Indulging himself had made it worse. A lot worse. Where before he'd only had his imagination to go on, he now knew exactly how it felt to have those delicate hips in his hands. He knew how light Richard was when he lifted him down from the fence, and how it felt to have him flush against his chest. Having snuck up behind to tease him, he even knew what it felt like to have that pert little ass nestled snug against his crotch. Richard was a lot shorter, so he had to bend his knees, but by leaning over his back, he could hold him at the perfect angle to thoroughly plough that tight little hole. His cock hardened just thinking about it. It was hard to believe Richard had let him get away with that one. Did that mean something? Had he cottoned on to what he was doing? Was bending over like a good little bitch his way of flirting? He didn't push back or grind, but that could have been nerves or uncertainty.

Hank was now grabbing his cock on an almost nightly basis, shamelessly working his hips as he imagined all the ways he could make Richard squeal. Having watched him at every given opportunity, he now knew he was pretty flexible. Fuck, it would be nice to get him on his knees. Gripping his forearms from behind, he'd use them like reins as he fucked him, making him ride his cock like he rode those pretty horses. His ass would bounce so hard he'd fall face first into the mattress if not for the bruising grip on his wrists. He'd hold him just far enough away that his cock pulled out to the tip with each hard snap, every clap of flesh bringing forth a mewling plea for more.

Sometimes, he wondered if Richard did the same thing on these long nights. Were they both lying awake in their own beds thinking similar thoughts? Did their hands travel similar paths across their bodies as they imagined all the things they might do? Did Richard want to choke on his cock as badly as he wanted to force it down his throat? It was hard to tell when he seemed so put together in the mornings. Waking up early to see him leave his house was a common occurrence these days. He'd startle himself out of a dream of tangled limbs to grab his own cock and finish on the sheets before crossing to the window to get some air. The universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke on him, because it always seemed to coincide with Richard leaving the house.

It was like being a teenager again, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was one of those mid-life crises people always talked about. If he suffered one of those, he'd expected it to come in the form of an expensive new car, or maybe a fancy boat. At a push, he might have believed he'd fall for a sexy woman half his age and lose everything buying her expensive gifts, but this? Jerking himself off over a guy? Richard wasn't even that much younger. Barely ten years. He also wasn't that good looking. There was just something about that little fucker that got him going. He had a great figure from all that riding, and his lack of height added to the appeal. At first, he'd thought his face quite rat-like, but as time wore on he decided he was actually a lot more like a ferret. Cuter, with eyes that were more soft than beady.

Affected as he was, there was really no choice but to do something about it. He couldn't keep jerking off over his neighbour when he was right there. At fifty-four years old, Hank Anderson was more than mature enough to make a move. They were both adults. He'd ask the question, and Richard would give him a polite answer. It didn't have to make things weird or awkward. It'll be a lot more awkward if I spontaneously spring a boner on him. That had happened more than once at this point, but his overalls were mercifully thick, and Richard's attention was usually on the chickens or Connor. If he didn't get a hold of himself and do something about this soon, he'd have to rethink their regular meetings at the chicken coop.

They'd met almost every day for the past two weeks. It was a wonder Richard wasn't getting suspicious. Connor had certainly noticed the growing routine. Every day, at almost ten o'clock, sometimes eleven if he'd been busy on the track, Richard would turn up at the coop to feed his chickens. By then, Hank had completed his morning rounds and returned in just enough time to tidy up and have a cup of tea before heading across to meet him. Having noticed that chicken time now lined up with Richard time, Connor had taken to sitting at the window or out on the porch waiting for him to appear. Seeing the distant figure entering his pen, Connor would hop to his paws and bark, tail wagging excitedly as he padded in circles waiting for Hank to join him.

For the first few days, Richard had looked surprised when they turned up, but as it continued happening, it became routine. He wasn't even surprised when Connor bounded up to the fence anymore, though he still kept his distance, much to Connor's chagrin. There was nothing so cruel as a new friend kept out of reach. At first, Hank thought Richard might feel annoyed with these constant meetings, but he always greeted him with a smile and seemed genuinely interested in whatever he had to say. He'd talked him through the breeding process, egg gestation, how to improve the chances of the chicks surviving, which bedding was best, the different feed they could eat, things that should be avoided, and what to look out for as far as common ailments were concerned. Pretty much everything a first time chicken breeder could want to know.

Nines and Gavin certainly appreciated these increased visits. They didn't get to see each other every day, but whenever their libido dipped or they started to seem out of sorts, Richard would carry Nines over the fence and into Hank's old pen. Those were Hank's favourite days, because he got to lift him down as he climbed over. Richard was capable of climbing himself, but it seemed to be a silent agreement that Hank would help. Hank wasn't sure if he secretly enjoyed their closeness or if it was to ensure Nines' safety. Either way, he got to hold him in his arms, and if a hand ended up on his thigh or his ass in the process, it was definitely just an accident, and Richard never complained. It was on one such day, standing in his pen as Nines and Gavin frolicked, that the perfect opportunity arose to get Richard out of the house.

"You've never had a Sunday dinner at The Nag's Head?" Anticipation welled in the pit of Hank's stomach at the news. It was an almost weekly ritual for him, living alone and all, to drive down to the local pub for dinner on Sunday. He might indulge himself once or twice throughout the week as well, but Sunday was special. Sunday was roast day. Slowly roasted meat, crispy roast or mashed potatoes, a selection of fresh vegetables, and thick gravy with an array of other condiments. The landlady, Rose, put her heart into every plate. You couldn't beat her Sunday dinners.

