The Farmer and Dale Chapter 4

The Farmer and Dale

Chapter 4

Dale spent the day after Rick’s sudden departure wandering aimlessly, then sitting, lost in a fog of confused misery. At first he convinced himself that Rick had left to go get some clothes or something and that he'd be back. After several hours, he was sure there would be a phone call. By dusk he realized Rick wasn't coming back.

He agonized over the thought of calling Rick's parents, but finally vetoed the idea. What could he say? Aside from the fact that Rick didn't live with them, they might not have heard from him that day in any case. He had Rick's number, but refused to use it. If Rick was breaking things off, he wasn't going to chase him. And yet he worried. What if something had happened to him?

Finally in a fit of panic, he called Rick's parents. His mother answered the phone. Dale casually inquired if she knew when Rick was coming to take the backhoe back to their farm. Rick's mother innocently answered that she wasn't sure, but told Dale she'd ask Rick when he came in from the barn. She asked Dale if he’d enjoyed the lemon meringue pie. Dale assured her that he had in spite of the fact that it remained untouched. With their conversation completed, he sat in silence. Rick was unhurt but Dale's worst fears were confirmed.

He was devastated, stunned. The night before had been incredible, absolutely perfect. How could Rick just leave? Was sex all he’d wanted? Were all those sweet words about being in love a lie? Dale ran through his memories of the evening again and again. Had he done something wrong? Nothing made sense. Why would Rick just walk away without a word? Dale found himself on the floor, rocking in misery. It was Tony all over again, only this time a hundred, a thousand times worse. Dale was shattered. He curled up in a ball and tried to make himself disappear as darkness filled the house, and night descended.

He woke at 4 a.m. shivering, his muscles cramping. Pulling himself to the sofa, his mind remained blank as he rested before extending his limbs, easing the ache until he was able to stand. He walked slowly upstairs and entered his bedroom. Seeing the mussed sheets on the bed, he stilled the twinge that threatened to awaken the emotions he locked away.

Dale pulled the sheets free, leaving the bed unmade. Entering the bathroom he threw the sheets in the hamper while avoiding eye contact with the mirror. He wanted to see no one, least of all himself. Back in the bedroom, he donned a jock, shorts, socks and tee shirt. Downstairs he added running shoes. Letting himself out of the house, he warmed up, stretching while the cool air made him shiver.

Finally ready, Dale ran. He ran at a slow steady pace, mind blank, body on automatic. He ran until his legs cramped, protesting, and then he walked. Miles of road came and went while sweat ran from his exhausted body. He walked until his legs quivered with the strain, and then he stopped, breathing hard, lost. For the first time since he’d begun, he took stock of his surroundings. The territory was totally unfamiliar.

Overwhelming fatigue hit with the strength of a run away train and he found himself wanting nothing more than to lay down in the grass beside the road. Finished. Done. Over.

An old red pick up truck chose that moment to come over a hill, a grizzled old man at the wheel. He stopped by Dale.

"You okay, young man?" he asked.

Dale swallowed, his throat parched, "I'm looking for Wallings Road. Do you know where it is?"

"Son, that's about 25 miles north of here. You hoofin' it?"

Dale nodded, despair threatening to break through the carefully constructed mental fence he used to pen his emotions.

"Get in," the old man ordered.

Even if he'd wanted to, Dale was too tired to protest. He wobbled to the passenger door and crawled in. His hip, thigh and calf muscles burned as he silently settled back, buckling his seat belt.

The old man stepped on the gas. His radio was tuned to some station that played old country hits. The music was low and the old man talked. He rambled on and on, over each passing mile. Dale let the soothing sound of his voice wash over him, not really paying attention to the words. The man seemed to need no replies or encouragements to continue his conversation, happy to have a captive audience.

Forty minutes later, they pulled into Dale's driveway. Dale offered to give the man, whose name he’d learned was Henry, some gas money.

