Welcome all USCan readers! Yet another USCan story, as promised! (And for once, promises are being upheld...) This fic is written for retrobeefcake on Tumblr for the AmeCan Summer Exchange under the prompt of cowboys, cowboy babes punchin' each other, and some awkward romancin'! The original gift giver pulled out and never delivered, so I volunteered to fill the gift. I hope that she likes it! (Once again, apologies that a "one shot" became so long.) Funnily, this fic took quite a bit of research to clarify some things, but I can't guarantee full accuracy for a one shot, though, I did try~!
For anyone who'd love to prompt me more fics, see what I'm up to or just chat, my Tumblr is on my profile page~

Pre-Reading Notes: This story is set in the late summer of 1838 during the Rebellions of 1837-roughly fifty years after the War of Independence in America-, prior to the confederation of Canada, so this is in a time when Canada was Upper Canada and Lower Canada. In this story, though not stated, both Alfred and Matthew are in their twenties, and the farm in question is near the border of the then American states of Louisiana and Republic of Texas. If any facts are wrong, do forgive me, I'm not American nor Canadian so I just kind of winged the story after research!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the "plot", nor am I gaining profit from this. This was done as part of a gift exchange on Tumblr for the AmeCan Summer Exchange 2013.

Warnings: Mild swearing, sex, a small amount of violence, possibly terrible inaccuracies towards American and Canadian history.

Word Count: 5830

He always came back.

Whenever they parted ways, they said their goodbyes, gave their kisses, saddled the horse and he was gone at the crack of dawn as the birds began to twitter with a wave of his wide brimmed hat and a dazzling smile. He never promised to return, because it was never guaranteed, and the both of them hated broken promises and the prospect of waiting for something that could never come.

But he always returned.

It took weeks sometimes, and a few instances there was months in between meetings, and every now and then, Matthew would wonder to himself what had become of the cowboy with the sky blue eyes, sunshine blond hair and skin like the sun itself had kissed and caressed the ridges, muscles and dips all over. The man was cheeky and playful, and many times he'd let those wonderful chocolate brown ass-less chaps and navy blue jeans dip a little too low and give hungry violet eyes a nice view of a tan line. A handful of occasions, there had been no shade of difference between back and ass, the saucy wink only giving the fairer haired blond trembles in delight picturing the man walking about in the sun nude. Bareback riding indeed…

The sun outside had turned ruby and blood orange, staining the clouds marigold and tangerine, and Matthew took a moment to glance out of the window of the barn and appreciate it, lowering the pitchfork he held and licking dried lips. Soon he'd be able to call it a day and go cook dinner, set the table, eat, and unwind with a good book and some sleep with the farmer he lived with.

Guilt ate at him for deceiving the man, for not telling him that a cowboy—possibly an outlaw—would tread on his land, enter his house and barnyard, and soil his sweet and pale boy toy.

Yet Matthew couldn't stop himself.

Whenever the cowboy would return, he couldn't help falling into the devil's arms, or giving in to the sinful desires. He was but a man, and he had his own needs, and merely thinking about scolding touches and hot breaths and burning lust filled eyes had him gripping the handle of the pitchfork a bit tighter than he normally would, lifting his head only to the sound of the barn doors creaking open, masking his longing need with exhaustion from work.

"I'll have dinner started in an hour," he called back, wiping the sweat from his brow as he kicked aside some stray hay that had fallen on his boots, frowning at a stubborn clump that stuck to the sole, "I shouldn't be much longer with this."

Grunting at the stubborn straws that seemed to have stiffened, he paid no mind to the man he assumed to be the farmer, or the shutting of the doors that sealed the light once more, focused on getting the chores done so he could unwind. Tension filled his body and his breath hitched as he felt a lick of heat brush past his neck in a breath, broad hands grasping his slim hips through his jeans, the cotton of a bandana wrapped around a neck tickling his own and shifting the blond curls.

"Miss me?"

"Putain merde!" he cursed angrily, startled, swinging around and slamming the flat of the pitchfork against an object his mind recognised afterwards as a face, knocking the man behind him down to the dirt floor, lifting the tool once more for another blow if necessary.

"Whoa, whoa! Easy there, Mattie, easy!" the male laughed, sprawled on the dirty hay and straw strewn floor, "It's just me, don't freak out!"

The frown on Matthew's face relaxed, watching as the broad brimmed hat was tipped back, a grin spreading on bloodied lips.

