Work Text:
Lover's Rock
You like a pretty boy
With a pretty voice
Who is trying to sell you something
Something that you already have
To say you were from the north would not be a complete lie but the south is where you could relax.
In the molten heat of a Texan summer with nothing but the breeze and the shade to keep you cool, you walked to the Sawyer's with a peach cobbler in your hands, the aluminum pan shining against your brown skin. That's when you stumbled upon him in the barn with the doors wide open.
Bubba Sawyer, the youngest Sawyer and biggest too.
He was tall, stocky, with long curly dark hair that no doubt covered his tanned face. The first thing you noticed was how big his hands were as they fixed up some of their equipment with immense dexterity. He had a welding helmet halfway to rub the sweat off his lower face.
"Bubba?" You called out loudly.
He froze at your voice before pulling the helmet off and gazing at you with striking brown doe eyes and a long diagonal angry scar down his face.
You knew vaguely of the neighbors. They were a weird bunch of brothers but you had an appreciation for their work ethic which is why you were here in the first place. In a blow out storm days ago, your fence had fallen and one of your chickens had got out. You had stared from your bedroom as rain poured down like hellfire. You went to sleep restlessly to the sounds of thunder and lightning.
The next morning, the fence was put up and the chicken was returned with a red bow around its neck.
So here you are. After baking in the heat, you had a gift to give to the Sawyers.
"Uh, I came to thank y'all for the fence. I was going to wait a day to see if the storm would swing back around." You said inching closer, itching for a cigarette.
He tilted his head down at you, he towered over you. Then Bubba shook his head.
"Oh, that wasn't y'all?"
He nodded but then just pointed to himself while making a dismissive gesture to his house.
"It was just you, Bubba?" You blinked as he nodded proudly, grinning.
You noticed his canines were sharper than most people.
"Well, all by yourself in that storm? God, you didn't have to."
He floundered in place before writing something in the dust.
Wanted to.
You had heard that Bubba was basically mute but you'd assumed he just didn't talk much after the accident he had with a chainsaw when he was younger.
"Bubba, I know we don't know each other too well but can I ask you something?" You uttered softly, stepping closer to put the cobbler on the empty table.
He hummed and nodded thrice, his hands fidgeting. For a big man, he looked like he felt small. You wondered had anyone bothered to really talk to him.
"Would you like to learn ASL, y'know, sign language? No people here know it and I need a partner to keep it from fading away. I'll teach you everything I know. How about it, Bub?" You asked, hoping on the counter and crossing your legs.
He stepped closer to you and wrote next to the cobbler pan.
Please .
You beamed.
"Of course, Bubba. Oh, and since you did this by yourself, you can have it all to yourself. My mama's recipe. You should eat what she made." You chuckled, winking at him.
He dropped the wrench in his left hand in response and inched closer.
"Go on, I don't bite. Not unless you want me to." You hummed, holding a fork and knife to him.
You felt slightly disappointed when he tore his gaze from your long brown legs to focus on the pan of dessert.
He mumbled something akin to a thank you before digging in eagerly.
"Is it good, Bubba?"
He moaned, the fork still in his mouth.
Your face got hot at the noise and you just leaned forward to swipe some crust off his cheek. You licked it off your thumb.
And that's how it started.
Every other day, you'd come down to the barn with a notebook and some books on ASL for you two to get to work.
He was eager, curious, and a fast learner.
You started practically. With his name.
"That's it, just like how we practiced. Spell it out, Bub."
"B-U-B-B-A S-A-W-Y-E-R."
"Good boy."
He blushed beet red and mumbled his 'thank you'.
After that, you started with the basics of a sentence and then got him to learn every single tool that's ever been in a barn. It felt good. Even when he stumbled and got frustrated, he never quit or got angry. And at some point you couldn't deny it, you were sweet on him.
You looked at him too long, at his arms, strong and big, his broad shoulders and long legs underneath those slacks. He muscular in the practical, normal way. You loved the contrast of your skin against one another. His slightly tan skin with your smooth bronze flesh. But he was polite, you've always had a thing for shyness, but he was like a deer. A 6'4 quiet polite deer.
Bambi Sawyer.
Seemingly in response to helping him with sign language, your house, and little farm were getting surprise repairs. A broken gutter fixed. Creaky porch steps are now silent. A new screen for your door.
So you started bringing food to every lesson which meant cooking at random times of the day. Mostly desserts, late at night to try and catch Bubba fixing your property up.
You were making apple pies when you saw a huge figure in your yard sprinting across the fence.
You smiled, sipping tea, and put the second pie in the oven and the first on the window sill.
"I see you." You whispered to him, a smile on the edge of your lips.
That's when your door busted open and a sweaty shaking figure fell through your threshold.
It wasn't Bubba. He wasn't tall enough. His eyes were wild.
You gasped, pressing yourself into the wall. You gripped the butcher knife.
