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You thought about Shane more than you’d care to admit to anyone, even yourself. It hadn’t been so bad at first — his open hostility had left you feeling apathetic towards him (no point trying to squeeze blood from a stone, after all). It had come as a surprise, then, that over the course of a few dirty, sweaty seasons, he had entered the periphery of your mind uninvited a few times.
One frigid morning in your shower, touching yourself absently, you thought of the bags and crinkles around his eyes, his dark brows flecked with greys, the dark green of his eyes looking directly into yours. You came immediately, surprise and embarrassment mixing with the hot steam.
A late night at home, three mugs of whisky deep, you thought about him again. He was more fully realised this time. You pictured his coarse stubble that strewed his soft jaw, and the strong hands, thick fingered, hairy knuckled, calloused. You reached a hand to tentatively hover over your clothed entrance. How would those big fingers feel against your slick folds? Would he be rough? Experienced? The thoughts mixed with your tipsy haze to fill your stomach with a hot contentment, and you fell asleep on the couch, half filled whisky mug balanced on the cushion.
From here, thoughts of him became more frequent. You imagined what he would look like naked, how he might kiss, how he would feel inside you. Something about him was utterly irresistible to you.
After almost a year of knowing Shane, at the beginning of your second spring in the valley, you decided to do something about this little crush you’d been harbouring like an unread novel. You’d never been great at making first moves, and he’d shown barely any interest in you outside of terse interactions at festivals and occasional nods at the saloon, but you knew you couldn’t put this to bed until you tried. If he rejected you, no loss, you could just move on and focus on your farming. If he didn’t, well… you hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.
That was how, the following Wednesday evening, you found yourself in the saloon. Shane was there, as always, in the corner with his head slumped over his pint glass. Perhaps you should have waited for it to be busier, to save the two of you some embarrassment if this all went south. Oh well.
You positioned yourself next to him at the bar, leaving an empty stool between the two of you. He didn’t notice you, or, if he did, he didn’t care. You downed one beer, then two, three, with no acknowledgement of each other. You were starting to feel the buzz hit you after your fourth, as well as nature's call. Sliding off your stool, you walked as steadily as you could to the single cubicle bathroom, your brain swimming. After you’d taken care of business, you propped yourself up haphazardly against the sink.
Your reflection looked like shit, eyes bloodshot and hair messy. What were you doing? He wasn’t gonna say yes, you were a state. Why was this the hill you’d decided to die on? If he was into you looking like this, you'd have to seriously question his taste. You looked away from your reflection, washed your hands and returned, unsteadily, to your seat at the bar.
“Shane.”
He grunted a faint response that sounded like he was saying “buh” into the ragged sleeve of his hoodie.
“Shane!”
Only when you raised your voice a few decibels did he look up, dark brows knitted together in an expression of annoyance mixed with exhaustion.
“What?”
You’d imagined this conversation a few times on your walk over, pictured yourself saying something incredibly charming and charismatic to get him to agree to come home with you. In a moment of panic, however, you realised you’d not decided what that would actually be.
“Come home with me.” Charm and charisma be damned.
“Fuck off.” Shane put his head back down on the sticky bar top.
“Come home with me!” You guessed you were sticking with the direct approach.
“I’m not in the mood for your jokes,” the muffled response came back, soaked in fatigue.
“I’m not fucking joking. I think you're hot and I'm drunk enough to act on it. Come home with me.” You decided this would be the last time you asked. You didn’t want to become known as the local sex pest if he really wasn’t into it.
Shane raised his head to look at you. His age was suddenly very apparent — the lines on his forehead, the greys at his temples and around his thinning hairline. He was probably almost ten years your senior. Why would he want someone like you? Doubt soaked you like a sudden downpour. Time to backtrack.
“I mean, only if you want to, I don’t wanna harass you, obviously if you don’t wanna I’ll just move on and we’ll never mention it again, I—“
“I do want to.” He spoke over you with an unexpected bluntness. Wait. Fuck. He did? You opened your mouth to respond. “But you don’t wanna do that, princess. You got so much going for you, don’t wanna attach yourself to a fuck-up like me.” The words slurred off his soft palette.
