Richard sat up with a quiet grumble and rubbed his tired eyes. It was still dark, and he knew without looking that it was the usual time he went to clear the fields and see to the horses. His body was pretty much on a set clock. Besides that morning he woke up feeling hungover, he always got up at around four. Usually an alarm would go off to confirm the time, but as he looked at the clock on his bedside, it was dark. That made sense, what with the storm causing a power outage. It also confirmed the power was still off. Power or not, the horses wouldn't feed themselves. With that in mind, he threw off the covers, careless of his nakedness as he swung his legs off the bed to get up.

"And where do you think you going?" His feet didn't even touch the floor before he was falling back against a soft fuzzy chest with brawny arms locked around his waist. Rough whiskers rubbed up and down his shoulder, lips pressing gentle kisses across the skin. Richard hummed and quivered, closing his tired eyes and tilting his head for more. Hank obliged the silent request, prickling his neck and sending tingles across the pale skin.

"To feed the horses." Richard bit his lip, a needy whine trapped in his throat as Hank's body pressed in behind. Just as Richard was used to waking up to see to the horses, Hank was used to waking at this time sporting a boner. That morning was no different, and Hank had no qualms about letting Richard feel it as he nestled his pert ass against his pelvis. It was a wonder his body could keep it up, considering the night before. "I-I always get up at this time." Hank didn't voice his agreement. There was no need to let Richard know how often he'd watched him leave the house and stride across the yard in the early hours.

"Are you crazy? It's pouring rain out there!" Richard followed Hank's gaze as he nodded towards the window and saw that he was right. Although the thunder and lightning had moved on in the night, the rain remained. "You'll catch a death out there..." His tone was soft, almost coaxing him into compliance as he stroked his abs and pecs, lingering to rub and tease his nipples along the way. Richard squirmed, feeling pliant and relaxed in Hank's wandering hands. His body was warm against his back, their skin sticking slightly in the heat from the duvet.

"I-I guess it could wait." Hank was right about the rain, and it's not like the horses would be going out in the fields that day. It would be too boggy for a day or two, but he'd still walk them around the yard to give them a little exercise, weather dependant. They also wouldn't starve if he left it a little longer. He'd left plenty of hay for them, knowing the storm might slow things down a little. The chickens were also safely stowed in the barn, and they weren't usually fed until almost ten thirty most days. "The rain might ease off in a little while." A rumble of agreement purred against his ear and a hand slid down to caress his thigh all the way to the knee.

"Attaboy." Richard trembled at the gentle praise, gasping as his leg was lifted and a thick thigh slipped beneath to hold him open. It didn't take much to get his cock twitching. He was surprised either of them had the energy after last night, and he doubted he'd be able to stretch around Hank's cock again so soon. He considered saying as much as Hank's wandering hand slipped between them to stroke along his perineum and cup his balls, rolling gently and making him squirm. "How are you feeling?" It was like Hank read his mind as he stroked further back to run a fingertip over his tender ring. It wasn't exactly sore, but it was a little uncomfortable. "Painful?"

"N-not really." That didn't mean it felt good though. Luckily, Hank was perceptive and noted the way his body stiffened and heard the small hiss that slipped between his teeth. The hand returned to his balls, rolling and caressing before reaching higher to palm and tease his twitching cock. He wasn't hard yet, but the interest was clearly there.

"You need to talk more," Hank teased as he kissed his way up and down his neck to nip his lobe. "If you don't tell me, then I won't know if I'm hurting you." Richard nodded, slightly apprehensive as he felt Hank's girth prod his ass. A hum rumbled in his ear, but he made no effort to line himself up. He seemed content stroking and teasing him for now. Richard nestled closer, quietly enjoying the feel of Hank's larger body grinding and rocking along his back. Turning his face, he moaned softly, enjoying Hank's whiskers on his lips as they kissed and lacing a hand in his thick hair to pull him closer. "Do you mind getting a little messy?" Richard shook his head, curious as Hank blindly reached over to the small side table.

His hand returned, holding a tube of gel. The same gel he'd used to slick his ass the night before. Still propping his thighs open, Hank used one hand to squeeze out some gel and reached between them to coat his inner thighs. It was a little cold at first, making him twitch and squirm, especially as those fingers returned to tease his perineum. A chuckle rumbled in his ear, whiskers tickling his neck as Hank nipped his shoulder and encouraged him to rock against his slick fingers. Richard wasn't sure why he'd been slicked at first, not until Hank's cock nudged along his ass and nestled itself between his thighs.