The man's clothes were ripped and dirty. He looked like a scared animal. Bubba told you scared animals are the most dangerous.
Of course, your gun was in your bedroom.
"Get out of my house." You snapped.
The man looked up at you with a wild look in his eyes.
"Give me your car."
"I don't have anything worth wild to steal. Just-just leave and it'll be between us." You started.
Your keys were in the drawer that was digging into your back.
He shook his head, "I need to get away. Give me your fucking car."
"No. Get lost, don't make me hurt you."
"You have no idea what I've been through. Give me the keys, bitch."
You narrowed your eyes, "Get the hell outta my house, boy."
He approached and you stuck out the knife as a warning before flipping it in a reverse grip. You'd be damned if some white boy was going to walk all over you.
He lurched forward, getting a slice along his forearm in response. His hands were sweaty as they gripped your wrists. You pressed the blade into his wrist, digging through tendons and veins.
You were shoved into your counter and cried out.
Hands, shaky, bloody hands wrapped around your throat. The knife seemed to barely inconvenience the intruder and spots were slowly taking over your vision.
That's when a big shadow stepped into the threshold. The one that you knew.
Bubba had a chainsaw in his hand but it wasn't running. Hair covered his face and his upper body, save for the rapid panting, was deathly still as he stomped towards you. His head was tilted.
"Please, just walk away." You wheezed out.
"You should have just gave me the keys." He grunted.
A big hand swooped in and yanked the intruder by his shirt. The man screamed, clawing at you in desperation, ripping at your sleep clothes. You scrambled back onto the counter, knocking over dirty pots and pans.
Bubba grabbed the man by his throat with one hand and dragged him.
Bubba's grip tightened, turning the stranger red then purple before a loud crunch echoed in the quiet night. Your heart pounded in your cage.
Then the man just crumpled to the floor.
You yelped as the body twitched before slapping a hand over your mouth.
Then Bubba was on you, cupping your face and patting your shoulder, looking for damage. His hands ran over the tears in your shirt and pulled off his flannel to put around your frame.
" Hurt? Hurt?" He signed over and over.
"N-no, no, Bubs, I'm not hurt. I was just scared. Is there anymore?" You stuttered.
" No, just him."
" Good."
I'm sorry. Should have protected you more." He huffed, his chest heaving rapidly.
"You saved my life, Baby-Bubba. You protected me plenty." You said reaching out to soothe him.
He sighed and leaned his head on your shoulder.
"I…my door is broken." You muttered as you rubbed his back and ran your hands through his hair.
" Can fix it."
"Bubba…"
" I like doing it. Won't take long."
"It's not like I'm going to sleep after that anyway. I think I have a door in the cellar." You chuckled.
He whimpered and pressed his chin on the top of your head before getting up to repair your door. You watched him, wrapping his shirt around you. He carefully took out the screw on the hinges.
You realized between that time, the body was gone from your kitchen.
You opened your drawer to retrieve your cigarettes and a lighter.
" You smoke?"
You smiled wryly, "Been trying to quit. Didn't want to get ashes in your sweets. Had a good streak but I think I get a pass tonight."
"Never seen you smoke before."
"That's because I used to smoke when I couldn't sleep. When I was in the city, I would flick them into the street and watch the taxis run them over. Now I just bake and think of you when I can't sleep."
"Why'd you leave?"
"Because it kills you, being up there. I couldn't do it anymore."
Bubba hummed as he dragged the old door from downstairs to put in. His undershirt stretched over his back muscles and broad shoulders that flexed as he held the door in place.
" I'm glad you picked here."
"All things considered, me too."
Bubba smiled softly, hair still hiding his face. He screwed in the door and inspected the lock before nodding.
"Thank you, Bubba. I was baking you apple pies- shit!" You jumped up and opened the oven to a very burnt pie.
You batted his hands away as he tried to stick a finger in the smoking pie anyway. He giggled as you covered it from his attacks.
You swore again as you dumped it in the trash. The other pie was outside in the grass. It had fallen during the fight.
"Bubba, I'm sorry. All I can do is thank you."
Bubba waved it off, his strong hands on display as he ran a knuckle down your cheek to soothe you. In the moonlight, in your kitchen, he looked so handsome.
You cupped his dirty cheek, "I can thank you with one gift I've been dying to give you."
His eyebrow furrowed in confusion.
You leaned in slowly, sitting up as pulled him down your lips.
"A kiss." You breathed against his lips before you connected them.
He smelled like wood, soap, oil, and gasoline but tasted sweet.
You pushed him into your kitchen island and deepened the kiss. He froze before kissing back eagerly, clutching onto you almost desperately. Bubba moaned earnestly as you ran your hands down his arms. His hands grip at you before he pulls away to sign.
" You're welcome ."
"The pleasure is all mine."
But if you're too drunk to drive
And the music is right
She might let you stay
But just for the night
And if she grabs for your hand
And drags you along
She might want a kiss
Before the end of this song