The way he said it made your stomach tingle. His dark eyes looked into yours with equal parts lust and self-loathing. If this was just a crush before, it was rapidly turning into something else.
“Shane—“
“I’m serious. Finish your drink, go home, forget about me.” He returned to his drink as if the conversation was over.
You take a moment to weigh your options. If his concern was people knowing, there were ways around that. You lean over the empty stool, closing the gap between the two of you.
“Look,” you spoke quietly “I’m gonna finish my drink and walk to the bus stop. I’ll wait there for ten minutes. If you want, come meet me there. No one needs to know. If not, no big deal, we’ll forget all about it.” You were quietly surprised by how measured you thought you sounded, given the four pints of beer sloshing through your pounding nervous system.
Shane only grunted.
You downed the last dregs of your flat beer and left a few coins on the counter. Gus had mercifully been on the other side of the bar cleaning the display bottles, far out of earshot.
Without saying goodbye to any of the other patrons (Pam and Willy both looked pretty out of it), you exited the saloon into the cool spring night. With a deep, shaky breath, you take stock of what just happened. You wondered if he would actually show. Above all, one thing kept your heart pounding: he wanted you. All this time you’d thought it was a pipe dream, a story of unrequited love, but the way he’d looked at you back there had changed everything. Your heart hammered in time with your throbbing clit.
You made the short walk up the bus stop outside your farm. Pelican Town was poorly lit at the best of times, and once you’d left the town square you were in all but total darkness. If Shane didn’t want you to be seen with him, he had nothing to worry about.
You’d barely had time to register how sad it was, knowing he felt you'd be dragged down by him. While the overall town sentiments about Shane were that he was an alcoholic going nowhere, you had no qualms about being associated with him — as a friend or… otherwise. Fuck, you hoped he’d come.
Nine excruciating minutes passed; you’d all but resigned yourself to a night alone with a bottle of your cranberry wine from the fall, making the effort to move on from him. It was a dismal thought. You thought about extending your stay, waiting longer, giving him more time to appear. No, if he hadn’t come by now, he wasn’t coming at all. That was fine. He’d made his choice, and you’d respect it, albeit reluctantly.
As you turned towards the glow of your little cabin, you catch a movement out of the corner of your eye. The street lamp at the edge of the town square illuminated a figure, hunched and stocky, in a blue hoodie. You felt everything clench. He came.
As Shane approached along the dark lane, you had the sudden realisation that you hadn’t actually expected him to agree to this. Maybe he’d come to tell you to stop wasting your time, maybe he was just taking a different route home, maybe—
“Hey.” The bass of his voice snapped you out of your spiral.
“Hey.” You echoed. Shane took another step towards you, tentative. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“Yeah, well…” his voice trails off, leaving only the negative space of night between you.
You close the gap, your fingers grazing the cuff of his ratty hoodie. You’re close enough to smell the sour tang of beer on his breath mixed with his sweaty musk, to see his eyes, inkwells in the half-light, taking you in. You lean closer, centimetres from his full, chapped lips—
“Not here”. Shane’s voice is raspy, like he’s pushing down on something. His large hand clamps your shoulder, calloused thumb resting gently against your clavicle.
You turn, wordlessly, towards your home. Shane follows you as the track turns to dirt. You reach the door, pause to get out your keys, stealing a glance behind you to check that he’s still there. He is.
Warmth soaks your face as you open the door. The fire you’d lit before you left is still smouldering, the embers glowing like ripe salmonberries clustered in the hearth. You usher Shane inside, closing the door quietly behind you.
In the quiet of your kitchen, you take each other in. The warm light softens his usually hard features—the bags under his eyes seem a little less pronounced, his harsh mouth slightly less of a scowl. Fuck, he’s hot.
“Follow me,” you say as you kick your boots off, making your way to your bedroom. Shane dutifully removes his grimy green crocs, revealing a pair of equally grimy mismatched socks, before following you in.
No sooner are you through the bedroom door than you feel its hard wooden panels flush against your back. Shane pushed you with his full body weight against the door as he kissed you with the fervour of a drowned man gasping for oxygen.
His lips were softer than you'd expected, but the way he kissed you was anything but. He tasted of cheap beer, and cigarettes, and something spicy you couldn’t put your finger on.