"Alfred?" he breathed, disbelieving as blood was spat to the ground, another suave chuckle falling from the cowboy's lips, along with a nod. Knowing the identity of the person didn't stop the northern male, bringing the pitchfork down again into another strike with the flat of the metal against the man's face, knocking him right back to the ground with a loud clang of skull on metal.

"Holy—fuckin' shit! Mattie, fuckin' calm!"

"Son of a bitch, I should impale you," Matthew threatened, slamming the pitch fork down, digging it into the dirt, catching the dark brown of Alfred's jacket's sleeve beneath the bicep and trapping him to the ground, "You have no idea how pissed off at you I am right now."

Bright blue eyes lifted, the glasses the man wore a little askew, an arm of the spectacles bent crookedly from the double strike to the face, half hanging off his nose.

"Darlin', ya wouldn't impale me," he chuckled in a drawl, rolling his body onto the side to grasp at the base of the wood where it joined metal, yanking upwards to free his sleeve.

"Wouldn't I?" Matthew challenged, stomping on the straight base of the fork, using his body weight to keep the pikes down, leaning against the top of the handle to help it maintain its place, "Are you tempting me? The coyotes have been awfully hungry, and we're worried for the sheep—maybe we could toss you out as bait to keep them away, eh?"

"That's sick, and ya wouldn't have the guts to do that," the rebutted snort came.

"You're right, I don't think I'd have any guts because I'd have thrown all of yours to the animals," he purred right back with a grin, violet eyes hooding a little.

"Oh baby, ya know just how to work me up," Alfred joked, grinning broadly, a tongue peeking out to lap at the blood still dribbling from the cut on his upper lip, rubbing it almost sensually to soothe the sting and clean up the blood, "I love it when ya talk like a psychopathic serial killer."

The words teased a smile to Matthew's lips, huffing through his nose.

"You have some weird kinks, Jones," he muttered, shaking his head and dropping his foot to the ground, grasping the pitchfork's handle and yanked upwards with a grunt, the metal coming loose and freeing Alfred, tossing the tool backwards towards the hay pile, "Get off the ground and let me smooch you."

"Darlin', ya knock me off my feet," the American purred, voice sliding off his tongue like liquid velvet turned audio, pushing himself up to balance on his forearms, back curved and one leg cocked at the knee, foot on the ground.

"One more pun out of you and I swear to God I will impale you," Matthew threatened, reaching a hand down, clasping Alfred's outstretched one and tugged him up, their bodies colliding harder than intended, stumbling, but they kept their balance, Alfred's spare hand sliding down around the northerner's hip.

"Aren't I the one who does the impalin' around here?" the husky voice reminded right in Matthew's ear, and it sent shivers and chills racing down his spine, playing it like a xylophone and making him swallow thickly, allowing the hand that grasped his hip to knead its way backwards, cupping one of the cheeks of his firm rear, "I can make ya scream… make ya writhe beneath me… make ya beg me to just finish ya off because ya can't take no more…"

Licking his lips, Matthew pressed forward and slid his hands beneath the parted jacket, along the dirty grey-blue vest accentuated with dark blue pinstripes, craving to untuck the pastel blue button down shirt worn beneath it and mess it up. He tilted his head as dry and slightly chapped lips began to kiss at his neck, teeth scraping along skin and putting enough pressure to make his heartbeat race in his jugular vein as it was bitten softly moments afterwards.

"You're the one who sounds like a psychopath now," he pointed out, the low rumble of a laugh only making him shiver and press forward into the firm chest, arching his hips backwards into the hand now groping his ass through his jeans, "You be careful, or you'll get into trouble."

Bright blue eyes came into view again, glittering in amusement and a blond eyebrow quirked, almost a fair brown from the dirt and the dark blond of the other's hair.

"Get in trouble? Who me? Naw," he chuckled, voice thick with his amusement, "Ya only get in trouble if ya get caught."

"You could be caught, you know, Alfred," Matthew pointed out sternly, shakily sighing as hips started to rock firmly against his own, curling his fingers tightly into the darkly coloured fabric of the cowboy's vest, frowning a little at the barking laugh.

"By who? Ya don't mean the farmer, do ya?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. The farmer."

"Mattie, darlin', that man wouldn't be able to do a thing against me."

"He'd shoot you with his rifle."

