#'pretending the mechanization and commercialization of farming in the late-17th century mid/western united states doesn’t exist so that my

[inoankin]

Rodeo Tricks (scrapped)

i think i might be incapable of writing smut, because i keep trying and getting stuck just before it gets good. no clue what that's about but. okay.

ANYWAYS. this has been lying in my drafts. it's kind of a newer one in comparison, but it's been long enough since i've touched it that i'm pretty sure it's never getting finished.

enjoy :)

______________

The day is bright and warm with spring in Tulare County. Leo watches Vincent’s back shift in rhythm with his percheron’s slow, steady steps as a breeze combs through the valley. He’s been quiet, so far. Just leading them along an invisible, winding path through hills springing with golden poppies. Leo doesn’t mind too much. He hasn’t exactly known the man for long, but he’s well-enough acquainted to know he’ll speak when he needs to; as it is, he’s contented enough to watch the rocking of his hips in that sturdy Mexican saddle.

They ride for a while longer before Vincent pulls Belle to a stop beside a brook, in a relatively flat clearing. He peers at Leo as he stops beside him, a quiet smile on his lips. “Fancy yourself a showman, cowboy?”

A raised brow. “I don’t see no fuckin’ broncos out here, if that’s what you mean.”

“What, no rodeo tricks?”

“None that you ain’t already seen. ‘S not like we got time to train for that kind’a thing. We got jobs to do.” 

Kalahari snorts as if to agree. Vincent clicks his tongue, more as a response than a command, but Belle starts forward, and he has to pull back gently on the reins to stop her again. Leo does not laugh.

“Real shame. I thought you might have saved something special, just for me.”

“Tell you what, granjero: we ever come back ‘round here again, and I will.”

“Always the charmer.” Vincent then directs his horse across the brook and strolls farther into the valley, his back to him once again. Leo follows. “You ever wrestle steer?”

“Well, sure. Been a while, though.”

“You remember how?”

“The basics.” He taps his heels into Kalahari’s sides and comes up to walk beside Vincent, frowning curiously. “What’s all this about?”

“I figure you could put on one performance for me, if it ain’t too much trouble.”

With a confused look, he gestures around. “With what steer?”

There’s a certain glimmer in Vincent’s eye when he meets Leo’s gaze, tightening his hold on the reins. “You can do with a substitute, can’t you?”

Through his teeth, he throws a whistle sharp enough to kill, and in the next moment he’s gone, carried on the wind. Leo blinks a few times before it clicks. The cheeky bastard. 

He kicks into his horse’s sides and they race after him. Vincent is but a spot of brown and grey among miles of green and gold. From the distance comes a joyous shouting, though he has no idea what he’s saying over the roar of wind in his ears. Hais Stetson tries to fly away, so he pulls it off and slaps it on Kalahari’s thigh to urge him on.

It’s not long before he’s close enough to hear Vincent’s laughter floating on the breeze. Leo tries to get on his right side, but swears when he darts to the left. Yanks the reins to keep up. Belle is surprisingly agile for a draft horse, her rider equally deft for a farmer; but if Leo knows anything, it’s how to out-maneuver a slippery bastard, steer or otherwise. So he tightens his jaw and picks up the pace. Vincent’s quick but he knows he’s quicker. The only issue is trapping him. Rock and a hard place, or so it goes. 

They get up and stick to Belle’s haunches, and surprisingly, Vincent allows it. He laughs like nothing in the world. Leo answers in kind. The glen is just a blur to his senses as they gallop on.

And suddenly he’s there, staring him in the face. Vincent only grins. This has got to be the stupidest idea he’s ever had.

Leo leaps. 

He’s not sure who it is that yelps, or if it even matters. The impact of the ground jars them both, but they have no time to gather their bearings before they’re tumbling, rolling over the grass and the poppies. He reaches out to take hold of whatever he can, which turns out to be a wrist as they come to a stop. Vincent twists and kicks, bucks like a bronco. Leo wrestles them around and forces him flat on the ground, finding his other wrist and pinning them both above his head.

Vincent blinks, his eyes wide and chest heaving. Leo grins. “You’re lucky I left my lariat with the coach.”