You sank deeper into the kiss, enjoying the way his body felt pressed against yours. His large hands, objects of your desire for months, gripped you with unexpected strength at your waist and the base of your skull. You tentatively nip at his lower lip, and he lets out a moan into your mouth that makes your knees feel like they were about to buckle. If there was any doubt that Shane wanted you before, it was washed away by that moan. This man was desperate.
The pressure of his body felt like heaven. Although Shane was only two or three inches taller than you, his weight was more than enough to keep you pinned against the door. You could feel the soft curves of his body, the firmness at his crotch. He pushes a thick thigh between your legs, and you can't stop yourself from grinding down as hard as you can, desperate for any stimulation on your now aching clit. Shane lets out a soft laugh into your kiss.
"Fuck, you were serious about wanting this." His heavy breaths punctuate his words.
"I can't tell you how many times I touched myself thinking about you." Okay, you'd gone mask off immediately. You were too turned on to downplay how into him you were. As if in response, Shane pushes his thigh upwards into the crotch of your pants, sending bolts of pleasure shooting through your body. You bite your lip to stop yourself screaming out, cramming your lust into a plaintive whine instead.
Shane broke the kiss, leaning back a little. His thigh stayed between your legs.
"You sure you wanna do this, princess?" His pupils were blown out in the dimly lit room, his voice raspy with want. You nod furiously.
He releases you from his grip. You almost slump into his arms but catch yourself before you do. Instead, you guide him towards your unmade bed, taking off your old flannel shirt as you do so. You'd given up on wearing anything traditionally "sexy" when you'd moved here, but you held onto a few lacy bras just in case of an occasion such as this one.
Shane pulls you towards him by the waist, his spare hand thumbing at your nipple through the lacy fabric. He unhooked your bra with the dexterity of a man who hadn't spent the last five hours drinking, letting it fall to the floor.
He pauses for a moment, taking in your shirtless body with a mix of reverence and hunger in his dark eyes. Before you realise what's happening, though, he's pushed you backwards onto the bed with unexpected strength, his large hand working on the button of your work pants. You fall backwards, adrenaline mixing with your arousal in a delicious cocktail. You shimmy out of your pants, and suddenly become very aware that you're almost naked and he's still fully clothed.
"Hey," you tug at the hem of his green jersey. He's straddling you now, looking down at you. His erection is pressed hard against the khaki fabric of his shorts. He begins to unbutton them, pulling the shorts over his ass and halfway down his thick thighs, shucking them off over the side of the bed.
His boxers have clearly seen better days. One of the hems is coming undone, and the material is worn so thin that you can clearly see his dick straining against the tight fly. He grinds down against you, two layers of underwear separating him from your entrance. You were so wet that the cotton of your panties was fully soaked through, adding friction as he rubbed his hard length against you.
You still hadn't got what you wanted, though. You tug, more insistently this time, at his shirt.
"Uh…" He sounded hesitant. Did he want to keep it on?
"Fuck, sorry, you don't have to—"
"It's fine, I just… I'm really out of shape…" You'd never been under any impression that Shane was some muscle stud; though it was hard to tell when he always wore that fuckass hoodie.
"I just want you to be comfortable baby." So what if he kept his shirt on? You wanted him in any way he came.
Shane pulled his jersey over his head. His gut hung a few inches over the waistband of his boxers, pale stretch marks spidering across his his belly and hips. He had dark hair flecked with greys across his soft chest, working its way down into a happy trail below his navel. He was absolutely gorgeous.
"Fuck, Shane…" you reach up a hand to caress the side of his thick waist. "You're so fucking hot."
He looked down, embarrassment and lust fighting for dominance in his face.
"Didn't think you'd have a thing for fat guys." You couldn't quite tell if this was a joke to deflect from his self-consciousness. You decide to lean into it.
"There's a lot you don't know about me." Your fingers slide down his waist and ghost over the outline of his cock. Shane's breath hitches. "But I hope one thing you do know about me is how much I want you to fuck me."
Shane reached a hand down to the soaked crotch of your panties, propping himself up as he slid a finger behind the cotton. You'd spent so many nights alone thinking about this, and it was finally happening. His thick fingertip stroked the slick folds of your entrance, making you moan involuntarily. He pulled your panties to your knees, giving himself space to add a second finger.