"Not necessary, Dale. I enjoyed the company." Dale opened the door, about to make his exit, when Henry stopped him. "Take my advice, son, whoever she is, forget about her. It ain't worth killing yourself over. You hear?"

Dale felt his throat close. He nodded, choked out his thanks and stumbled to the back door. In the kitchen, he got a glass of water and drank it slowly, cautious about making himself sick by taking too much too soon. He opened the refrigerator door and came face to face with all the barbeque leftovers.

Squashing the surge of emotion that threatened, he pulled a large garbage can in from the mud room and began throwing everything in, containers and all. Finishing with the lemon meringue pie, he scooped it out with his hands, throwing the pie in the trash and placing the dish in the sink.

He cleaned up his hands, Mrs. Hunter's pie plate, and dragged the trash container to the end of the driveway, grateful that tomorrow was pick-up day. All the unwanted reminders would be taken away. Dale returned to the house and heated himself a cup of broth, sitting at the table, sipping it slowly, along with another glass of water. He felt nothing. He was numb. A vast and bottom-less weariness settled over him. He rose and swayed, steadied himself and climbed the stairs. Taking a blanket from the closet, he lay on the bed and rolled up in it, pretending strong arms held him, keeping him safe and warm. Rick had burrowed under his skin so quickly that Dale had been helpless to stop it. Now he was paying the price.

Dale spent the next three days punishing himself, sure that whatever had gone wrong was his fault. All the while, he hid from the overwhelming emotions that threatened to bury him. He’d learned his lesson from the day before and paid attention to where he walked. Now he only walked. His tired, abused body was on the verge of collapse. He walked for miles and fed it nothing but broth and water. Pounds were melting away and Dale didn’t have many spare pounds to begin with.

He didn't bathe. He didn't shave. He didn't change his clothes. By the fourth day his appearance was totally disreputable, his smell even worse. After staggering home at the end of that fourth day, Dale sat at the kitchen table sipping his broth. His nose wrinkled and he peered at his cup suspiciously, the thought running through his head that the broth must have gone bad. He checked the date on the can and found it acceptable. Taking another sip, he nearly gagged. He took the cup to the sink and dumped the contents.

Again he settled at the table and drank his water. The smell poured over him. The miasma was rank, borderline putrid. Suddenly he realized what it was. It was him. He stank. An unexpected snort of amusement broke from him. A chuckle became a small laugh, until he was laughing uncontrollably. He swayed, sliding from his chair to the floor, laughing hysterically, until tears ran from his eyes. Tears of mirth became tears of misery. Laughter turned to gut wrenching sobs that tore through Dale's weakened body leaving him shaking uncontrollably, his body cramping and quivering with the effort.

Finally he quieted. He lay on the floor staring at the legs of the chairs and table as his mind slowly came awake. Lying quiescent and not fighting them, slow, silent tears streamed down his face as he opened the gate and let reality return. Dale had reached and experienced his catharsis. The tears he now cried brought healing, the acknowledgment of an end. He was ready to let go, to resume his life.

Feeling a new calm, a soothing peace, he levered himself up and stripped, dropping his clothes into the trash. Naked, he slowly made his way upstairs for a bath, a baptism as it were, signaling his new beginning.

* * *

Fear had driven Rick away. Fear of the unknown, of how his family would react. All his life his parents and siblings had been his rock, the solid foundation that made his life work. The thought of losing them left him feeling lost and alone.

That night, after making love with Dale for the last time, he'd awoken shivering, anxiety creeping over him, fear knifing into his gut. He rose quietly and seated himself in one of the oak chairs that Dale kept in the bedroom. He watched Dale sleep, so innocently, so peacefully. He contemplated his future with Dale, wondering if he could really sacrifice his family for him. What if things didn't work out? He'd find himself totally alone, no lover, no family, no friends. What if he ended up resenting Dale for his loss? Tears crept down his cheeks at the thought of this joyous love he felt, turning into something ugly and hurtful. Panic rose, twisting his guts, forcing him up and out. He ran.