"Keep those pretty thighs together, Richie." Hank lowered his thigh and Richard did as he was told, not quite clenching as Hank grunted and pulled him snug against his pelvis. It was a little weird, having Hank's cock snug between his thighs and feeling it rubbing back and forth with a slick glide. It dragged along, barely brushing his perineum each time, the tip gently nudging his balls. Hank grunted softly, spooning and rocking against him to take his fill. It didn't take long for a weathered hand to find his cock, thumb swirling and pressing the tip as if milking him.

Richard whined softly, unsure what to do from this position. He didn't want to risk moving in the wrong direction and making Hank's cock slip free, and lying on his side made it hard to rock his hips. Playing it safe, he tried to keep his body firm, holding his thighs together and keeping his ass ripe for Hank's pelvis to clap against. He wasn't sure if Hank approved, but he certainly heard no complaints as the older man panted and moaned in his ear. Gradually rolling a little further forward, Richard had room to brace an arm in the sheets and lift his hip. The new rocking motion seemed to please Hank even more as he gripped and squeezed his cock.

"Oh-fuck, that's good, Richie. That's good." The praise made him shudder, prompting him to buck his hips a little harder. It felt good, having Hank's cock caressing his thighs and nudging his balls. That alone probably wouldn't get him off, but Hank's hand pumping his cock would certainly do the trick. Richard moaned his approval as Hank leaned against his back and snapped his hips, huffing and grunting against his shoulder. It didn't take long for that budding pleasure to peak and surge through his body, making him spill with a whimper. Despite his body quivering, he still kept his thighs nice and tight, holding on until Hank's seed smeared his skin. His thighs and balls felt sticky as Hank peeled away, both wordlessly agreeing to clean up and start their day.

While Richard stayed in the bathroom a little longer to clean off properly and brush his teeth, Hank stripped the bed and redressed. With the power out, it was still too cold to shower, so Richard settled for a cloth bath, shivering and gasping from the cold on his skin as he wiped his sticky body. His cock and balls were especially sensitive as he washed up, making him hiss and grumble. It was still quite grey outside, though the light of day had started creeping in. It was barely five o'clock when they headed downstairs for breakfast. The power outage also meant the Aga stood cold, and without the oven, there was little he had to offer besides water, bread, cold soup, and fruit. They settled on jam sandwiches and apples with glasses of milk to make sure it didn't go to waste. It needed to be used up with the fridge rapidly warming. Luckily, Richard didn't keep much that would spoil, but if Hank didn't get his freezers on again soon, he'd lose the hefty load of meat he kept stored throughout the year.

By the time they finished breakfast, still sometime before six, the rain had let up enough for Hank to lead the way out to the generator. Having never tripped his generator before, Hank was kind enough to show him where it was and which switches to flip. The generator was kept in a metal hamper near the end of the house, just around the corner from the kitchen. They were both relieved to see the lights flick on once the mains switch was tripped. It seemed the storm had just overloaded things slightly. With that done, Hank excused himself to restart his own generator and get ready for the day, but not before backing Richard up against the wall and kissing him senseless. Needy hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him closer as he returned the kiss. He was panting and breathless by the time Hank drew back.

"I'll see you later." With that grumbled promise, Hank took his umbrella and hopped the fence to his own yard. Richard watched him leave before shaking it off and heading out to the stables. The horses were quiet as he opened the outer door. They'd probably been awake most of the night with the rumbling thunder and wind rattling the door. He greeted them kindly, heading down the line, petting noses and removing hoods. A lot of the hay had been eaten, so Richard filled nosebags with feed and dutifully replenished the large hay racks. With the rain still falling, and the fields a boggy mess, they'd remain stabled for the day.

Once he'd finished with the horses, finding them all uninjured and in good tempers, he circled back to the coop to check on the pen. Despite the wind, the mesh had weathered the storm. He went around with the hammer, checking the pins and knocking them down where they'd lifted, but the whole thing seemed relatively untouched. There were no gaps, the roof was still on, and the wooden coop was secure. With everything in order, Richard filled the feed trough and headed to the barn to begin the arduous task of transporting his chickens.

"Morning ladies, Nines, I've just checked the-" His heart about stopped as he took in the scattered feathers and blood around the outside of the stall. His greeting seemed to have roused whatever remained in the stall. Various squawks and screeches reached his ears as he ran over from the large outer doors to open the stall door. "Nines? What ha-Hey!" He almost fell over backwards as something large and brown darted by. He didn't even think before giving chase, leaving the barn doors wide open as the dirty fox streaked through the stables. "Get back here!" Richard's heart was still racing, barely able to believe it as the fox skittered around the edge of his house with a limp chicken clutched it its jaws. Richard couldn't tell which chicken it was. It might have been Nines or any of his hens. Blood dripped on the ground as the fox ran, easily hopping through the slats of his fence and on to Hank's property. "No! You get back here!" Richard was almost in tears, feeling helpless as he clambered to the top of the fence.