"Can I…?" He murmurs, fingertip primed at your entrance. You can only nod, breathes quickening. He pushes one finger up inside you, thumb settling on your clit. You can’t help but let out a gasp at the pressure.
His thumb presses down lightly, but it's enough to make you see stars. He starts to pump his finger inside you, stroking your g-spot as he rubs small circles on your clit. Before you realise what's happening, he inserts a second finger.
"Fuck, Shane, I'm gonna—" you can hardly speak as waves of pleasure start building in your core. "Keep going—"
"That's it sweetheart, you're such a good girl, so good for me". The way Shane whispered into your ear, as if you were the only two in the world, was enough to push you over the edge. You felt yourself clamp down around his fingers as the pleasure swept outwards like a shockwave through your body.
Shane was already taking off his worn out boxers, his erection bobbing, tapping against the underside of his belly. His cock was average length, thick and veiny, with a pudgy pink tip already wet with precum. He pushed his tip against your slick entrance, lining himself up.
"Fuck me, Shane," you could only speak in a breathy moan. "Fuck me hard."
He pushed his thick cock inside you, stretching you out as he filled you. His first few thrusts were tentative, as if to see how much you could take.
"More…"
Shane picked up the pace, pounding his cock into your slick cunt with a new fervour. He threw his whole heft behind each thrust, rutting into you like an animal in heat. He picked up your knees and slung them back over his shoulders as if they weighed nothing. The impact of each thrust sent waves of pleasure ricocheting along your spine, sending jiggles through his hairy gut with the rhythm of his pounding.
"Fuck, you're so tight, taking me so well, my good girl" Shane moaned through his teeth. His breathing was getting heavier, but he kept railing into you despite the damp flush that had appeared on his cheeks. He had said he was out of shape…
"Get on your back baby." He pulled out and rolled onto his back, his soft chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
"Fuck I'm… sorry I couldn't… go any longer…"
"Shh…" you straddled him and sank down onto his now throbbing cock. Shane let out a whimper that almost made you cum on the spot. His face screwed up as you began to rock back and forth on his length.
"I'm gonna cum…" his moan made the heat build in your belly, tightening like a spring as you rode him, your hands gripping his thick hips.
"Shane…!" you came undone around him right as he spilled hot cum into you.
You collapsed down onto his chest, panting. Shane put his big arms around you, and you were overcome with a wave of peacefulness unlike anything you'd felt since moving to the Valley.
"Hey." Shane spoke quietly. "I'm sorry if I was… not great. It's been a long time since... you know."
You were almost too blissed out to notice the self-loathing that had crept back into his voice.
"Shane, you made me cum twice. If that's not great I don't know what is." You kissed his jugular. "I got to spend an amazing night with a gorgeous man, stop talking shit about him."
"Okay…"
"Shane?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you… stay the night?" You knew what he would say, but you didn't care.
Shane got up and started to pull his clothes on.
"I shouldn't. Don't want people thinking less of you for sleeping with a loser like me."
"…Sure."
The two of you fell into uncomfortable silence as Shane zipped up his ratty old hoody and found his crocs.
"We could do this again sometime?" You spoke to fill the void.
"Probably best that we don't." Shane didn't even look at you as he spoke. You felt something in you snap.
"Shane what the fuck? Why are you acting like neither of us wanted this?" Your voice was raised now. "Why can't you admit that tonight was great? Was it not great for you?"
"Of course it was!" He turned to face you.
"Then what the fuck is your problem?"
"My problem is that you're beautiful, you're miles out of my league, and you had to go and fuck a loser alcoholic. What did you think, 'that sad old fat guy never gets any, I'll throw a pity fuck his way'? How charitable of you!"
"Fuck you Shane! Don't you dare accuse me of pity fucking you!" You felt like you might be about to cry. "Did it ever occur to you that I wanted to have sex with you because I like you? Because I find you attractive and interesting?"
"I need to go. I have work in the morning." Shane spoke flatly, as if nothing you'd just said had been processed. He closed your bedroom door behind him and you heard him leave your cabin and walk away through your farm.
All you could do was cry.