Five days later, Rick was still atoning for his cowardice. He did every shit job he could find, just to keep himself occupied. At night he'd drive into Smiley's, and drink even the regulars under the table. Everyday he woke with a hangover, puking his guts out. Pale and shaking, he'd return to work, sweating the remaining alcohol out of his system only to return to Smiley's for another round of poison each night. He too, ate little. Guilt and anger kept his stomach twisted, when the alcohol wasn't of sufficient quantity to make him forget.

He wore a brace on his left hand. One day, cursing himself for his lack of courage hadn’t been enough. Agonizing over Dale and what he must be going though, blinded by rage at himself and the situation, Rick had punched a support beam in the barn, acquiring a hairline fracture. The pain in his hand was nothing in comparison to the pain in his heart.

That night at Smiley's, he sat alone in a booth, contemplating magical night he’d shared with Dale. His friends and those women who’d in the past tried clinging to him, knew better now than to disturb him. Rick had become surly and uncommunicative. He made it clear he wanted no company.

He sat and studied the pictures he'd pulled from his wallet. His parents, his siblings and their spouses, assorted nieces and nephews. A picture of Dale formed in his mind. Dale joking with him and teasing him. Dale fixing him coffee with that sweet, indulgent smile curving his lips. Dale working with him side by side, laboring through his exhaustion. Dale under him, their bodies joined, his moans of pleasure and words of love filling Rick's ears and his heart.

Tears sparkled in his eyes and rolled dolefully down his cheeks. Suddenly he slid out of the booth, dashing away the tears. He staggered out of the bar leaving early, his alcohol buzzed brain seized with the notion to see Dale. He had to see Dale. Had to be with Dale. Right that very moment.

Rick drove slowly, with exaggerated care. He had to get to Dale and nothing was going to stop him. He arrived to find the house pitch dark, not surprising as it was after one in the morning. He exited his truck and climbed the front porch steps. Hesitating only a moment, he began knocking at the door. He saw a light come on behind the concealing curtains. The fabric parted slightly and Dale's face appeared. His expression was at first annoyed, then startled. Rick caught a fleeting glimpse of infinite pain that was suddenly hidden behind blank wall of indifference.

The front door opened. Dale kept the screen door locked. It stood between them, a symbol of the chasm that had formed between them.

"What are you doing here?" Dale question coldly.

"I had to see you, to tell you how sorry I am that I left." Rick paused then blurted the words he couldn't keep inside, "I had to tell you how much I love you."

Dale blanched, drawing back as though struck. His voice quivered. "You're drunk, go home." He closed the door.

Rick heard the dead-bolt click. He turned away, shocked as his heart endured the final blow and shattered. Sliding to his knees on the porch floor, wracking sobs shook his body. He thought he'd felt pain before. It was nothing compared to this. Dale hated him. His life was over.

He didn't hear the door open, didn't see the figure that stood over him, until warm arms encircled him. Dale's scent filled his nostrils. He fumbled his arms around that precious body, holding on for dear life.

Dale's murmured words penetrated his consciousness. "It's not fair, where were you when I cried? Where were you? Where were you?"

Rick finally realized that Dale was crying too. "I'm sorry baby, so sorry. I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I know I hurt you. I didn't want to. I didn't know what to do. I just didn't know what to do."

Dale pulled away. "You were scared? You didn't know what to do? You should have talked to me. That's what you should have done. You think I wasn't scared too, after all the shit I've been through?" Dale described in short pithy sentences, his failed relationship with Tony.

Rick stared at Dale, the realization of just how deeply he'd hurt him seeping in. He rose on unsteady legs and turned away.

"Where are you going?" Dale demanded.

Head hanging Rick explained, his voice a defeated mumble. "I know you can never forgive me, Dale. I want you to know, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. You deserve someone a hell of a lot better than me." He placed a foot forward, preparing to walk away one final time.

