The Shearing Gun (23 page)

But now that curtain had been ripped away. I had bottomed. I had allowed that to be done to me. And I had fucking loved it.

There was a particular helplessness in lying on your stomach and accepting that firm cock in your arse. Helplessness and freedom. You didn’t have to do anything, you were not responsible for the other person’s orgasm, and you could simply concentrate on your own climax. There was a freedom in just accepting without giving.

I’d always thought that it would make me feel… less. Less of a man and more like a woman. I had expected the mild pain, which was more of a burn than a hurt, but hadn’t anticipated the mind-blowing ecstasy that followed. In the back of my mind, I was half expecting to have to grit my teeth and suffer through letting Elliot have his turn—but it wasn’t like that at all. I can tell when I enter Elliot that he’s doing something that helps me get inside without hurting, so there’s a certain knack to it. And last night he did try and help, but I hadn’t been listening too well. I’d been too caught up in the feelings—the sensation of fullness, the burn and the pinch, the knowledge of what we were doing. Then out of nowhere—
wham!
—it was like a tidal wave of pleasure. It flowed over and around me, and I didn’t know which way to turn. There was excitement and an overwhelming need to shout and keen at a pitch I wasn’t used to using. I was wallowing in the sensation—only to have Elliot suddenly move and the spike of rapture ripple down my spine. Just when I thought I couldn’t feel anything better in my entire life, he would slide smoothly back into my channel, and the atomic bomb would explode—over and over and over again.

I drove the fence line, looking for problems while searching my personal feelings. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do it again—and that was no reflection on Elliot as a lover. It was more the loss of control I was worried about. Did Elliot feel differently about me now? He must—because I felt different about me. There was a trust between us now that hadn’t been there before, a new level of emotion that I didn’t know what to do about.

Did I really have to do
anything
about it?

It was at times like this a man needed his mother to explain what this fuzzy, rough, squishy, hot, burning, ice
thing
in his stomach was.

With the fences checked, I fed my girls and soaked my newly emerging seedlings with the watering can. Time was marching on, and I needed to get on the road. I snuck inside, checked my bed, and found my lover still soundly asleep. I felt like a complete dickhead doing it, but no one was there to witness me blow him a silent kiss before leaving.

There was a carton of beer on the floor of my shearing station in Middy’s shed, and I grinned at the memory of how great it felt to break that record the day before. Of course, as I leaned over to pick it up, my arse twinged and reminded me of another milestone. And that reminded me of Elliot—which brought a smile to my face.

“A-ho, Hank! What’s got you grinnin’ like sin on this fucking early Sunday morning? Which girly spread her legs for you and let you fuck her senseless?”

I glared and shook my head in disbelief at Big D’s comment. “Fuck off. And don’t you go forgetting that you owe me a beer for that stunt you pulled yesterday. I can’t believe you let that fucking wether go. I haven’t had to stitch an animal for months, and you ruined my good run.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry ’bout that.”

“You’re fucking lucky that I didn’t cut my own finger off.”

Big D snorted. “That faggot doctor was here—he could’ve sewn it back on for you.”

My smile fell as my stomach dropped and the sunniness of my morning winked out. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Big D was oiling his piece and not looking at me. “That doctor you invited here yesterday—I’m pretty sure he’s as queer as a three-dollar note. I think he has a thing for you too. You ask him nice, Hank, and he’ll be on his knees for you, sucking your dick with enthusiasm.”

Like liquid fire, I could feel the rage burning along my veins. The adrenaline began to pump as every limb in my body tensed for action. My heart began to pound, racing the blood and oxygen around my body, readying for the fight. There was a pool of smoldering lava in my stomach, where all my shame and anger lived, ready to explode at any moment. I’d been through it hundreds of times—the fire burning and the need to allow it out. The pit was already stirred from my mixed emotions this morning, and now I had an outlet—a fucking dickwad who was insulting the man I was falling in love with.

I clenched my teeth and fisted my fingers, trying to rein in the need to pound the piece of shit standing in front of me. My voice lowered to a growl. “You may want to watch your mouth, Darren MacDonald. That man is a fucking genius with a heart of gold. He is also my friend.”

Big D hooted. “Your friend? Why would you want to be a friend with a poof like him?”

The words fell like lead sinkers around me.

