Richard worked his hips and gripped the saddle with his knees, feet snug in the stirrups as he leaned forward. His ass barely touched the seat as he rode, keeping his arms loose enough not to be pulled by the mare as her head ducked. She was a pretty good runner, as expected. She came from a long line of racehorses, and with a little more training, she might join them. He grinned at the thought, shouting an encouragement over the wind in his face as they tore around the track. Riding was exhilarating. There really was nothing quite like it. The snort of the horse, pounding hooves on dry earth, his own huffing breaths, the wind in his ears, slapping leather, and the clink of the reins.

Years of riding had given him the perfect poise, letting him bounce and rock in time with the mare's galloping steps without being jostled out of the saddle. His thighs and calves would probably ache later where he was keeping himself balanced, knees barely hugging the leather. The mare's head ducked as she galloped, glossy black mane billowing in the wind, chestnut coat damp with sweat from the workout, muscles quivering with each pounding step. Richard could feel sweat coating his own skin, both across his shoulders and on his brow where his helmet sat.

He hunkered lower, riding for all he was worth as they rounded the bend onto the home strip. His business partner was waiting with a stopwatch in hand, ready to capture the time and see if she made the cut. Richard urged her on, shouting over the wind and jostling the reins in encouragement, heart soaring as they flew down the country track. It was hard to believe it had taken him this long to get his own stables. Nothing was more freeing that being able to ride whenever he wanted and rearing horses every day. It was a change from racing, but he couldn't keep that up forever. Better to retire at the top of his game than lapse into obscurity or risk permanent injury.

The moment they crossed the line, Richard eased the reins and gave a light tug. The mare kept galloping for a good ten feet before she slowed, gradually snorting and raising her head as she followed Richard's guiding tug to turn about. Back at the line, his friend was grinning. That seemed like a good sign, and Richard was eager to know the numbers as he had the mare trot over. Excited grey eyes looked up at him, turning the watch so he could see. Richard let out a whooping laugh, punching the air and patting the mare's sodden neck. Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds. It was her best time yet, and they'd broken the three-minute barrier.

"In a few weeks, we might shave off another ten seconds, right Allen?" Richard said as he looked down at the panting mare. Despite the race, she seemed in good spirits. Tired, but happy as her ears twitched back and forth. She had plenty of time to improve. Being barely a year and seven months, she wouldn't be ready to start her career for at least another five months. By the time she was ready, they'd have a fleet of buyers lined up to see her. Her muscle mass was gradually increasing with her usual daily training regime, so it was entirely likely she'd be able to shave off a few more seconds before reaching her limit.

"With the rate she's growing, she might shave off even more!" He wasn't about to argue with Allen. He'd known him for years, and there was no one he'd rather partner with in this venture. Allen was an excellent businessman with a nose for the right horses while Richard knew what those horses needed to flourish and how to train and ride them. They made quite a team. Before retirement, Allen had worked for the stables where Richard's horse lived, though it really wasn't his horse. He'd ridden him every day for almost five years, but the stable owned the actual horse. It was a little sad, but he still wondered how he was doing from time to time. He must have retired by now, and was probably living out his last few viable years as a breeder before being handed off as a retired pet somewhere.

"I'll take your word on that, but ten seconds would be plenty! More than enough to give her a good standing." Allen nodded his agreement as he took the leading rein and held the mare steady as Richard hopped down. It was only once he was on the ground that the difference between them could be appreciated. Allen was a good five inches taller, and almost twice as wide from all the time he spent lugging bales and sacks around the stables and shovelling hay. Though Richard wasn't shy about getting his hands dirty and did a lot of the grooming, it was actually better for their partnership that he didn't do the heavy lifting. The smaller and lighter he remained, the easier he was to carry around the track.

"I'll give her a good feed and let her loose in the field," Allen said as he patted her neck. The mare scraped her hoof and ducked her head enthusiastically as if she understood. Perhaps she did. Either that, or she was relieved to get the weight off her back. Richard wasn't heavy, but she'd certainly feel much lighter once they got her saddle off. "Are you up to another test run?" There were more horses waiting, but Richard's health also needed to be considered. He was retired now, and doing too many runs would probably strain his joints. He was only in his early forties, but those issues would gradually get worse once they started cropping up.

"Maybe in an hour or so." That would give Allen time to get the mare fed and watered while giving him enough time to walk off that last run. His legs were a little shaky, muscles twitching from overuse, and probably hunger as well, since he hadn't eaten breakfast yet. It was still early, barely past eight thirty. He always woke up at around four and started the day with a cup of tea before heading out to walk the fields. There was always an eerie stillness at that time of the morning, too early for Nines to be up crowing yet, and even Hank's windows were dark. Not that he looked. Luckily, the darkness of his windows also meant that his infernal mutt was locked away, too.