"Oh no, and I should be scared 'cause farmers are the only men in the world that got guns, right babe?"

The click of metal echoed right into Matthew's ears, and he glanced down, groaning at the sight of a pistol being pressed to his chest.

"If that doesn't have safety on, I'm going to twist it down and shoot you in the foot," Matthew threatened.

"It's real though, ain't it?" Alfred continued, eyes hooded and admiring the silver fondly like it was a beloved pet of the family, "Imagine that… I could blow a hole right through the ol' farmer's heart, or make him eat lead."

A dark scowl turned down the northerner's expression as he listened to the cowboy, shoving him back a little.

"Don't say shit like that."

"Oh~?" the American's voice cooed, tilting his head back a little, a crooked grin twisting his lips upwards, "What? Is the igloo dwellin' boy gettin' mad? This is the south, darlin', and we don't all play nicely down here."

"That's not funny. Don't make threats about him," Matthew hissed, lips curling downwards in anger, only worsened when the other let out another laugh, much too cheery for their topic.

"Ya ain't a saint, Mattie. Ah, if only the good ol' farmer knew… how his little snow prince was as cold as the icicles up north," he sighed in mock remorse, leaning in, smirk broad and twisted as his lips situated right above Matthew's ear, "And unfaithful like a whore."

A violent shove backwards had them distanced by a good metre, Alfred's laugh echoing in the barn house, the pistol swinging around the American's index finger by the space created by the trigger guard. The safety was on, thankfully. It didn't stop Matthew's rage though, who was seething and taking in deep breaths, muscles locked and violet eyes furious.

"How do ya think he'd react? Knowin' that all these years, whilst he's out slavin' in the sun for ya, you're behind his back spreadin' your legs for another man…" Heavy booted footsteps thumped and scraped along the dirt ground as Alfred began to pace, still twirling the pistol, blue eyes predatory as he started to circle the fairer complexioned man like prey.

"How would he feel knowin' that you're bendin' over the tractor and cummin' all over the seats he sits on, sweatin' and moanin' in the haystacks he feeds to his horses," he continued, closing in on the circular path, tightening it, drawing ever so nearer to the man who was stood staring wide eyed in fury and mild fear, "That you're cookin' him dinner and breakfast right after those very hands have jerked off another man…"

The steps came to a halt right behind Matthew, the heat radiating from the body behind him, and Matthew didn't even need to look to know how close they were because he could feel it.

"Do ya kiss him with the same mouth that sucks my dick? Does your dirty tongue taste salty to him when you're done swallowin' up all my cum like a little slut?" Alfred breathed, the words causing goose bumps to jump all over Matthew's skin, shoulders tensing at the hot breaths puffed along the shell of his ear specifically to stir him up and arouse him, "Unfaithful and dirty whore. You're only usin' him."

"That's not true," Matthew choked out, eyes fluttering as a gun calloused hand reached around and roughly cupped his crotch through the jeans he wore, moaning softly as it began to knead slowly but firmly.

"Listen to yourself… You're denyin' it even as ya moan and let me touch your dick," Alfred murmured, a sharp nip to the lobe of Matthew's ear drawing a gasp forward and a buck of the hips, "Ya don't love that man… You're just a golden trophy for him, and he's your ticket to stayin' here in America."

Sniggering, Alfred's fingers were deft as he jerked at the other man's belt, sliding the metal bar from the punctures in the leather and then let it simply hang in the belt loops of the man's jeans.

"Don't ya wanna go back to Upper Canada? Is there somethin' you're hidin' from the good ol' farmer?"

Breath hitched and blood froze over at the words, Matthew turning his head slightly to see the victorious smirk painting Alfred's lips like the cat that got the cream.

"Ya see, a little birdie told me that up north, there's a bit of a rebellion goin' on," Alfred drawled, popping the button of jeans open next, the zipper harshly tugged down whilst a dark red button down and a white undershirt was untucked, fingers smoothing over milky skin as it was revealed to him, "Some birdies tell me that someone's been on the run for a while now, and the rebellions are distractin' all the nation's policin' forces, so the hunt for a murderer wanted for hangin' is on hold while the tea sippers crush this little uprisin'."

A gasp fell from Matthew's lips as his nipples were tweaked roughly, Alfred's hand up under the white undershirt and holding him firmly in place against a hard chest, hot body and the slow grind against his ass.