“Ah, fuck. Shit! Hank—no!”

In the back of my mind, I could hear Middy’s cry from across the shed. There was a pounding of feet on the wooden boards, but they were way too late. Big D was laughing.

“What do you do with a friend like him, Hank? Do you ask him to bend over? Or are you the one who—”

I didn’t let him finish his sentence. He could say what he wanted about me, but he did not have the right to speak about Elliot in that condescending tone. The molten lava hit the gunpowder and detonated. My fist swung out and caught Big D on the side of his jaw. Something cracked, but I didn’t know if it was his teeth or my hand. I followed the punch with a thump of my left hand to his gut.

But Big D wasn’t a small man—and he had two younger brothers he felt the need to bring into line from time to time. He didn’t go down, but instead returned volley with a right hook that caught my orbital bone. Pain exploded in my head, and I charged at him, ready to do damage. I caught him against the pen wall but was almost immediately pulled off him as Middy grabbed me around the waist, drawing me away.

“Hank! Cool it!”

I pushed at Middy’s arms, my focus solely on causing hurt and pain to his older brother. Unfortunately the others had caught on to what was happening, and I was being held back by three men.

“Fucking let me at him!” I yelled. “You have no fuckin’ right to talk about Elliot like that. You’ll be sorry.”

Big D was dabbing at his mouth with his fingers and they came away bloody. He looked at me in disbelief and astonishment. “Fucking shit. What does it matter to you? Do you fucking love the little faggot or something?”

Middy gave a wordless exclamation of disbelief and released my right arm. It was if he were saying
shit, he deserves it, so go ahead and thump him, Hank.
So I did. It was a good one too, direct to the stomach with rage and resentment behind it. Big D crumpled, and the fight went out of me. What the hell was I doing? It was a losing argument. I watched dispassionately as he heaved and vomited on the floor. I thought there were tears in my eyes, but it turned out to be blood flowing from a cut above my eyebrow.

Without a word I spun and left the shed, stalked to my car, and leaned against the side while I looked at the sheep, ready for the day’s shearing.

Fuck!

Not only had I lost my temper, as I told Quackle I wouldn’t do again, but I had thumped my best friend’s brother in my best friend’s shearing shed, and disrupted the whole day. I shook my head at my stupidity. I was an idiot for my actions, but I was an even bigger idiot to think that people in the district would accept me and Elliot if the news did somehow get out. Big D had just proved that most people would shun and ridicule us.

I felt lower than I’d ever felt before. From the heights of the night before, down to the dumps in the morning.

“Hank?” I turned my head to see Mrs. D making her way across the paddock with a bucket. “Are you okay? David told me you’d been fighting with Darren. Oh, no! Look at your eye. Here—here’s some ice.”

I winced as she plonked a handful of ice wrapped in a cold tea towel on my face. I liked that about Mrs. D. She’d heard there was a fight, and even though it was her own flesh and blood I’d gone head-to-head with, there was no outrage, only acceptance that boys will be boys and blood will be spilt.

“He okay?” I recognized Middy’s voice behind me.

His mother sighed. “I don’t know yet. How is the other simpleton?”

I choked at her obvious maternal affection for her oldest child as Middy answered. “He c-can wait. He totally deserved it.”

Shamefaced, I turned to Middy, still holding the red-and-white towel to my eye. “Sorry, Dave. I really am. I’m…. I shouldn’t have done it. Do you want me to leave?”

He shook his head, came to my side, and pulled the ice away to inspect the damage. “You’re not leaving unless you c-can’t shear. I have another nine hundred and fifty sheep to get through. Darren has to shear too, when he s-s-stops chucking. Shit, mate. I think that’s gonna need a stitch. It’s a d-decent gash.”

I leaned down and took a look in the side mirror of my car. My eye was swelling and a two-inch cut had opened above my brow. It was still bleeding, adding to the crusty, dried blood on my face.

“Bloody hell. Yeah—that needs to be closed. Can you stitch it for me, mate? Unless you have any of those steristrip things?”

He laughed. “It’s a pity Elliot isn’t here today, huh? Is he coming back?”

I blushed as I remembered where I’d left him. “I dunno. He didn’t say anything. I think your sister worked him too damn hard, and he’s exhausted.”