“Is that so?” He says, sounding positively breathless.

There it is — that helpless, almost bashful look he got when he caught Leo’s eye yesterday evening. He’d offered him a drink and told him about the grain farm he labors with his brother, and Leo had told him about the other vaqueros he works with on Five Lakes Ranch a few towns farther south. They stayed and drank until the barman kicked them out. Vincent had looked at him with a quietly fond expression from atop his percheron that night, before he’d headed home. And just a few hours ago, something more hopeful as he invited Leo out for a ride.

He releases Vincent’s hands and sits up on his hips, considering the man under him. 

“You wanted this to happen.”

“Clever guy,” he pants. “Or am I just that obvious?”

“You’re pretty fuckin’ obvious, granjero.”

“I guess I’ll have to find subtler tactics.” He reaches up, then, which Leo doesn’t expect, but allows. Finds a loose grip in the front of his shirt and pulls him down, all doe-eyed and cautious in that reserved way of his. Leo plants his hands on the grass either side of his head. A golden flower crumples beneath his thumb. “May I—?”

“Yes.”

And then he does. 

Vincent’s mouth is already open when they connect. His lips taste like Vaseline and his tongue tastes like oranges. Stubble prickles Leo’s palm as it glides up his throat to hold his jaw, a small sigh escaping Vincent as it does. When they pull apart, he’s even more breathless than before, staring up at him with flushed cheeks and an awed expression. Leo tries not to laugh.

“That’s…”

He quirks a brow. “Good?”

A nod. “Yeah.” Vincent’s eyes dart around his face, searching for something as his brows slowly pull together. “And you’re…”

“Fantastic?”

Leo expects a laugh, or a smile, or something, but all he gets is silence as Vincent lies there and studies him, like he’s trying to find God in the work-worn lines of his face. He stares long enough that he starts to worry that was somehow the wrong thing to say, until he sits up, forcing Leo to move back and give him space.

“Leaving.”

Oh. Right.

Him and the rest of the cattlemen are leaving in the evening. Packing up and heading home. Of course, he’d like to go home; but there’s also this, here, now, and it’s making Vincent upset, and that’s the last thing he wants. He just kissed the man, for fuck’s sake. He can’t leave it there without some kind of conversation, at the very least — which is impressive, coming from him. Harv would be proud. Problem is, he hasn’t got the first clue what to say, how to make this not such a bad thing. He has to leave. Vincent is upset. 

“It doesn’t— I mean, you make it sound so final, but we could— it’s not like I just… you… um. Hola.”

Leo’s train of thought comes to a stop as Vincent grips his shoulder and guides him around until he’s sitting on the grass, fitting himself neatly, perfectly, on Leo’s lap, without so much as asking. They’re close again, breathing the same breath, and he’s all flushed with this half-unsure, half-wanting look as he just hovers there. Like he’s not completely certain what to do now that he’s gotten himself here.

“Howdy,” he says as he continues to study his face, though it seems more now like he’s committing it to memory. “Figured we best… well, make the best of it. Right?”

“We can come back around. This isn’t— it doesn’t have to be forever.”

“I know. I know. But you are leaving. And I won’t see you. And I want…”

A warmth blooms in Leo’s chest as he trails off. The words don’t need to be said, not really. Still, he wants to hear them. 

“What do you want, Vincent?”

The distance between them closes. It’s not much more than a peck, though Vincent lingers on his lips as if that alone will answer the question. A man of few words, or so he tries to be. And after a moment, he pulls away. Goes back to studying him. Not that he minds the attention. If there would be one reason to stay, it would be to lie under that calculating gaze for the rest of his days. And, shit, he’s not gonna think about the implications of that. 

Vincent thumbs absently at the collar of Leo’s shirt and finally focuses on his eyes. “I want you. If I can have you. If you’ll let me.”

It sounds almost like he’s asking a different question, though Leo would probably say ‘yes’ to whatever came out of his mouth, proposition or otherwise.

“I think I can do that,” he says, unable to stop the lopsided smile that pulls at his lips. He gets a bright smile in return, and that’s all it takes.

This time, he pulls Vincent down, pushing eagerly into the heat of his mouth. Vincent opens up easily.

fin.