Richard's fields were empty, so with the barest hint of grey peering over the horizon, he grabbed the barrow and a shovel, and started the monotonous task of clearing the fields. The manure wouldn't go to waste. They had a whole heap of it to sell off to local farmers who needed it for crops, though many had their own animals to help there. With his acreage, Richard had considered growing a crop of some sort himself, but he was far better with animals than plants. As business and their reputation improved, they'd probably need that extra space for more horses anyway.

It barely took him an hour to fill the barrow, and then he was off to the stables to rouse the horses. By the time Allen arrived at seven, the horses were usually up, brushed, and out to pasture. That morning, they'd already agreed to do a few test runs. The mare was tacked up, led out to the track, and the warmup began. It was no good to just jump in at full speed. Like humans, horses needed to be worked up to a hefty workout. Richard had ridden a few light laps first, just walking and trotting before working up to a canter. The way that mare picked her hooves up was like a dream. She was built for racing. Not all of his horses were. There were a fair few jumpers in his ranks.

Richard let Allen head off to the stables while he headed to the farmhouse. By the time he got there, Nines' morning caws were already finished. Before he got his own breakfast, it was only fair the chickens had theirs. He kept their feed stored in a hardy plastic container in the garage, something strong enough to deter most rodents. Filling a small bucket with grain, he headed out to his coop, and was summarily greeted by a chorus of enthusiastic clucks. The hens were hungry, having been busy with Nines for the past few days. That little tryst with Gavin was just the trick to kick-start mating season, it seemed. He'd checked and already found a whole clutch of fertilised eggs.

"Morning ladies!" Richard greeted, enjoying the flurry of black feathers around his feet as he stumbled his way towards the wooden trough. To give himself a little space, he threw some seed across the dried earth, giving the hens something else to peck at for a while. Once he'd filled the grain trough, he looked around for Nines, troubled to find him sulking by the mesh fence again. "Really? What's gotten into you, hm?" he asked as he wandered over and rested his hands on his hips, following Nines' ducking head to see Hank's distant coop across the yard. He didn't know all the chickens by name, but Gavin, the rooster, was clearly visible as he flapped at the fence.

Seeing Gavin hopping and flapping, Nines batted his wings and jumped at the mesh as well, though Richard couldn't say if it was aggression or lust at this point. After seeing their scuffle at the end of their last visit, he wasn't even sure it was a good idea to put them back together. He didn't want to risk Nines getting injured. I don't want to get injured either! That cut was a nasty reminder, though the skin had knitted back together within the first day and he didn't need a wrapped bandage anymore. The skin was currently covered by a long plaster to keep it clean, but he didn't wear one around the house and it no longer hurt.

"Here, don't let yourself get hungry at least," Richard grumbled as he grabbed a handful of seed from the trough and returned to set it at Nines' feet. Unfortunately, Nines wasn't in the eating mood, though he at least didn't peck at him this time. Maybe that was progress. He left the coop with a sigh, spying Hank across the yard as he headed off somewhere with that infernal mutt. Their course seemed to change as they saw him. With a loud whistle, Richard watched with a mixture of horror and apprehension as the large dog careened towards the fence. The sight of him leaping made him stumble backwards, bucket flying as he fell on his ass.

"Connor! Down, boy!" Connor was utterly unapologetic as he stood on his hind legs, tail wagging as he looked over the fence. Richard got up with a glare as Hank appeared and set a hand on Connor's head, pushing him down. Connor went with a playful bark, making Richard visibly flinch as he pushed to his feet and brushed off his riding pants. They were skintight, much like the quilted green top he wore. The morning was still cool, even though it was getting hotter. For the next run, he might leave the jacket and just wear a thin top instead. "Sorry about that. How's the hand?" Hank asked as he folded his arms and leaned on the wooden fence. He was in his usual denim overalls with a green chequered shirt that day, clearly just heading out to check on his animals.

"Oh, it's alright." A foreign flutter filled his stomach at the memory of Hank's touch and gruff voice. He could almost feel his skin prickling again. "And you? How are the chickens?" It was only polite to make a little conversation. They hadn't talked over the past few days, missing each other at feeding time and generally being busy with their own work. From Hank's expression, he could only guess they shared a similar story. He looked pleased, but also a little perplexed.

"Everything seemed to be going well, but since yesterday, Gavin's been a little depressed." Richard almost scoffed. A depressed chicken? Ridiculous! Despite that, he couldn't help his chestnut gaze straying to Nines' forlorn looking form. He was still in the same spot, scraping the earth and hooting miserably. "Seems you're having a similar issue." Richard gave a non-committal shrug as he grabbed his bucket. He really did need to get breakfast before heading out again, and Allen would expect him back soon.

"It's not all bad. I've got a few fertilised eggs, at least." It was something, though not what he'd hoped for. Hank perked up a little at that.

