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Every day was the same for Shane: he woke up, went to work, went to the saloon, and drank until he stumbled home, or someone dragged him home. The routine was a relentless cycle, numbing the pain of his life. His mornings were filled with the dull ache of a hangover, his afternoons were spent in the haze of fluorescent bulbs with mind-numbing labor at Joja Mart, and his nights drowned in the bottom of a few glasses at the Saloon. Each sunrise brought the same suffocating monotony, and each sunset felt like a grim reminder of his own hopelessness.
Then you moved in. From the moment you arrived, it was like someone had thrown open the windows and let a gust of fresh air into his life. You started fixing everything and, it seemed, everyone in town. Your stupid happy-go-lucky attitude, your stupid twinkling eyes, your stupid cute smile. It was irritating how cheerful you were, how you seemed to find joy in the smallest things, yet it was impossible to ignore the way his heart quickened whenever you were around.
You even started helping him out in ways no one else had bothered to. You’d find him, sitting alone with his thoughts, and sit beside him, offering company without asking for anything in return. You made sure he ate, showing up with home-cooked meals and insisting he take care of himself. You even tried to get him to cut back on his drinking.
Shane couldn't help but feel a little guilty like he was another project for you to take care of. He didn’t want to be someone’s charity case and didn’t want to be fixed because he felt too broken to be worth the effort. But there was something about you that made it hard to resist. Maybe it was the genuine concern in your eyes or the way you never gave up on him, even when he pushed you away.
Maybe that's why he would drag himself into bed after a long day, his mind drowning in worries, fears, alcohol, and guilt. His thoughts would seek out the comfort of you—your smile, your laughter.
After work tonight, Shane made his way to the Saloon, seeking solace at the bottom of a glass, as usual. He hoped the alcohol would drown his persistent thoughts of you, allowing him to escape his troubles for a while.
It didn't. In fact, the alcohol only seemed to amplify his worries. He let out a deep, frustrated groan as he slumped over the bar, his head resting heavily on his folded arms. His hand loosely held a beer mug, already half-empty.
Gus, diligently wiping down the counters, noticed Shane's disheartened state. With a deep sigh, he said, "Shane, you should consider going home now. You can barely sit still." These were familiar words, ones Shane had heard more times than he cared to remember. "Hey, would you mind helping Shane in getting home?"
Shane groaned again, lifting his head to see you looking at him with genuine concern. For a brief moment, he felt a jolt of clarity, he almost felt sober, though he knew he wasn't. Struggling to his feet, he nearly knocked over his beer mug in his clumsy effort. "No, no, no… I got it. I can… I can… handle thish," he insisted, though his words came out slurred and barely coherent. His attempt at reassuring you was undermined by his unsteady movements and the lack of him forming clear sentences.
You gently took his arm, steadying him. "Shane, hun, you are wasted." Your voice was soft, yet firm, and Shane couldn't help but lean into your touch, feeling a strange mix of frustration and comfort. He didn't want to be this vulnerable, but there was something disarming about your unwavering kindness.
As you walked out of the saloon, the cool night air hit Shane's face, making him shiver slightly. You kept a steadying hand on his arm, guiding him with a gentle but firm grip. His heart raced as he found himself pulled closer to you. He could smell your intoxicating scent, and feel the warmth of your body, and he wanted nothing more than to rip your clothes off right then and there. But he was drunk, and he knew you were way out of his league.
Hearing you chuckle, he looked at you. “Come on, let's get you to bed,” you said, your voice tinged with both amusement and concern. Shane blinked, trying to focus on your words as he stumbled, his drunken haze making it hard to comprehend.
He slurred his words as you walked. "Y-You…can't…how d-did you…get so f-fuckin' hot?" he muttered, not realizing his words slipping out past the haze of alcohol. His grip on you tightened, and he leaned forward, his lips almost brushing against your neck. "You drive me crazy, Farmer," he whispered hoarsely, his warm breath tickling your skin.
He could see your cheeks flush. "Ooookay… looks like someone's had one too many, Shane," you chuckled softly, adjusting your stance as he enveloped you in an unsteady bear hug. "I think you said something about a pot of gold to get rid of me, huh?"
Shane let out another moan, his body twitching slightly as he fought to focus. "Farmer, don't…don't say that," he pleaded, feeling his cock harden just a bit from your body heat. "You're…you're all the good in my life."
He stumbled again, as he struggled to stand still. "Just… just hold me closer," His plea was desperate now, his voice barely audible. He could feel his cock throbbing against his shorts at this point, and he knew you could feel it too.
His eyes squeezed shut in a futile attempt to block out the overwhelming emotions coursing through him. "You're all I think about, Farmer," he confessed, his words tinged with both longing and frustration. "Just one touch, that's all it would take," he continued, his voice trailing off with raw vulnerability. "Just one…"
“Yoba, you are so drunk right now…” He heard you whine into the air but felt your hips twitch back against him. “Please…” Shane begged softly, his hands starting to test the waters, grabbing your hip with one hand, still holding you to his chest with the other. “F-Fine, Just one.”