Mrs. D had left us, so we were the only ones around when Middy smirked at me. “Was it Di who exhausted him or you, Hank? He’s only a little fella—you’re gonna have to go easy on him.”

I blushed and chuckled. That’s why Middy was my best mate. He was a top bloke, and in a handful of sentences, he’d made all the bad stuff go away. His brother was an arsehole, but Dave was joking and accepting about my relationship with Elliot, not only letting me know that he was okay with us, but that he was okay with whatever we did together.

“I fuckin’ shore four hundred of your best sheep yesterday. Don’t ya think it’s him that needs to go easy on me?”

I pulled out the first-aid kit from my car and found what I needed. I passed Middy the needle and catgut to thread while I found some alcohol swabs. Middy worked and teased me back at the same time.

“Hey! I’m not the w-w-one who’s throwing fuckin’ punches before s-seven in the morning. You obviously aren’t that tired.”

I grimaced. “You know I’m real sorry ’bout that, don’t ya, Mid? I shouldn’t go out with my fists. I should’ve just picked up the wanker and thrown him down the chute.”

I leaned on my car and tried not to wince while he cleaned the cut. “Yeah. But he’s a big fucker. Next time, give me a yell, and we’ll do it together. If Danny’s around I’ll call on him to help.” He slipped the stitch in and covered it with waterproof gauze. I was going to be sweating today and with any luck it would hold. “Now, how is your head? Any blurring or d-dizziness or double-vision?”

“Nah. Bit of a headache. Where’s that ice? I can feel the fucker swelling.”

“Okay. I’ll have Mum bring you s-some Panadol. Do you need anything else?”

“I think I bit me tongue. Has she got iced drinks I can have?”

Big D was sitting in the corner at the far end of the shed, glaring daggers at me, and looking rather pale. He was holding ice to his jaw. The floor boss was flappin’ like a magpie because it was after starting time, while Denny somehow lucked out with the job of cleaning up vomit and blood. She threw buckets of water over it and swept the mess out the door, and I grabbed a towel and began drying the floor. My willingness to help clean up the mess motivated everyone else, and soon the shed was ready. The floor boss gave the signal for the others to start, but called me over to his side.

“You okay to shear, mate?”

“Yeah. I won’t be as fast as yesterday, but I’ll pull my weight.”

“Good. Now what the fuck do you think you were doing?” He was yelling in my face, and I gritted my teeth. This was Middy’s shed but the boss was in charge. I had made everyone late, and now I had to answer to him.

“Sorry, boss. He was calling Elliot a faggot, and I just couldn’t let him do that. Elliot’s not here to defend himself, and Big D has no right to mouth off.”

The boss’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Big D. “The wanker. He needs to learn to watch himself.” His gaze swung back to me, and I tensed. “But you don’t have the fucking right to be teaching him manners on my watch. Keep your fucking temper, Hank. Now go and fucking shear a sheep or something.”

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant day shearing. My hand hurt where I’d hit Big D, my face throbbed where he’d hit me, and my arse reminded me about the previous night every single time I bent over. And that’s a lot of fucking bending I had to do that day.

Little D worked the wool press and jammed the fleeces into bags before hauling them outside onto the truck. The number of bales was impressive. By lunchtime there were only two hundred sheep left. At 2:00 p.m. Rooster shut off his machine after doing the last sheep, and we all cheered. For the shearers it was pack-up time. The others still had to finish up.

The boss gave me my tally and told me he’d see me next time, Pete and Shawn shook my hand and told me they’d see me next week at Ted Munro’s place. Rooster waved and shouted that he would see me at the pub that night. The girls were still busy, but they waved and told me to say hello to Elliot. I profusely thanked Mrs. D, shouted to Little D, gave a thumbs-up to the boys, waved at Middy’s cousin, and carefully ignored Big D.

Middy came out to the car to say good-bye. “Thanks for the great j-job, as usual, mate. See you down the p-pub tonight?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He thumped my hood. “Bring Elliot.” He didn’t wait for a reply or refusal; he just waved and walked off.

Elliot was still at my place when I arrived home. He had his e-reader thingy out and papers spread over my kitchen table. The guy worked twelve-hour days, was at the clinic dealing with emergencies at least three times a week in the middle of the night, was on call every second weekend, and still read the latest medical journals and pharmacy reports in his spare time.