"I swear to God, Rick Hunter, if you walk away, I'm going to kick your fucking ass." Dale ground out each word, his voice a fierce growl.

Rick turned, surprise giving him an almost comical expression. Hope filled his eyes.

"Do you love me?" Dale asked quietly.

Rick nodded.

"Do you promise from now on to share every problem with me? To talk to me? To give us a chance to find a solution together?"

Rick nodded again.

"Get your butt in the house." Dale ordered.

A ghost of Rick's patented grin made a fleeting appearance on his face as chastened, he entered the house.

Dale led him into the kitchen, indicating he should sit. Rick's eyes followed him non-stop as Dale fixed a pot of coffee. He placed a steaming cup in front of Rick and sat next to him. He studied Rick with a critical air as he sipped his coffee.

Reaching out, he brushed Rick's hair back from his face. "Looking a little rough there, farm boy."

Rick closed his eyes momentarily, nodding his agreement. He shivered at Dale's familiar, yet fleeting touch. He opened his eyes, running a critical assessment of Dale. "You look a little haggard yourself."

"It's been rough," Dale admitted.

Rick broke eye contact, his gaze fastening on the table.

Dale sighed. "I didn't say that to make you feel bad, Rick. I just figure we should be truthful with each other. I'm guessing you've made yourself feel almost as bad as I could have." He grazed his finger-tips over the brace on Rick's hand. "What happened here?"

"Hairline fracture," Rick admitted.

"How'd you manage that?”

Rick grimaced, a blush heating his cheeks.

Dale's eyebrow rose.

"I was, uh… upset. I hit a support beam in the barn," Rick confessed shamefacedly.

Dale tried to suppress a smile but was unsuccessful. "So you tried to beat up a barn. Gutsy. Real gutsy, Hunter."

Eye contact resulted in unsuppressed chuckles. The laughter eased the tension.

Dale stood, "Come on. You look like you could use a shower and some sleep."

He led the way upstairs. As Rick stripped, Dale laid out fresh towels for him. While Rick showered, Dale splashed water on his own face, used the toilet and resisted the urge to flush it just to hear Rick yell as the water got unexpectedly warm. He returned to the bedroom and stripped off his jeans briefly considering whether he wanted to don briefs or sleep naked as usual. He opted for usual.

Rick made his appearance hair damp, a towel wrapped around his waist. He hesitantly approached the bed. "If you want, I can sleep on the couch or in one of the other bedrooms. I don't want to push you Dale. I want you to be comfortable but.... I'd really like to hold you babe. Just hold you, nothing else."

A soft smile graced Dale's lips. He pulled back the covers, silently inviting Rick in. Rick smiled in return, dropped the towel and climbed in. The two of them snuggled together. Dale kissed Rick's shoulder and sighed. Bodies relaxed. The effects of emotional and physical ravages took hold. The reunited lovers fell instantly asleep, locked securely in each other's arms.

Dale woke slowly, stretching. His eyes blinked open. It was fully daylight, the sun well up. A thrill of panic clenched his stomach. He rolled forcefully, his elbow connecting with the hard abs of the man who lay next to him. Rick grunted, bending to protect his besieged mid-section.

"Damn, babe, are you going wake me up like this every morning? I was hoping for something a little sexier, if you know what I mean." He gave his eyebrows a lascivious wiggle.

"Sorry," Dale murmured, his breathing a bit rapid. "I wasn't sure... I didn't know..." He stopped, unsure of what to say without sounding accusing.

Rick rose up on his elbow, pushing Dale to his back. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll never leave you again." He nuzzled Dale playfully. "Except for one thing. I really gotta piss. Bad."

He clambered over Dale's reclined form, his morning hardon poking Dale as he went. Dale reached out, delivering a resounding smack to Rick's retreating ass. Rick yelped and halted, turning a frowning gaze on Dale's innocent face.

