"I still can't believe you've never visited the pub!" Richard almost felt like he was being told off as Hank drove down the dirt road leading off his property. Hank had to fetch his truck and bring it to Richard's yard to get him to climb in. Since the weather was nice, he'd left Connor and Sumo loose in his yard, and Richard wouldn't set foot in it, especially not in his favourite suit. Connor, staring through the fence, had looked less than pleased. It really was incredibly unfair that his new friend was always kept beyond his reach. Sumo, also enjoying the early evening air, seemed to agree as he joined him at the fence, panting happily as he watched the two men driving away.

"I guess I'm not the type to drink alone," Richard excused with a shrug as he watched the budding fields roll by. Wheat and various other crops were growing in now, standing in neat rows of churned earth. Beyond the fields were a few houses, marking the edge of the small village. The pub stood on the outskirts on its own patch of land. It was a large stone building that looked like it had been standing for at least two hundred years, if not longer. There was a more modern parking lot out front where Hank parked, lined with a few wooden benches where people could sit and enjoy the sun or smoke cigarettes.

"That's probably a good way to be." Hank had cut back a lot on drinking at home since his wife passed. She'd always complained he drank too much, and for the first few weeks after the accident, he thought he might just drink himself into a pit, but then he'd stopped. The thought of it had churned his stomach, the taste bitter on his tongue. He didn't get the same enjoyment without his wife's gentle nagging, and there was no one to keep him company. Since then, he'd decided to only drink when he went to the pub or if he had company. He visited the pub two or three times a week and often warmed a stool at the bar talking to Rose and anyone else who stopped in.

Upon entering the cosy pub, Rose hollered a greeting from her usual place behind the bar and bustled out to greet them. She usually waited for him to get to the bar, but it seemed the unfamiliar face had caught her interest. Richard put on a polite business facade as they shook hands, surprised by how strong her grip was. Hank and Rose were clearly good friends as they hugged and exchanged brief kisses on their cheeks. There were many ways one might describe Rose, but Hank would describe her as a portly woman with a lifetime of cooking on her hips. That woman didn't make food; she made love to it. He'd never met a woman who could cook like Rose, not even his late wife, though he'd never told her that.

Rose didn't even need to ask if they wanted to order food. Hank was a regular for Sunday dinner, so she knew that's what they'd want. Telling them that the meat was chicken that week, she ushered them to a cosy corner table and offered to bring them drinks. Hank ordered his usual pint of bitter while Richard had red wine. Conversation was a little stilted at first. Richard couldn't help feeling awkward, being in an unfamiliar place, and Hank wasn't sure what to say. Their backgrounds were very different. He could tell just by looking at him that Richard had grown up with a certain amount of privilege, and he'd turned into a minor celebrity. Hank, on the other hand, had lived on the farm all his life. It was his great-great-grandfather's farm. They'd renovated the house a few times over the years, but that was the house he'd grown up in, and his father before him.

"So...why racing?" It seemed best to start on a topic that might bring Richard out of his shell. He always enjoyed talking about horses, so it stood to reason this would be no different. He was right. The moment he asked, Richard's dark eyes lit up, and he leaned forward on folded arms. If there was one thing he could talk about, it was horses.

"I started riding when I was in high school." Hank almost snorted. That sounded about right. He seemed the type that went to a fancy rich-boy school. Luckily, Richard didn't take the snort to heart. "There was a polo club that had games every weekend." Even better! Hank had never seen a game of polo, but he got the idea. Two teams riding on horseback used giant wooden mallets to whack a ball through metal loops in the grass. He wasn't too sure on the point system or if there were goals, but he got that it was a rich-boy sport involving horses. "I did that for a while, but I was a lot more interested in exercising the horses and helping around the stables. During my last two years, I started racing competitively and never looked back. I got picked up by a sponsor soon after graduation." Hank wasn't surprised by that. Even in his forties, Richard was small and nimble, and he rode like he was born for it. In his heyday, he must have been quite a sight.

"Have you ever done anything else?" If he started racing right out of high school, it didn't seem likely.

"Well, I had summer jobs at the local supermarket during university. I did equine studies, so I'd know how to take care of the horses properly. Although I had to train on the track, I had ample time for my studies as well. You can't run the horses all day, and the best times are early morning and late afternoon to avoid the heat." It made sense that if he'd done all his training before sunrise or in the early evening, then he would have been able to study as well. The working side surprised him though. He couldn't see Richard as the shelf filling type, and the thought of him trying to hike items onto the higher shelves was more than a little amusing. "What about you?"

"Me? Lived here all my life...Well, besides when I was studying animal science to take on the farm. I had to go into the city for that, but I came straight home after. My dad was getting on by then, so it fell to me to take care of things." He had no siblings, so it was always expected that he'd carry on the family business. He'd been set to pass it on to his own son before the accident. Unfortunately, the farm would likely end with him and be sold off when he reached retirement. Hell, with the way things are going, no one will want to buy it by the time I retire! It wasn't the most glamourous or well-paying of jobs.