Shane's eyes widened at your response, his body tensing as he nodded. He didn't even need to think about it, that was all he needed. He pulled you closer, his hand moving to gently graze your breast through your shirt. He could feel your heart racing, just like his, and he let out a soft moan. "You feel so good, Farmer." He whispered, his grip tightening on your hip.
He leaned his head against your shoulder, his eyes closing, breathing deep taking in your scent as he enjoyed the sensation of you both grinding together. "Please…don't stop." He spoke, his voice barely audible. He could feel himself getting more and more aroused, and his length was practically bursting through his shorts.
He knew you couldn't see his face, but his cheeks were flushed bright red. He was out of control, and it felt amazing. He didn't care about the consequences, all he wanted was to feel more of you.
Shane let out a loud moan as you reached back and pushed his shorts down, revealing his drippy length. He groaned, his body shaking slightly as you placed it between your thighs, the sensation sending electricity down his spine.
He could feel his pre-cum coating your thighs, and he didn't even care. He was too far gone and too drunk, and all he could think about was you, how glad he was it was summer, and that you had on shorts.
He started thrusting into your thighs, his body twitching with each movement. "Oh, shit, Farmer, you feel so fucking good." He panted, his breaths hitching. "You…you're killing me."
He gripped your hip tighter, his body rocking back and forth as he tried to find relief. "I want you, Farmer. I want to fuck you so bad." He moaned, the slight wet sounds edging him on. "Just let me, please." He begged, his voice pleading.
His grip on you tightened, and he started to lose balance, his body swaying from side to side. "I'll…I'll take good care of you," he mumbled, his words slurred. Feeling both of you become unbalanced, he fell to his knees while he watched as you landed on all fours, and he let out a loud moan, his hips rocking even faster.
"Yeah, that's it." He mumbled, his hand moving to pull down your shorts. He could see your ass, and it only made him want you more. He heard you whine as he marveled at your dripping slit. "Fuck, you're soaked." He whispered, his heart racing. He leaned forward, planting his lips on your hip before moving to your back, kissing and sucking on your skin.
He could feel his cock throbbing as he trailed kisses down your spine, pushing your shirt up, cupping your breasts. "I'm going to make you scream, Farmer." He growled, his words barely audible. He positioned himself behind you, his cock pressing against your entrance, groaning as he slowly slid inside of you.
He started to thrust, his body rocking back and forth, his moans muffled against your back. "You feel so good." He panted, his grip moving to your hips. "Fuck, I've been waiting for this for so long." He whispered, his cock sliding in and out of you as he tried to find a rhythm.
He could feel you pushing your hips back against his, yet your moans sounded muffled, he looked up slightly seeing you biting into your palm. He felt the urge to hear your pleasure not just feel it, grabbing your arm Shane straightened up and pulled on your arm, forcing you to arch your back, giving him more access to your body. Groaning louder, as he felt himself sinking deeper into you. "Fuck, you're mine, aren't you, Farmer? You're mine." He growled, his thrusts becoming even harder.
He could feel the warmth enveloping him, your loud whiney aht, aht, aht’s, it was driving him insane. "Hear that, I'm making you moan, Farmer. I'm going to make you cum for me." He panted, his hips slamming into you. "You're going to remember this, aren't you? You're going to remember how I fucked you in the street."
He let out a loud moan, his body tensing as he started to lose the slight rhythm he did have. "Oh, fuck, I'm so close, Farmer." He whispered, his voice thick. His eyes screwed tight as he tried to milk a few more thrusts.
Holding your hip and arm tightly, feeling his nails dig in, he let out a loud broken moan, his hips bucking as he came inside, feeling his lips curl into a smile. He panted, his body trembling as he held you close, pulling you to lay on the ground with him.
After a few moments, he felt you shift, your warmth receding as you moved away, groaning at the cold night air that took your place. "Come on, we can't just lay here," your voice, tinged with amusement, broke the silence of the night. He heard your gentle chuckle as you slid out from under him. "Gonna remember this in the morning?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes as you pulled your clothing back on.
Shane let out a soft sigh, his eyelids heavy with the lingering haze of alcohol. His eyes closed slowly, his body relaxing as he adjusted his shorts. "No… no, I won't remember," he mumbled sleepily, his words trailing off as the trio of alcohol, working hand, and playing hard finally hit him.
As morning woke him, Shane awoke in his bed seeing a note on his bedside table, written in your handwriting. "For services rendered," it read, followed by a scribbled winking face and one of you taking a chicken home. "Got more than one touch," you had added at the bottom, teasingly.
A soft chuckle escaped Shane as he read your note, his cheeks warming with a deep blush. He couldn't help but recall the events of last night—he admittedly, had a bit too much to drink. He mentally noted that he owed you an apology for getting so intoxicated and needing rescuing for his beloved chicken from being payment.