"Well, if he has another little tryst with Gavin, you might get a few more." Richard huffed at the thought. Although that was probably true, he didn't have time to drop everything for these little playdates whenever Nines got frisky! He had a serious business to run. If he was going to be this much trouble, maybe he should sell him. Who'd buy a rooster that won't mate though? Probably easier to turn him into Sunday dinner.

"I've got better things to do than go chicken chasing every two days!"

"Scared of getting pecked again, hm?" Richard glared at the insinuation, which only made Hank laugh more. "If it's too much of a bother, I can wrangle him myself, if you're alright with it?" Despite his chagrin, Richard knew a good deal when he heard one. Hank could do the hard work, Nines would get his end away, and he'd get his chicks. Everyone was happy, and he didn't have to fork over even more money for a second rooster. He wasn't about to let Hank know he was doing him a favour though.

"Fine! Do what you want! Just don't disturb the hens too much." They had important work to do, warming those eggs. With that agreed, Richard returned the bucket to the garage and headed into the house for breakfast. By the time he was in the kitchen, boots left neatly by the back door, Hank was a small figure in the distance, already heading across the first field towards the crowd of fluffy white dots. It was curious how he drew his attention these days. Before he got the chickens, he wasn't sure he'd ever noticed him. He'd been busy setting up the track and buying in the first few horses, always starting early and being back in the house by mid-afternoon. A few weeks ago, he'd also had a lot to do as far as moving in and paperwork were concerned.

Startup had been slow and stressful, leaving him little time for frivolities like greeting neighbours. It was expensive, buying in all the things he needed and negotiating deals. He needed the lineage papers for his horses, vet and farrier visits, registrations and papers for any foals, and that wasn't including stocking the stables and training grounds. There was also feed to buy and store, along with hay for bedding. There was a large barn near the stables that was perfect for storage, complete with a colony of stray cats that kept the mice away. Luckily, Allen had managed to find a local supplier with some top quality feed.

It was while talking to the feed supplier that he'd come up with the idea of breeding some chickens as a side project. Just a small one. He had ten hens and one rooster, hardly a battery farm. That wasn't something he was interested in anyway. He wanted to make money, sure, but seeing the chickens out in the coop and hearing their happy clucks was sort of homely. Keeping them locked up in a barn, not counting the colder winter months, would be cruel. Despite his occasionally brash attitude and tireless work ethic, he wasn't cruel.

Setting up the chicken coop was actually the first time he saw Hank. The older man had laughed, watching him puzzle over the instructions and tentatively hammer and wire everything together. Despite his mirth, he'd at least shared some advice about how to fox-proof the pen to stop predators getting under the mesh. It wasn't guaranteed to work, and he needed to check periodically, but it had kept the pen secure so far. Much as he hated to admit it, Hank's mangy mutts also helped in that regard. The scent of three large dogs was quite the deterrent for lone foxes.

He hadn't expected to feel excited about getting chickens, but actually seeing them had lifted his spirits and made it all seem worthwhile. They truly were a curiosity. He'd seen chickens before, but not like these. It wasn't just their feathers that were black, but their skin and organs as well. Nines, in particular, was quite striking. There was an almost oil slick quality to his feathers, giving them a greenish-blue tint in the light. He'd half expected their eggs to be black, but they weren't. They were a creamy, almost pink colour.

The chickens had arrived a few short months ago, just in time for mating season. There wasn't necessarily a season for chickens, but like most animals, spring was the most popular time for breeding. Since he'd never bred chickens before, it had taken him a while to notice Nines' utter lack of interest in the hens. That had been troubling and, like Hank, he'd taken his rooster to the vet to get an answer. Luckily for him, the local vet, Luther, was experienced at working with farm animals. On his first visit, he'd suggested some vitamin supplements to perk him up a bit, but by his second visit, he was convinced it was somehow linked to Hank's coop.

That was some weird shit to get pally with your neighbour about. Most people met their neighbours when moving in, or borrowing a cup of sugar, or during a housewarming party. Considering their careers, he might have believed they could have met for trade or animal breeding purposes, but gay chickens? It was unbelievable! They'd exchanged names and said a few polite greetings prior to the rooster issue, but the first real conversation they'd ever had was when Hank came over to talk about the play dates.

What happened after that still lingered in the back of his mind. His gruff laughter as he watched him fumble around after Nines. How his voice sounded when he shouted advice. The strength of his grip as he steadied his arm while he climbed over the fence. The concern in his gentle blue eyes when he noticed the bleeding gash on his hand. How big and rough his hands were as they gripped his wrist and explored his torn skin. His attention to detail as he examined the wound and the firmness of his touch as he clean it. Even the way he wrapped the bandage was noteworthy, pulling it snug and tight before taping it in place. The clucking of chickens brought him back to the present, and he shook the feeling off as he filled the kettle. It was a ridiculous thing to get worked up over. Allen was waiting, so he set about getting a light breakfast before returning to the stables.