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It’s a hot, sultry day, and David is driving down an empty, desolate country road. The blacktop sizzles under his tires. In the distance, a tumbleweed rolls across the dry, arid landscape. David takes his hand off the wheel to dab at his brow, a weary sigh escaping his lips. Just then, a rattling sound comes from under the hood. David manages to maneuver the car off to the side just before it comes lurching to a stop. Concerned, he turns the key in the ignition, but nothing happens.
Oh, no! Not today. David gets out of the car, looking around for what could be the cause of the breakdown. He hears a faint hissing coming from the engine. David tries to open the hood, but it won’t budge. Now what? David thinks, at a loss.
Thankfully, off in the distance, David soon can hear the faint rumble of an oncoming vehicle. A moment later, he spots a battered pickup truck coming over the hill. Through the sweltering haze, he watches it come closer, eventually pulling behind his car and coming to a stop. The driver steps out of the truck, and David shields his eyes against the bright sun to get a better look at his apparent rescuer.
“Hey, there,” the driver calls. “Are you okay?”
David gestures to his vehicle. “Um, my car just died? But I don’t know how to open the hood,” he exclaims helplessly, “so I can’t see what the problem could be.”
The driver reaches him then, and David takes a moment to take in the other man’s appearance. He’s a little shorter than David, with broad shoulders and a strong, sturdy frame. His legs are as thick as tree trunks, practically bursting through the worn denim of the overalls he wears. His arms, on full display thanks to the sleeveless plaid shirt he is wearing, are muscular. The man shoves his hands deep into his pockets, and David watches the muscles in his forearms ripple. His face is boyishly round, but handsome, his honey-whiskey eyes peering out from beneath the battered straw farmer’s hat he's wearing.
“Want me to take a look?” the man asks. “Maybe I can help.”
“Oh, um, would you?” David asks hesitantly. “Thank you so much. I really need to get back on the road soon.”
The farm man is already moving toward the car. He pops the hood, tips his hat back, and looks inside. David takes the opportunity to notice how the man’s jeans hug his ass perfectly.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” David asks flirtatiously.
“Yeah, I’m pretty good with my hands,” the man tells him with a quiet confidence. He catches David’s eye. “I know my way around heavy equipment, so I'm sure I can handle what you're working with.”
David bites his lip. “Is that so?” He takes a step closer to the man. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“Patrick.” He holds out a strong hand and David takes it. Sparks of electricity shoot up his arm at the touch.
“David.”
Patrick’s grip is firm in his own, and he looks deep into David’s eyes as he murmurs, “I think you’re overheated, David.”
“Am I?” David blushes and looks away.
“Your engine, I mean,” Patrick explains. He takes a step back and gestures to a plastic reservoir thing. “Your coolant’s really low. You could have a leak, or a blockage. When was the last time someone checked your hose?”
“It’s… been a while,” David admits.
Patrick hums and rests his hands on his hips. The movement pulls his t-shirt taut across his chest, and David watches a bead of sweat roll down his neck and disappear under his collar. He’d like to follow it with his tongue and see where it ends up.
“Well, I don’t have what I need to service you properly here,” Patrick says.
“Oh,” David says, deflated.
“But I’m sure I could still get you going,” Patrick says. His warm brown eyes peer into David’s own. “How far did you want to go?” he asks, voice dropping low.
“I- I mean, all the way,” David tells him. “Home. I need to get back home. It’s only a few miles.”
Patrick lays a firm hand on David’s shoulder, the heat seeping through David’s shirt and making him swelter in the midday sun. “I think I could get you there, darlin’,” he says.
“Okay,” David breathes.
Patrick leans toward David. He glances at David’s mouth, then back to his eyes, seeking permission. David nods almost imperceptibly, and then Patrick is moving to kiss him. Just before their lips meet, Patrick reaches up to turn his baseball cap around–
“Wait, I thought I was wearing a farmer’s hat?”
“Shush, I’m just getting to the good part.” David swats at the nearest part of Patrick he has access to, but he can’t really reach, his fingertips just brushing Patrick’s arm where it rests on the back of the couch. David is lying down, his feet in his husband’s lap. Patrick shifts, careful to rearrange himself without disturbing David, and shakes his head.
“I’m just saying, it’s hard for me to immerse myself in the story when you keep making continuity errors. Like, I’m wearing overalls, then I’m in jeans. I’m wearing plaid, then I’m in a T-shirt. At one point I think I had an accent? Also, there are no tumbleweeds here.”
“Did you want to hear about my ‘rescued by a hot farmer’ fantasy or not?” David lifts his head to glare at his husband. “It’s called setting the scene.” Patrick holds his gaze for a moment before giving him a fond, downturned smile.
“My apologies, Danielle Steel,” he says. “Please continue.” Patrick reaches for one of David’s legs, pressing his palm into the arch of David’s foot and gently kneading at the tired tissue while he waits for David to start again.
“...well, now I forgot where I was.”
Patrick hums in sympathy. “I was about to kiss you,” he offers, pressing a thumb into the same spot on David’s foot.
“You were about to kiss me,” David starts. Patrick’s hands are very distracting, and David can feel all the stress of the day leaving his body with each press of fingertips against skin. “You pull me into the backseat of the car, and you kiss me all over. And then you—” Patrick has worked his way up David’s foot to his ankle. He rubs firm, soothing circles into the sensitive skin there. “You, um,” David tries.
“I check your hose,” Patrick says, smirking.
“In a manner of speaking,” David agrees.
“Get a good look at your undercarriage,” Patrick adds, his hand working up under the hem of David’s joggers to knead his calf muscle.
“Okay,” David says doubtfully.
“Let you… park in my garage?” Patrick tries, tilting his head to the side.
“Oh my god.” David really shouldn’t encourage the horrible jokes, but he can’t help the laugh that escapes him.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m corrupting your vision,” Patrick says.
“We’ll workshop the dialogue later, but I’m actually curious to see where this little improv is going,” David says, gesturing to where Patrick’s hand, still inside David’s pant leg, is now valiantly working its way up over his knee and toward his right thigh.
“You hate improv,” Patrick reminds him.
“Not when it’s sexy improv.”
“Hm.” Suddenly, Patrick withdraws his hand and pushes David’s legs to the side. He maneuvers onto his knees and leans over David. “I’m learning all kinds of things about you tonight.” David hides a smile in his cheek and waits for Patrick to kiss him. He doesn’t have to wait long.
“I am impressed to learn that you know what coolant is,” Patrick tells him when they come up for air a moment later.
“Impressed? Or,” David shimmies his shoulders, “impressed?”
“Oh, definitely the second one, I’d say.” Patrick leans down to kiss him again. When he breaks the kiss to work his way across David’s jaw and nuzzle behind his ear, David says, “And what else do you find impressive about me, Mr. Rugged Farmer Man?” He feels Patrick laugh against him before Patrick is pulling away and pulling them both up and off the couch in one fluid motion.
“I don’t know, David,” he says. “Why don’t you let me take you back to my farm,” he leans in for another kiss, quick and chaste, “and we can discuss it there?”
David nods, allowing Patrick to take his hand and lead him up the stairs.
“We’re totally getting you one of those straw farmer hats and some overalls for next time,” David informs him. Patrick only laughs again.
“Whatever you say, darlin’.”