"Did you ever want to do anything else?" Hank shrugged his large shoulders. What else would he do? His parents had never been well off. They'd made it through the year alright, and he never went hungry or anything like that, but they couldn't afford for him to go off and do any fancy studies out of state. Even as a teen, he was needed on the farm, and family was important. How could he leave when his parents needed him?

"Sure, I had fantasies about being a pilot when I was younger, or joining the military, but I was never serious about anything else...My parents needed me on the farm, and I enjoy keeping the animals." It was a simple life; sometimes hard, but things were good. Obviously, the profits had dipped for small farms like his over the years, what with all the commercial produce available at lower prices, but the locals still bought from him. That would probably see him through to retirement. If nothing else, the house and land would fetch a pretty penny when the time came. He owned quite a lot, and the land was good for building, though he hated to encourage more modernisation, especially in a sleepy town like theirs.

More locals filtered in over time, and Richard grew more and more uncomfortable under their scrutiny. He could feel them looking at him as they huddled around the bar or at nearby tables, and he swore he could hear them talking. Mercifully, they left them alone while they ate, and as Hank assured him, it was a meal worth waiting for. Succulent white meat, a generous dollop of stuffing, fresh greens straight from the farm, honey glazed carrots and parsnips, fluffy mashed potato, a few crispy roast potatoes, and a healthy slosh of thick gravy. Richard added cranberry sauce to his plate while Hank chose French mustard. Hank was a little surprised. He didn't think Richard was the sweet type.

When the main meal was done, Rose brought out a generous helping of apple pie. It was warm, freshly baked, with a large scoop of ice cream on the side. During the colder weather, she might have used warm custard, but with things heating up, ice cream seemed the better choice. The sound that fled Richard's throat when he tried it had Hank's cock twitching with interest. His brown eyes were soft with want as he stared at the bowl like it was the most delicious dessert he'd ever tasted. Maybe it was. You didn't stay that small and light by indulging your vices. The pastry was glazed and sweet, crisp, with real chunks of stewed apple inside. It might have been heavy if not for the scoop of ice cream to lift the dish. It was sweet and tart. Heavenly. He could have eaten a second helping, but politely declined. It wouldn't do to indulge too much. Hank had no such reservations and heartily enjoyed a second bowl before ordering two strong whiskies to finish the meal.

It was at this point, when the table was cleared and they were leisurely nursing their glasses, that the more curious locals edged closer hoping for an introduction. Hank noticed, of course, and obligingly introduced Richard as his new neighbour. He could tell Richard was uncomfortable being on the spot, especially as the local women arrived at their table. These women were closer to his age than Richard's, and mostly older. They flirted as he knew they would, and Richard was stiff and uncomfortable, even more so since he'd been drinking.

"Ah, get on now, Edith! He's young enough to be your son!" He wasn't at all, but the jibe was worth it as the grey-haired woman turned to him with a look of indignation etched into her crow-like features. Richard was a little worried at first. Edith, clearly older than Hank, seemed truly offended that Hank would say such a thing. Hank was unapologetic as he grinned, accepting the light swat that landed on his arm with a loud guffaw.

"Henry-Hank Anderson! How dare you say such a thing about a fine young lady!" Even Edith's friends chortled at that, which led to them getting an earful as well. Despite her sharp tongue, Edith maintained a good humour and even flirted with Hank. Richard watched carefully as Hank evaded such advances. He rather lamented the fact that it was a skill he lacked, ending up with a body in his lap more than once throughout the evening. Luckily, Rose noted his discomfort and took pity on him, hurrying the ladies away to give them some peace.

The men were a little easier to talk to, all of them being much older and in no way interested in flirtations. They were happy to talk about his plans for the old farm, though a few were slightly disapproving of it being used for something as unproductive as racing. Better that it go to Richard than be turned into houses though. It seemed they eventually decided he was worthy of the place and were particularly interested in his chickens. Although he already had a mountain of advice from Hank, the locals were generous with their own sage words. Many even suggested they might be interested in eggs or meat, and some could offer him discounts on hay and feed for the horses. Overall, it was a surprisingly productive evening.

The local men were also generous with their drinks, which was a good thing for Hank, but not so much for Richard with his far smaller constitution. It was barely ten o'clock when Hank, still quite unaffected, noticed him flagging. Richard didn't have a high social tolerance at the best of times, but adding alcohol on top had wiped him out somewhat. Hank chuckled and looped an arm around his smaller shoulders, unsurprised as most of his weight ended up on his side. It would be rude, but not inaccurate, to call him a lightweight. Hank politely made their excuses and grabbed Richard's jacket before leading him out.

"You can't drive back...You've been drinking," Richard chided, his voice slurring slightly as Hank walked him over to his battered old truck. He stumbled a little as he walked, and it would be a lie to say Hank could walk in a straight line either. Leaning Richard on the side of the truck, Hank opened the cabin and leaned in to grab his keys. There was never a need to lock things up, but if he was leaving the truck overnight, he always did. He needed the keys to get in the house anyway.