"You will pay for that and trying to look like an innocent little angel is not going to help you. Mark my words." He continued on to the bathroom. "By the way, if you need to pee you’d better get in here. That's the only reason you get to leave that bed today."

Dale grinned, eagerly anticipating Rick's lovemaking. He was disappointed. Rick kept him in bed all right. He made him rest and eat.

When Dale complained, Rick humbly explained. “You think I haven’t noticed the weight loss?” He lightly touched a dark circle under Dale’s eye. “And these dark circles. They weren’t here before. I caused this. I can’t change what I’ve done but I try to make it up to you. Let me make it up to you, baby, in whatever small way I can.”

Touched beyond words, Dale nodded and let Rick have his way.

Rick began by bringing breakfast in bed. He brought enough for two and they spent a pleasant, and to Dale's way of thinking, frustrating hour, feeding, teasing and arousing each other with no more release than that provided by a few long, hot kisses. Dale assured Rick that he was fine, to no avail. Rick just shoved another tidbit in his mouth, admonishing him to eat.

Between meals, they slept, or read, or watched movies. Rick stayed at Dale's side the entire day, except to prepare meals. Rick would be the last to admit it, but Dale could see that Rick’s body needed replenishment as well. Dale question him and learn that Rick’s meals had been sparse and his body had been inundated with too much alcohol. Dale insisted that Rick nap with him and was satisfied when Rick did so without protest.

Dale woke during the late afternoon hours before supper. Easing away from Rick, he watched him sleep then daring his lover’s wrath, he went downstairs to prepare their next meal. It wasn’t long before his disgruntled bed partner found him.

"Damn it, Dale, your supposed to be in bed!"

Dale jumped, flipping a handful of salad greens out of the colander and into the sink. "Shit! Did you have to scare me like that?"

Rick moved to the sink, relieving Dale of the colander. "Go back to bed," he ordered.

"Rick."

"Bed."

"Damn it, Rick, I'm not the only one who needs to be in bed. You think I can't see that you suffered too?" Dale admonished him. "You lost some weight too. You’re jittery from too much alcohol and you're tired. You didn't stir when I got out of bed."

Rick's anger was defused. "You're too observant. Am I ever going to be able to put anything over on you?"

"No," Dale chuckled, "but you're welcome to keep trying."

"All right," Rick conceded. "I propose a compromise. We fix supper together, then we both go back to bed."

"On one condition," Dale agreed. "Sometime before this night is over, you have to touch me with improper intent."

Rick looked at Dale, feigning shock. "Why, Mr. Vaden, I'm surprised at you! Are you inviting me to take carnal liberties with your person?"

"You damn well better believe I am," Dale complained. "I'm horny."

Rick snickered at Dale's plaintive admission. "Come here, you." He hooked an arm around Dale's neck, pulling him close. "I promise to perform sordid, lewd and lascivious acts on your body, later. You'll be my soiled dove, my fallen angel, my deflowered virgin."

Dale's brows rose at the last moniker. "Um, I think it's a little late for that last one."

"You're right," Rick agreed with a shrug. "Ah well. Hey, maybe I should introduce you to my favorite role playing fantasy. It's called, Milking the Cow."

Dale frowned, his face was a study in confusion and disbelief. He looked at Rick from under lowered lashes, unsure if he was serious or not.

Rick lost his struggle to keep a straight face. He burst out laughing. "Lord, you should see your face!"

Dale grinned sheepishly. "I didn't know if I should be jealous because you've been doing the cows, or drop to all fours and practice my moo."

Rick howled with laughter as tears streaked down his face. Dale grabbed him as he staggered into his arms.

"You're a nut," he accused Rick fondly. "Must be why I feel I have to take pity on you and give you a little lovin'."

"Bullshit," Rick chuckled. "You know it's because you find me sexy and irresistible."