It was a futile effort. By the time he'd reached the top rung, the beast was already halfway across Hank's yard, black feathers scattering as it ran. That's about the time he remembered the dogs and stopped dead, trembling in fear at the thought of them seeing him in the yard. If the fox had shared his caution, it might have found a safer route. As it was, a bark so loud it was almost a roar had Richard stumbling back as a blur of black and white streaked across the yard towards the fox, which was now running for its life. Getting in front, Connor blocked off the fox and growled, baring his teeth and hunkering down. The fox backed up, ears and tail low as it looked for a way it might get around him. All it needed was an opening to get into the field beyond and it would be safe.

"What's going on out here?" Hank's voice groused from further up the yard, where he was walking along with two of his own chickens in his arms. The words had no sooner left his lips than Connor pounced, gnashing and snarling. The fox dropped its prize for now, scratching and nipping at Connor as he attacked. It seemed Connor was fairly experienced in dealing with predators, automatically aiming for the neck as he snapped and barked. "Shit, Sixty!" With a loud whistle, a blur of white fur appeared, snarling and barking as it careened across the yard.

Richard stood horrified, transfixed as the huge white hound joined the fray. He had to be twice Connor's size, and the sight of the blood on his fur as he sank his teeth into the fox's spine was horrific. Connor, still growling, kept hold of the fox's front leg, tugging and shaking his head angrily. Sixty released and found a better angle, snapping his jaws and shaking his head. The yowling cries of the fox were deafening, and if not for the attack on his chickens, Richard might have felt sorry for it. He definitely wasn't cheering the dogs on, more watching the spectacle in mute horror. His bottom lip quivered as he stared, flinching and stumbling away from the fence as Sixty threw his head back and howled, blood staining his white jaws and fur as he revelled in his latest kill. Connor joined him, panting happily and licking his bloodied jowls as Hank appeared and patted his head.

"Good boy Con, good job Sixty." Sixty snorted, accepting the pet on his head with a swish of his tail before he grabbing the fox and padding off towards the fence. Connor tilted his head curiously, but didn't follow as Sixty hopped over and went to enjoy his spoils. Looking around, it didn't take Hank long to find the limp black chicken, or to spot Richard's horror stuck form. The bottom half of his worn jeans were splashed with mud from running across the yard, his shirt crumpled and untucked, cheeks wet with tears. Hank winced at the sight. It was never easy dealing with fox attacks, but this was Richard's first one, so it probably came as a nasty shock, especially straight after the storm.

The chickens had been moved to the barn to prevent something like this from happening. He'd have to run an eye over Richard's barn to see how it got in, and maybe broach the subject of getting a yard dog. Richard didn't like dogs, but if he could get used to having one around, it would be safer for the chickens. If he has any left...He was a little surprised the fox had even come out in the storm, but maybe it had been looking for shelter. With the rain dampening the smell of the dogs, it had probably felt safe slipping across the yard. His own barn was out of the question with Sixty standing guard inside, but Richard's barn had no such deterrent. It was ironic they'd moved the chickens to keep them safe, and the coops were still standing, untouched by the storm.

"I-is it Nines?" Richard hadn't checked to see if any of the chickens in the barn had survived. There wasn't time with how fast the fox had run by him. His priority had been going after the fox and trying to get his chicken back. Right now, as he looked at the limp bird Hank had picked up by the feet, he knew it was already too late. No way would Hank pick up a live bird like that. Had there been even a hint of life, he would have cradled it lovingly and soothed it until help arrived. As if reminded of the chicken in his hand, Hank held it up and shook his head. It was too small to be Nines and lacked the spurs on its heels and long tail feathers.

"Did it get all of them?" Richard barely dared to go back and check. His heart was still racing, throat choking on a sob as he looked back towards the barn. There was a wet thud as Hank joined him, leaving Connor whining by the fence. He could sense Richard's distress, and Hank's low mood. The thought of the fox killing all of his chickens had never even crossed Richard's mind. Surely one or two would be enough to feed it! Why would it kill more? "Come on...I'll come with you." That was comforting. Richard gave a stiff nod as they walked side by side across the yard.

"I don't know how it got in. I opened the door, and it was...Fuck, it was horrible! Blood and feathers everywhere! I saw it running and took off without a second thought." He didn't know what his plan was if he'd caught the damned thing! It wasn't like he had a gun or knife on him. What was he supposed to do against a fox? Kick it to death? Though it was a gruesome sight, it was probably best that Sixty and Connor had dealt with it. He shuddered at the memory, feeling sick at the thought of all that blood. Hank nodded, setting his jaw as they approached the open doors. It was a relief to hear a flurry of panicked clucks as they stepped inside, along with a few smaller tweets.