"But, heh, ya can't be a murderer, right Mattie?" he said easily, lips brushing his ear once more as he hissed his following words in a way that sparked a furious wrath within the citizen of Upper Canada.

"You're just the farmer's bitch."

Bodies tumbled in a violent movement, fingers curling and a powerful crack echoed in the barn as once more Alfred found himself with his back on the ground, cheek throbbing in pain, but wasn't given much time to recover, a heavy body throwing itself down onto the cowboy and slugging him in the face once more on the opposite side, snapping the head to face the wall, only for his nose to be assaulted by the first hand, splattering blood all over the dirt.

"Watch it, cowboy, it's only been fifty years since you Yankees gained independence. Don't start getting cocky and high and mighty," Matthew snarled, knuckles smeared in blood, fingers grabbing at the strong column of Alfred's neck in a tight hold, "I am no one's bitch. You hear me? Don't threaten the farmer, and don't stick your nose into things that could get you killed, d'accord?"

A splutter of pain escaped Matthew as the man beneath him retaliated with a sharp and jarring elbow to his jaw, enough to make pain explode and bright white lights dance before his eyes, but thankfully not enough to dislocate, break or knock out anything. Even so, it left him dizzy and blinking rapidly to try and regain sense of where he was, catching the world spinning and gasping as he was slammed down onto his back, coughing a little as he was winded, eyes shutting tightly.

"Mattie, Mattie, Mattie… Y'know… That was pretty nasty…" the southerner's voice purred, hot breath fanning along Matthew's face, coaxing his eyes to open and finding them blearily staring at bright blood, droplets of crimson splattering his cheeks where he'd busted something in the American's nose, cheek swelling and bruised, lip puffy, "I didn't know ya'll were such sadists up north."

Matthew snarled, hands lifting up and grasping the battered face, directing it closer.

"Shut up and fuck me already."

The collision of their lips was harsh; forceful; violent. Matthew's body arched up from the bale of hay he had been thrown onto, legs spreading willingly for the cowboy who crawled on top of him and between them and grasped at his thighs with a powerful grip. His own arms looped around the American's neck with one hand grasping the short hairs at the base of Alfred's neck near his red bandana, and the other gripping the broad brimmed hat while they rutted like dogs in heat, hips grinding and rotating and causing friction of denim on denim, parting the Upper Canadian's fly more, the fabric of underwear hardly enough padding between the harsh zipper and his cock.

Pulling back from the kiss, they gasped for air, Alfred diving down to start nipping and sucking along Matthew's neck, earning husky moans.

"Take off your pants or use my leg as a humping post if you're going dry fuck me like that," Matthew commanded, working on his own jeans, cursing at the clumsiness of his movements, Alfred helping him, getting the denim down to around his shins and the top of his boots before the American slunk through the gap in between trapped ankles, finding himself entrapped by the milky white thighs dusted with fair blond hairs.

"So demandin', Mattie… Fuck, ya turn me on when ya act all dominant like that. Makes me wanna just fuck ya like an animal," Alfred breathed, the southern husk thicker on his tongue with arousal, burying his face in the cloth of Matthew's underwear, mouthing at the thick and long bulge that had tented the fabric as his fingers worked at his own belt.

Throwing his head back with a moan, Matthew glanced down and squeezed Alfred's head with his thighs, grinding against his face, some blood smearing his underwear, though he could hardly care about the wounds he had inflicted upon the other.

"Fuck me right now or I'm riding you into the ground," he demanded, violet eyes hazed with lust, the smirk thrown up in his direction only making his cock twitch in need. His command was followed up by a soft moan when Alfred sat up a little, his pants undone and cock tugged out and in the open, swollen and hard as it was pumped slowly and firmly.

"Ya keep the lubricant in the same place?" he asked, placing one more open mouthed kiss to Matthew's clothed crotch before working his way out of the cage created by the jeans and strong, pale thighs.

"Yeah, right next to the motor oils for the tractor," Matthew replied breathlessly, sitting up and yanking at the laces of his boots, cursing at his clumsiness of taking them off.

"Dirty slut. Right with all the equipment the farmer sees every day, and he doesn't know your dirty secret," Alfred chuckled, standing up, cock extracted from his jeans and standing at attention, bobbing with every step as he moved to the wall lined with shelves, plucking out an old looking bottle capped haphazardly, "What do ya tell the farmer it's for?"