"I've never been to The Nag's Head." Richard blinked at the shocked choking sound that came out of Hank's mouth. Never been to the...How? Richard didn't see what all the fuss was about. It was just the local pub. The town was small, more of a village really. Who'd even go in there? As he thought about it, Hank decided that maybe he shouldn't really be surprised. Richard had moved in alone and barely spoke to anyone, from what he'd seen. The only visitors at the house were business related, and those were rare. Allen picked up a few things for him when he came in the mornings, and anything else could be picked up discreetly at the local market.

"Well, that settles it! We're going to change that immediately." He wouldn't be a very good neighbour if he didn't take him to town and introduce him to the other locals. I'll have to be careful though...Fresh meat didn't come along very often, and those old fannies would definitely take a shine to Richard. How could they not? He'd be the youngest guy in town that wasn't pushed out of their own foo-foo or at school with their kids. A lot of them had husbands already, of course, but those who didn't would be a real pain in the ass.

"That isn't necessary. I'm sure you have better things to do than-" Was that a flush in his cheeks?

"Hogwash! You can't move into a small town like this and not introduce yourself to the locals! People will start thinking you're a hermit!" Richard tried not to look too called out by the term. Besides these little chats with Hank and his business partnership with Allen, he probably was a bit of a hermit. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been out with anyone to socialise. To be fair, until two years ago, I was too focused on riding to care. He'd trained hard and didn't really drink to keep his weight down. "You don't want to be labelled that strange Farmer Perkins now, do you?" When he put it like that, maybe it was a good idea to head out and meet people. But what if they thought he was strange anyway?

He'd never had much luck with people before, being considered too brash, too curt, too dull, or too much of a workaholic to be interesting. Around the stables, people tended to steer clear of him because he was a jockey; stereotypically rude, moody, and entitled. He was lucky when he met Allen. They shared an enthusiasm for horses that went beyond the race and could talk for hours. It was the first time he'd considered himself to have made a friend. A real friend. There were people he knew, of course. Those who'd shared his classes at school and those who'd competed with him over the years, but that was different to having a friend. He sort of wished Allen was there to go with him to the village. People always liked Allen, so he knew he could hover quietly in the background while he took the spotlight and everything would go perfectly. Unfortunately, Allen wasn't there.

"So, I'll pick you up tonight at five-thirty and we'll drive down to the pub." Everything was moving too fast, but Richard nodded before he could even think to change his mind. It was strange, but as Hank gave him that warm, encouraging smile, everything seemed much calmer. He wasn't going into town alone. Hank would be there. He'd known these people for years, so surely if Hank introduced him, they'd think nothing of it. Maybe things would go smoothly after all. "Attaboy." The low grumble sent an unexpected shiver down Richard's spine, all the way to his twitching cock. He couldn't help tugging his loose top a little lower at the sensation, quietly hoping those soft blue eyes wouldn't notice.

They parted soon after that. Richard to his house and Hank to see to his own chickens. Hank almost whooped as he went. It wasn't exactly a date; he hadn't asked him in the right tone for that, but it was still dinner. That mean something, right? If Richard didn't want to spend more time with him, or found his company distasteful, he would have refused outright and made his excuses. That he'd agreed to dinner was promising. If he made it good, maybe he'd agree to it more often. If he got relaxed enough, maybe with a drink or two, perhaps something more might happen. It was almost concerning how willing his cock was to get the younger man drunk and have his way with him. Hank sighed fondly as he grabbed his feed bucket and entered his own coop. As if he'd do that!

Just because he wouldn't, didn't mean he couldn't think about it. Richard was probably a sight when he was drunk. He couldn't imagine him otherwise. Being so prim and proper while sober, it was hard to believe he could be anything else, but it wasn't unheard of. The quietest people were often the most wild when they cut loose. Fuck, what could that mean for the bedroom? He could imagine it right now, those arms gripping his shoulders, shirt barely pushed to his elbows as he squirmed and bucked against him. Hazy brown eyes would stare up all needy and unfocused, a healthy flush lighting his cheeks as he gave him a coy look. He'd enjoy finally getting to stroke the soft hair on his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath as Richard squirmed, feeble hands covering himself as Hank finally got his pants free.

That shyness wouldn't last long, quickly erased with alcohol and teasing kisses. He might let him keep the shirt about his shoulders. He liked the way it looked as he turned to present his ass; how it hung across his back and left his shoulders and ass bare as he rested his hands on the bedframe and looked over his shoulder. It was a coy come-hither look. Hank would crawl onto the bed behind him to rub gentle circles on his ass before opening him up for the fucking he deserved. Those pretty little hands would grip the metal frame good and tight, knees planted firmly in the sheets as Hank pushed in and rutted for all he was worth. Richard would keen so loudly he was sure Nines and Gavin would be put to shame with their pitiful morning crows.

Feeling those needy lips on his would be something else. Richard would push up against his body, brown eyes soft and needy as he panted his name in a desperate plea. Nimble fingers would fist in his hair, and Hank would allow it as Richard pulled him down to mash their lips together. Hank would smirk and take over, softening the kiss and licking along his bottom lip until he opened up for him. He'd pull him down then, hold those little hips nice and snug as their tongues danced, working his cock just enough to make him squirm. Fuck, if he got the grind just right, he could hold him there until he spilled. His cock was big enough to hit all the right spots, especially in someone as small as Richard.

Stooping to get inside the coop and check on the hens was painful with his cock stiff in his overalls. He cursed quietly, tempted to whack one out right there, but that would be weird with all the chickens watching. He did, however, readjust himself enough to finish his work in peace. With that done, he headed back to the house to take care of the problem properly and get ready for the date.