Dale solicitously patted Rick on the back, while pretending to humor him. "Oh yeah, that's right, I forgot. Come on lover, let's get supper started. You need to eat. I think you're a little light headed."

The two of them continued their banter as they fixed their supper. They fixed a simple meal, salad, burgers friend in a skillet on top of the stove and a handful of potato chips each. Neither had the inclination to play gourmet. It was just too much trouble. They wanted a quick fix, simple food and a quicker cleanup. That accomplished they returned upstairs.

Rick declined sharing the shower with Dale, much to Dale's disappointment. After performing his nightly bedtime rituals he turned the bathroom over to Rick and jumped into bed, waiting impatiently. When Rick joined him in bed, he immediately became the aggressor. He kissed Rick with all his pent up passion, wringing moans from him. His hands wandered Rick's body, massaging, arousing. Having taken enough, Rick went on the offensive. He rolled Dale over onto his stomach.

"I want you on your knees, baby," he ordered.

Dale complied, groaning as Rick draped himself over his body. Rick reached around and took Dale's cock in hand, slowly stroking.

"Guess what I found," Rick whispered in his ear.

"What?" Dale panted, totally unprepared for Rick's next salvo.

"A teat," Rick answered.

Dale growled a warning. "Rick, don't start." Irritated, Dale couldn't help the laughter that began slowly bubbling inside.

Rick ignored him and continued to pull at Dale's cock. "It's a big one too, think I'll milk it." He increased the strength of his strokes.

Dale groaned, torn between laughter and the indescribable pleasure he was getting from Rick's touch. "You sadistic bastard," he gasped as the laughter bubbled closer to the surface.

Rick whispered seductively. "Moo for me, baby."

Dale lost it completely. The laughter burst free as he collapsed to the bed. He lay there, shaking with Rick's equally laugh-racked frame draped partially over his own. The bed shook with their mirth, not exactly the way Dale had planned for it to be shaking but pleasurable just the same. Every bit of laughter served to heal the waning breech between them

Rick rolled slowly to his back with a groan and a long, contented, mmm, as Dale followed, moving into his arms. Muscles relaxed and weakened by the laughter, they lay drowsy and acquiescent as sleep began to claim them.

Dale sleepily murmured a plaintive, "I'm never gonna get laid" and drifted to sleep.

Rick joined him, a sleepy, yet devilish smile curving his lips.

A couple of hours later, Dale woke to growing pleasure. His cock was engulfed in hot, wet, velvet heat that stroked and sucked. He groaned and reached down, finding the head of his lover bobbing rhythmically over his groin. He wrapped his fingers in soft, silky hair, petting, encouraging and freely expressing his appreciation.

Rick hummed, acknowledging Dale's awareness.

Dale's body clenched at the vibration. His buttocks tightened as he mindlessly undulated a counter rhythm. Rick's hand cupped his ball sack gently massaging, drawing a guttural groan from Dale. When his fingers found that velvety length of skin between balls and pucker, Rick pressed firmly. Dale cried out and released. Powerful spurts of hot, fertile cream flooded Rick's mouth. Dale could feel the convulsive movement of Rick’s throat when he swallowed.

Dale finally calmed, his body melting, loose and relaxed. Rick moved up covering him, finding his mouth and sharing a come-flavored kiss.

"You didn't get laid but I hope that helped," Rick whispered.

"Oh yeah. Just let me catch my breath and I'll show you how good it feels."

"Nope. That was for you, babe. Just relax and sleep. We've got time, lots of time now. Go to sleep."

Dale's heavy lids fluttered closed as Rick's deep, soothing rumble washed over him. Rick hovered over Dale softly stroking his hair, content to watch and to be part of the peace that filled his lover. He felt infinitely pleased and satisfied with himself knowing he was correcting his mistakes and heading in the right direction. No matter how much he loved his family, he knew now that Dale was his future. He was ready to accept the consequences, whatever they might be.