Tossing a boot to the side, Matthew hurriedly yanked the other one off, allowing his jeans to come down completely, freeing his legs.

"I tell him exactly what it's for," he replied, looking up at the sound of a squelch and a slurp of lubricant being squeezed onto three fingers, blue eyes watching him in amusement, "It's used every so often to lubricate necessary parts and make sure that there's no unnecessary damage to equipment."

The cowboy barked out a laugh, crawling between the man's legs, palming his erection through the underwear.

"Fuckin' minx."

"Look, I'm all for kinky barnyard sex, but give me something to lie down on or I'll be picking hay out of my ass crack," Matthew huffed, grasping at his underwear to keep it on when Alfred made a grab for it, "This isn't exactly comfortable."

"Baby."

"Loner."

"Whore."

"Abandoned lonely whore."

Alfred winced and pressed a hand to his chest above his heart, a look of mock hurt on his face.

"Darlin', you're a little bitch, y'know?" he whined, leaning back up and carefully shrugging off his jacket, smearing some of the lubricant on the inside of the sleeves as he did so, "Here I am bein' a gentleman and takin' off my clothes for ya to lie on, and ya go and say somethin' like that."

"The only reason you're taking your clothes off is because otherwise you wouldn't get to fuck me," Matthew pointed out, standing from the hay, wiping down the backs of his legs and underwear as Alfred laid out the jacket on the bale, followed by his vest with the ties undone, along with his pale coloured shirt, leaving his upper torso completely bare save for the crimson bandana around his neck, left in his ass-less chocolate brown chaps and the navy blue jeans, undone so that he could have his cock out without taking them off completely. The sight alone had Matthew licking his lips in excitement.

"No, it's because you're a fuckin' princess," Alfred huffed, grabbing the Upper Canadian and shoving him back down onto the overlapping clothes, yanking down the underwear roughly, the fabric rolling and being balled up and tossed to the ground with Matthew's jeans and boots, crawling over the farm hand once more, their cocks aligned.

"Only for those who can handle me," the violet eyed man murmured in response, smearing some blood from Alfred's nose, the man wincing at the pain that shot from the injury.

"I missed ya."

"… I missed you too, Alfred."

Despite their earlier rough and violent movements, their next kiss was gentle, soft, sweet, and awkward in the light of the confessions too kind for men as aggressive as they could be. Their lips moved slowly, the cut on Alfred's upper lip making it ever so slightly swollen, smearing a bit of blood against the skin just above Matthew's lip, and giving the American's kiss a softer quality in hopes of being gentle to the injury. The farm hand didn't rush the kiss, or push it to be anything that could hurt the other male, simply allowing the pace to be lead by Alfred.

Their hips bumped once, softly, and Alfred followed that up by pressing down, their bare arousals rubbing sensually and making Matthew's breath stutter in his throat, the denim rubbing a little against his thighs as he wrapped them around Alfred's waist to help their bodies rock more in synchronisation with one another, like the waves of a tide against the ocean in a state much too far away from either of them.

Calloused fingers curled around their cocks and Matthew shuddered, moaning softly as their lips broke apart, licking the taste of Alfred and his blood from his lips, his hands caught together and pressed above his head, held there against the spread shirt by the wrist. He smiled, eyes at half mast, cheeks a soft pink and spreading along his nose and to his ears.

"You know I can easily break free like this," he murmured to the American, arching into the sweet kisses being pressed down his neck to his collarbone, stopping only as the shirts restricted movement downwards.

"I know, darlin'," Alfred chuckled, sucking lightly on the milky smooth skin, the taste of salty sweat on his tongue, "But ya like this, so ya won't. Besides, I don't want ya punchin' me again."

Matthew chuckled, his eyes rolling back into his head as the slit on the head of his cock was thumbed at, the blunt nail oh so lightly digging in, choking the chuckle off into a deep moan, hips gyrating upwards whilst his head tipped to the side.

"Please… Hurry; I've needed you…" he whispered, the strong muscles in his thighs trembling as they squeezed, digging his heels into the dip of the cowboy's lower back to encourage him like the sharp kick one would give a horse, grinning at the lewd joke he'd made in his head, "Mount me, cowboy."

Alfred laughed, releasing both Matthew's cock and wrists to wipe at his nose where some blood had dribbled down along his upper lip, wiping it on his chaps before grasping the lubricant once more, squeezing another generous amount onto his fingers and slathering them evenly.