"I know-I know. Let me grab my keys." Keys in hand, Hank tossed Richard's fine jacket on the front seat and locked the door before leading him onto the main road. They weren't too far from the farm, barely a forty minute walk at a normal pace. It would probably take longer with their stumbling steps, but they could make the journey shorter if they cut through the fields. "Come on, Richie. Let's get you home." Richard's head snapped up to look at him. No one called him Richie. No one except Allen. Did that mean they were friends now? Giddiness fluttered in his chest, making his neck flush right to his ears.

"Are you taking me all the way?" It slipped out before he could catch himself. He wasn't sure if Hank missed the flirtatious undertone or ignored it as they kept walking.

"What? You think I'm going to leave you halfway?" he chuckled as they passed the last few houses beyond the pub. God, I hope not...Leaving the pavement behind, the path became uneven. They were on the smaller dirt roads now, heading out to the farmland beyond. It was easy to stumble, even when sober, so it was really no surprise when Richard fell into him. Hank's arm around his shoulders kept him upright, and they continued tripping their way along the trail. "Fuck, you're going to end ass up at this rate! Let's get into the fields." The ground would be more uneven, but they'd get back faster that way. The words went straight to Richard's dick as they stopped by the fence. Ending ass up seemed like a pretty good idea.

Hank went first, choosing a spot where the wooden fence looked less worn. It was only three slats high, so it was easy for him to climb over. It wasn't one of his fields, but they all backed onto each other, and so long as they didn't wreck the crops, they were all fine with other locals passing through. Being so far from the city, they rarely got hoodlums looking to cause trouble or ignorant hikers going offtrack. Richard was next, and it seemed much more difficult than usual. Hank kept his hands on him at all times, which was fine by Richard, who almost flung himself off the other side. Hank caught him bodily against his chest, accepting the arms around his neck as he lowered him to the ground.

"Easy does it." Hank helped him find his feet, chuckling as he remained against his chest, clinging to his shoulders. "Clingy little ferret." The words sounded more affectionate than they ought, and Richard looked positively scandalised as a large hand stroked his head. A ferret? He loved ferrets! Did that mean it was a good thing? It certainly seemed that way if the warmth in Hank's aged eyes was anything to go by. Taking advantage of their closeness, Richard buried his face in Hank's chest and noted a musky scent. It was earthier than his own, without the fruity spice. Hank's arms looped around his waist and a large hand patted his shoulder blades. "Come on, it's only about thirty minutes."

"Carry me." Richard's dark eyes were hazy and unfocused as he looked up, but there was more than a little heat swirling in their depths.

"What are you? A prince?" Despite the teasing, Hank reconciled that it would probably be a lot safer and faster with Richard on his back. Turning away, he dropped to one knee and looked over his shoulder expectantly. Richard seemed positively giddy with excitement. He hadn't been carried like this in years! Hank huffed as the weight landed on his back and those lean arms looped across his chest, being careful not to grab his neck. When he was sure he had a grip, Hank stood, catching his legs beneath his knees and hefting him higher. "Come on then, your highness." Hank felt his own skin heat as Richard giggled in his ear, an unexpected and delightful sound that sent warmth coiling through his chest. "You like that, huh?" Richard's head falling on his shoulder was almost all the answer he needed as his arms tightened.

Hank set off across the fields, keeping to the outer edges and only following the clearly trodden paths. Richard was light as a feather, head still resting on his shoulder as his breath warmed his neck with gentle puffs. He almost thought he was asleep until he felt the fleeting brush of lips at his collar. Assuming it was an accident, Hank Jostled him a little higher and continued on his way, but he was surprised as those soft lips returned. It seemed like an accident at first, the result of a sleepy head nodding on his shoulder, but then creeping fingers popped the top button of his shirt. Hank licked his lips, chest fluttering in anticipation as he kept going, quietly wondering how far Richard would go.

That question was soon answered as hesitant fingers slipped inside his shirt to tease the fuzzy curls on his chest. It seemed fairly innocent so far, so Hank wasn't about to count his chickens just yet, but when the legs on his waist tightened and he felt that telling lump against his back, it became impossible to ignore. Richard seemed bolder when he didn't object, lips pressing more firmly as his hand slipped lower, fingers teasing through his curls. As his hips started to grind, Hank took his wrist and stopped.

"Don't start something you can't finish, boy." Richard balked at that, clearly embarrassed at being called out, though his ministrations were hardly subtle. Hank barely took five more steps before the lips returned and the fingers resumed their less than innocent explorations. Hank's cock stirred at the thought. He'd given him fair warning, and he'd chosen to continue. Seemed like the go ahead to him. The thought of what he'd do to the cock grinding against his back was almost enough to make him fully hard as he trudged his way across the fields.