"Shit, you weren't kidding about the mess." It had been a long time since he'd seen a fox attack with all the dogs on his property, and the black feathers made it look worse. Sheer carnage. The remaining hens were obviously in shock, clucking and quivering together, surrounded by the remnants of their flock. It was heartbreaking to see. Three hens had been lost, along with seven small chicks, and the eggs that should have been kept warm were jumbled and forgotten in the hay or trampled underfoot in the scuffle. Then there was Nines. He'd survived, just about, but it didn't look good. He was limping, spurs bloody and covered in fur, and one of his wings was drooping and dragging as he awkwardly hopped along. With the black feathers, it was impossible to see if there was any more damage. "Alright...The hens are in shock, so they'll need peace and quiet. I think it'll be best to check them over one by one and get them shut in the coop." Richard nodded numbly, willing to follow Hank's lead as the more experienced keeper.

They worked slowly, checking the chicks first since they were easier to examine and move. Thankfully, those that remained were physically unharmed, just scared out of their wits. Unwilling to move the little ones alone, Hank examined one of the hens and found her to be in perfect health as well. Her feet and legs were fine, her wings moved as they should, and as he felt over her body, she simply sat in his lap. No pecking, no flinching, no distressed clucking. There were no punctures that he could see, or even scrapes. She was ruffled, but unharmed. They moved her with the chicks and locked them in the coop before returning for the next hens.

Richard hovered anxiously as Hank worked, feeling guilty for not considering something like this. Why wouldn't a fox come out in the storm? Why wouldn't it break into his barn and attack his chickens? He should have checked the place over. There was clearly a gap somewhere that allowed it to get in. He was beyond thankful that the next four hens were physically unharmed and could be moved to the coop. Unfortunately, the remaining two hens and Nines were less fortunate. One hen had a bite on her wing, though Hank didn't think it was broken, and the other had been grabbed by the neck and shaken up, leaving nasty puncture wounds.

Upon examining Nines, he found it could have been a lot worse. His wing was obviously broken, but that would be no problem. Even if it didn't heal right, it wasn't like Nines needed to fly anywhere. He was more worried about the leg, but was relieved to find it was just scratched and sore. The bones could all bend, even his clawed feet. There was a bite on his chest and possibly another near his tail, but hopefully those would heal with the proper care. The most important thing was getting them checked over, so he called Luther to tell him what had happened. With most things, they'd have to schedule an appointment, but with the potentially serious injuries and time sensitive issues, Luther said he'd see them as an emergency case.

Richard was truly miserable as he sat in the truck, gently cradling Nines against his chest, wrapped in a worn white towel. Seeing the blood made him feel even worse as he gently stroked his comb and neck, worried about hurting him if he touched anywhere else. The hens were safely shut in the carrier, where they sat quietly, strapped to the backseat. Hank drove, knowing Richard was in no fit state to do it himself, especially not with the boggy dirt roads. Watching from the corner of his eye, Hank did his best to make him feel better. He wasn't the first or last keeper to be hit by a fox attack. There was always a learning curve. They just had to find the gap and block it up. He'd lost three hens, but the rest would be fine, and even Nines would be back on his feet in no time at all. Richard almost seemed to doubt it as he looked at the sad, drooping form in his lap.

He wasn't his usual flapping and aggressive self. At any other time, Richard would enjoy being able to cradle him in his arms and gently stroke his feathers without fear of pecking. With his injuries, it just made him feel terrible. The lack of activity was worrying. Did it mean he was badly hurt? Was he dying? It was unheard of for Nines to sit so still and be so quiet! Every time he blinked, Richard seemed afraid it might be his last. Again, Hank did his best to reassure him. Fox attacks always shook things up. They'd all be out of sorts for a few days, and it was best to keep them shut in the coop until things had settled down.

At the office, Luther saw them straight away, and Richard let Hank handle things as far as explanations went. Despite his enormous size, Luther was extremely gentle as he examined the chickens one by one, starting with Nines since he was the most injured. They'd obviously need to operate and pin that wing, but Nines would need to be calmed first. On top of that, he needed to x-ray and flush all the punctures, and clean up his leg. The hens were much easier. He agreed with Hank that it was just puncture wounds for them, though he did x-rays, to be sure. The hens had their wounds flushed, received shots to guard against infection, and were promptly returned to the carrier.

"Don't worry. The procedure is relatively simple, and he should be ready to return to the farm tomorrow." Despite Luther's confident assurance, Richard couldn't help the well of worry that opened in the pit of his stomach as he watched him carry Nines off to the overnight area. Nines almost seemed to understand what was going on as his head peered around Luther's large arm, dark eyes watching Richard until he was out of sight. Hank clapped a hand on Richard's shoulder, putting on a brave front as he gripped the delicate joint.

"Luther's right, and he's the best around these parts. He'll have Nines put right in no time."