"Ya told me you'd kill me if I said another pun," he pointed out, nudging the blond's legs down from his waist and spreading them, rubbing some excess lubricant along the pucker of Matthew's sphincter.

"I said I'd impale you. I do believe the threat was two ways, so hurry it up," Matthew said with a laugh, a feathery moan falling from his lips as a digit pushed inside of him, slick and hot and thick.

"Pushy bitch."

"Incompetent ass."

"Missed ya…"

"I missed you too…"

Smiles were exchanged as the second finger breached the muscle, violet and blue gazes holding whilst Alfred's spare hand went back to holding the Upper Canadian's wrists above his head once more, even though they hadn't moved from when they had been briefly released. The soft rustling of hay beneath clothes and the squelching of fingers thrusting slowly in and out of Matthew were the only other sounds to accompany their heavy breathing and Matthew's soft gasps and moans, along with the birds outside that flew onwards to their nests and the farm animals that began to settle for the night. A third finger drew a hiss from Matthew, the sound smothered with lips as they kissed again; the farm hand for a distraction and relief, the cowboy in apology.

"You're tight… Didn't finger yourself in a long time?" Alfred asked, scissoring the fingers, withdrawing them to reapply some more lubricant before sliding them in even easier than before, the moan that bubbled in the chest of the man beneath him encouragement enough.

"A-Ahh… No, not really…" Matthew confessed, slowly rocking his hips against the fingers, breath shaky, "The farmer's not as thick as you are either."

Alfred grinned, chuckling. "If ya leave him, and come with me, ya won't feel so unsatisfied all the time," he spoke softly, leaning in to kiss Matthew's cheek again, "In bed, or otherwise."

A sad smile tipped Matthew's lips, looking to Alfred, and the man knew his answer even before it fell from his lips.

"You know I can't do that."

"I know."

"Why—nngh—Why don't you s-stop… ahh… a-asking then?"

The answer was evaded with a kiss, or perhaps the kiss was the answer, tongues coming to play tenderly and Matthew allowed his mouth to be claimed as he moaned, thick fingers inside of him hooking and twisting just so, so that he saw stars behind his closed eyelids. Shifting, his legs quickly wrapped around Alfred's hips again, hands tugging at their captivity enough to signal that he needed more, needed to grasp, to yank, to scratch. Both hands left the farm hand's body at once, and two sets of hands were working on jeans and chaps to tug them lower along a pudgy ass and thick thighs sprinkled in golden brown hairs to expose more of Alfred's cock and balls, the former of which was quickly slicked up in lubricant by pale hands, making the American moan huskily and rock into the squeezes and tugs and rubs.

"Alfred, quick," the Upper Canadian encouraged, guiding the thick blunt head of the cock to rub against the prepared hole, both of their chests heaving a little, a thin sheen of sweat glistening along their bodies.

"It ain't gonna be enough," Alfred promised, rolling his hips forward, breaching the tight heat, watching the mild discomfort on Matthew's face form from the first thing to enter larger than the farmer's arousal, "You'll cum… But you'll want more…"

"A-Ah!"

"I'll fill ya until you're drippin' with my seed and our sweat, but it still won't be enough," he continued, voice a tone huskier as he began to rock his hips slowly and shallowly, capturing pale wrists once more, "It'll be enough to tide ya over… but in a day… two days… a week… you'll be fingerin' yourself right here on this haystack, rememberin' my cock."

"A-Alfred…!"

The cowboy moaned huskily, gripping a little tighter to the wrists that were tugging to be freed, his hips undulating in deep thrusts that made the Upper Canadian's body rock up and down on his cock.

"N-Nngh… Ya crave me… and it pisses ya off, don't it?" he rasped out, blue eyes narrowing at the harsh shake of the head he received in return, bucking up harder and ripping a startled cry from the man instead, "You're a slut… Ya use people… Ya don't wanna be caught."

"Stop it, Alfred, s-stop talking," Matthew begged, violet eyes screwed shut, their glasses fogging a little, sliding down the bridges of their nose from sweat, "Just shut up and f-fuck me. I d-don't want to hear it—nngh—r-right now."

"I want ya… Come with me, Mattie… Please… I can protect ya too," he pleaded softly, kissing the man's cheek even as his lips were turned away from him, hot breaths falling from lips that were being bitten too roughly for the cowboy's liking.

"I—ahh—can't."

