. Van was indeed back down in the water. Decent, as Clark’s dad would say, except so very much not. Indecent in the most maddening way. Clark was acutely aware of certain special parts of his body now and enjoying that feeling.
“I can go?” Van offered finally, uncertain. Probably confused because Clark was standing there staring.
Oops. “Sorry, I was thinking about whether I wanted to grab a beer before I get in. You want one?”
That got Van’s attention. “You have beer?”
Always smart to arrive bearing gifts, and getting rid of the stuff wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t keep for long. “Four of ’em, in my mom’s fridge crate.”
The big guy shook his head. “You don’t have to share.”
That low, sexy voice, so help him… Clark shot Van his most winning smile, trying to keep it friendly. Lascivious he could deploy later. “We’ll call it helping me celebrate my move. My treat.”
Van considered for a moment before nodding.
Clark set down the empty water bottles, dropped his towel on a fairly large rock, and took the path up to the fridge. He pulled the crate up with the rope, grabbed two bottles as the water drained, and made his way back down to where Van was waiting, a low buzz of anticipation settling in his bones.
He hadn’t had a new hookup in so long. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed it. Not like he needed it, but honestly he was a little surprised at how strongly he wanted it. When was the last time he’d had something easy, uncomplicated, fun? When was the last time he’d gotten to be with someone without anticipating feedback on how much he was failing?
Van was floating on his back now, his hips and legs barely beneath the water line. Can’t beat that Colorado scenery. He turned over, glided to the edge, and took one of the bottles. Clark managed to avoid engineering a way for their hands to touch and congratulated himself on his restraint.
Van twisted off the cap and tossed it over next to Clark’s towel. Clark sat to take off his boots and socks and made sure to set the bottlecap close by so he wouldn’t forget to take it back with him. No sense having to make a new one.
Van took a swig of the beer. His eyes widened. “You should have kept this.”
Clark pulled off his t-shirt. Slowly. He couldn’t resist being a little bad. “Well, some things are more fun with another person.”
If Clark was harboring any doubts about whether he’d imagined Van’s staring when they met, they were blown away now. Van’s eyes followed Clark’s movements as the shirt came off before dropping down to Clark’s… ah. His biceps. First one, then the other, the black bands he’d had tattooed there back in Doberman when he still had an income. Kinda blurry, but Clark thought they looked sexy anyway.
Van obviously thought so. Hell, would Clark even have to take off his own pants, or was Van going to climb out of the cold water and do it for him?
Sadly, the guy didn’t take the bait and instead looked away politely so Clark could finish undressing. Clark held his beer and waded into the shockingly cold water. Putting a hand in for a second to grab the beer hadn’t given him the full impact. This wasn’t a place to swim, it was glacier runoff, and the glacier must be close. Possibly hidden behind that rock over there? There was a chance his knee would feel better if he could tough it out, however, so finally he forced himself to sit down.
Fuck! He might have sacrificed his balls to the cause of pain relief.
Van was still staring off into the scrub oak. “Thanks for the beer.”
Clark took his first swallow. It was fantastic. The pleasure of drinking a cold beer when the lower half of your body was frozen solid was somewhat diminished, but someone had outdone themselves on this batch.
Still, Clark was more interested in getting Van to refocus on the only other person within touching distance. Probably best to start with politeness. “You’re welcome. I wasn’t sure if anybody was brewing around here.”
No response.
Clark drank in silence for a couple of minutes, trying to figure out how to sway this teeth-grindingly hot man. He’d never had trouble getting laid in Doberman, not before he got hurt anyway. Everyone knew he was gay and down for some fun. Made things efficient.
Maybe Freshtown wasn’t about efficient. Maybe it was about slower and more personal. Clark did know how to talk to guys, ask about their day, be friendly. His usual emphasis on other activities was simply a personal preference for avoiding situations where he’d fuck everything up.
“Is the truck okay? Or do we need to hide someone from my mother until she calms down?”
That got Clark a glance and a smile, but only two words. “Truck’s fine.”
Water drops ran lazily from Van’s wet hair down his face into his beard. Clark had never bedded anyone from a defense team and probably shouldn’t start now, despite all the pop-zing-pow between them, but wow did he want to lick this man in all kinds of places. He settled back to drink his beer and ponder his next move. Flirting, fail. Casual conversation, fail. At least the quiet was relaxing. There wasn’t any place at Doberman this quiet. You could always hear someone working, talking, laughing, singing, snoring, arguing, or fucking, and that last one wasn’t as entertaining as one might imagine.