"Ya can… Please…"

"N-No, Al, I can't—"

"Please."

A broad hand grasped Matthew's cock and began to jerk him off tightly, the blond crying out loudly in pleasure and shock, toes curling and feet cramping, but it was okay, because Alfred had him. He felt like he was falling, burning, melting, but it was okay, because it was by the hands of the cowboy. Each breath was sucked in harshly, and his lungs were working so fast he feared hyperventilating from each rough, fast, deep and perfectly aimed thrust into him that had his body jolting and sounds of bliss and pleasure falling from his lips.

It was okay though, because it was Alfred.

"Cum for me… 'n' then… nngh… come with me," the man above him breathed, damaged and pained nose nudging at Matthew's cheeks until violet eyes were open and connected with his own, "I'll protect ya and l-love ya… ah… 'til my dyin' breath."

A jolt shot through Matthew's spine and he bucked desperately, yanking his hands down with a surge of strength, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck and bringing him down for a heated kiss, the broad brimmed hat tumbling off short cut blond hair and to the ground as they rut desperately, bodies pulsing feverishly in a lustful embrace. Teeth bit and pulled, fingernails scratched and carved along broad muscles, fingers imprinted bruises of claim despite the many warnings against doing so, hips slammed and lewd slaps of bodies colliding echoed amidst the moans and half-hushed cries and panting.

A deep shudder later and Matthew was releasing with a cry muffled by the American's lips, his essence splattering in thick white strings along the crimson of his button down which clung to his body with sweat, muscles spazzing and locking as he rode out his release. Several thrusts later and Alfred was following, burying himself in deep and letting the pulsating muscles milk him of his seed.

Their mouths parted, hovering over one another, heaving hot breaths into each other's lungs, both faces flushed and sweaty, straight golden bangs and fair blond caramel tipped curls stuck to skin as they came down from their high, bodies tingling and trembling in each other's arms. Their heads tilted in unison, cheeks nuzzling, Alfred wincing at the sting of pain, Matthew apologising, and both smiling as they held one another while their hearts still raced in their chests.

They pulled apart silently, kissing softly here and there on the mouth as they moved. There was no need to say anything. It was routine. Yet there was a small difference.

In the barnyard that night where Alfred slept, he washed himself in the metal basin provided by Matthew, giving his clothes a little wash and hanging them to dry in the heat of the dessert night air. A blanket had been given to him, and he made a bed of the straw before laying the cloth across the softened hay. Matthew had returned to the house with the farmer that evening and bathed before cooking dinner, and while the farmer had taken his own bath, Matthew had snuck off to the barnyard with a plate of food for Alfred, stealing kisses and touching one another enough to heat their blood up, but not so much that they got overly aroused. That night, Matthew slept in his own bed without offering the farmer any words.

At the crack of dawn, they were gone.

Bags of belongings had been packed and strapped to a horse once saddled, and with his own hat on to protect his head from the blazing sun and a bandana to cover his mouth and nose from sand during harsh winds, Matthew mounted the animal and was guiding it around the back to where Alfred had tied his stallion the previous afternoon.

Nothing was said. Not between Matthew and Alfred, and not between Matthew and the farmer.

Goodbye kisses had been given over dinner to one man, though only one party knew that they were a farewell parting gift, and good morning kisses were given over the manes of horses to another man, though neither could really explain the emotions or the need for silence or secrecy. Without even a note of explanation or reason, Matthew left the farm with the cowboy, riding off with thundering and rapid hoofs to put as much distance between him and the possibility of being caught as possible whilst Alfred beamed brighter than the rays of the rising sun.

Even though it troubled him, Matthew never asked how Alfred knew of his past.

And even though he knew, Alfred never questioned why Matthew had shot dead his family up North.

They both understood the other had reasons, and as such, never brought it up between them, because the fact that they were both outlaws on the run was as much reason to band together as always.

With a loud whoop and cheer from Alfred's lips as their horses jumped a narrow sandy ravine, his hat held in his hands and swung about in the air, Matthew allowed himself to smile as the wind pushed back his hat to fall around his neck and hang by the string.

One day, the string could become a noose, but for now, he was happy and free and alive and in love…

… In love with his cowboy outlaw…

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, let me know what you thought about it, what you liked, or what you disliked. I love reading what you guys think; reviews are always much appreciated! Hope to see you next story~! (Bye bye~!)