Van cleared his throat like he was nervous. Then, miracle of miracles, he spoke. “So, you do engines too?”
No, I do big, strapping, gorgeous guys who speak in very short sentences and look amazing on horseback. Or they do me, I’m not picky. Know anyone who might be interested?
A more casual response was probably appropriate. “Not as well as my mother, but some. And I’ll do whatever kind of work around town so folks can get more done before winter.” That was how communities survived now. Everybody had to pitch in and work together.
“Thanks. It’s hard on everybody when we’re on the road.”
Six strong people absent in a town this size? Clark would think so. “How much are you gone?”
Van shrugged. “Depends.”
He took another pull of his beer. Clark watched Van’s throat work as he swallowed and had very enjoyable naughty thoughts.
“A little surprising,” Van said. “You showing up. Usually people ask.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. All this contemplating Van as possible fling material, and Clark had lost sight of how usually people didn’t relocate between towns in the circuit without giving the new town’s defense lead a heads-up first. The last fight between Clark and his dad had moved so fast, he hadn’t thought before he started packing.
“It was kind of sudden,” Clark said, trying to sound non-defensive, apologetic, and entirely trustworthy. “I apologize. I should have followed protocol.” Getting kicked from Freshtown now would suck. He could have stayed on the truck all the way to R-town. Hello, complete strangers, I promise I’m worth an adult’s amount of food every day. A bed? No, it’s fine, the floor is fine.
“It’s all right.” Van scooted past him to the bank and put his half-empty beer bottle down. “We just wouldn’t have drawn on you if we’d known you were coming.”
So he wasn’t getting kicked out. He was okay. Okay.
Back to more pleasant thoughts, then, as best he could. Such as how patently unfair it was that Van’s muscles flexed like that as he moved. Clark imagined how they’d feel under his hands. It certainly helped burn away the momentary panic. Especially when Van glided back out to the deeper water and dunked himself again, coming up drenched. He slicked his hair back from his face with those arms, as if he had no idea how arousing he was.
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe Clark should tell him. A lot. While they were both naked. “So what do people do for fun around here? When work’s done, I mean.” He didn’t want to come off as a slacker.
“Swim, when there’s enough water. Smoke up. Go to the quarry and, uh…” Van clearly regretted starting that sentence.
Clark didn’t try to hide his smirk. “So the quarry’s the makeout spot, huh?” Now he felt more comfortable with this conversation. “You ever get a day off to relax?”
“Only when it’s snowing.”
Clark couldn’t stop himself. Winter was so not his favorite, but the flirty comment was sitting there waiting for him, a puppy with no home. “Then I guess I’ll hope for an early snow this year.”
Van’s eyes snapped to his again, same as yesterday. Hell, yesterday Clark had barely needed to say anything. Touching Van’s hand and keeping it had been a big part of that. Maybe Clark should try something like that again, take the lead firmly and see what happened.
He pushed off and made his way into the deeper water. He got within a couple of feet of Van before he sank down and dunked his head. He thought he might die from the temperature, and the effect wouldn’t be as dramatic as with Van’s long hair, but when he came back up and sluiced water off his face, he concluded it had been worth it. Van was watching now.
“Hey,” Clark said, letting his voice rasp a little. No shame in making an attractive offer.
Van’s eyes flicked down to Clark’s chest, then back to his face.
“You need to be anywhere soon?” Clark gave the guy his sexiest smile. The one he broke out when he was winning.
The man’s lips parted the tiniest bit.
Fuck yes.
“I need to go see who’s taking night watch.”
Well, that didn’t feel quite as victorious, but some guys had made him work for it before. Could be fun. The phrase night watch was a timely reminder of the situation, however. Van was hot, but also the top dog of defense team life. Fun for a season, but not somebody to get bogged down with, even if you were the bogging type.
Clark didn’t check out Van’s ass when he got up. He hadn’t been invited. Yet. Van pulled cargo pants and boots on and slung his dirty clothes around his neck. Laundry day must be tomorrow. His grey hat—yesterday it had been almost black, someone must have brushed it—went on his head. With his beer in one hand, he used the other to hoist the big water jug he must have filled when he got to the creek.
He didn’t look back.
Clark finished his beer. There weren’t as many choices in a small town, but even if there were, he thought bedding Van would be worth the effort. Clark obviously knew how to get the guy’s attention. He simply had to figure out how to get from there to stripping off each other’s clothes.
Or not. Half-clothed banging could be quite satisfying.