Lay Of The Land

Lay Of The Land

Posted: April 27, 2007
Title: Lay of the Land
Author: Decadence and Sileya
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Type: RPS
Characters: Craig/Karl
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: We don’t know them, and we don’t claim to. We just like their faces and names.
Beta: hickorynut
Author's Notes: Jenny was singing "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" one night. Geeeez.

Summary: Country boy Karl meets City boy Craig.

*****

Craig checked his reflection one final time, giving a silent thumbs up to his apparel. He'd chosen the dark Wranglers and the crisp blue chambray shirt at the local farm supply store, feeling out of sorts about not being able to try it on. Who shopped in places where you couldn't try things on?

Apparently a lot of people around here, if the stores were any indication. The co-op wasn't the kind of co-op he was used to, selling a variety of useful items. Instead, it sold seeds...and wire fencing...and dog food. Who needed wire with barbs on it? What was the purpose?

Stepping out of his rented house - more like a shack - he stopped a minute to dust the fine coat of dust off of his brand-new shiny cowboy boots. Pulling a red bandana out of his pocket, he tied it around his neck before climbing into his rental and driving down the rutted road between his place and the closest neighbor's. He might as well get started on this research so he could get back to the city, after all.

Whistling, Karl hefted the big rolls of plastic tubing up onto his shoulders and set off across the meadow to the furrowed land where he was putting down irrigation. It was aways to walk, to some, but he didn't mind. He looked out over his beloved green hills and even stopped to look for a bit. Not matter how many times he had looked in his lifetime, he never grew tired of it. With a smile, he got back to walking, following along the fence that lined the road.

Craig sped down the dirt road, slamming on his brakes as he passed a lone figure following the fence line. A cloud of dust followed the car, nearly choking him as he climbed out. "Hey - I'm looking for a man named Urban," he called out, approaching the fence.

He reached out toward the fence, not hardly brave enough to touch it. "This thing won't shock the shite out of me, will it?"

Karl stopped as a car came flying up the lane, cocking his head. When the man stepped out he couldn't have been more surprised. But his lips twitched when the man's second sentence totally gave him away. "You're from the city, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

Craig froze, realizing that he'd totally given himself away in less than a minute. "I'm looking for Karl Urban. I was told that he'd be able to help me with some research I'm doing."

He looked at the man for another few seconds, then just turned and started walking. Karl didn't know what this big-city man was selling, but he already knew he didn't need it.

Watching the man walk away, Craig harumphed before trying to get across - no - through the fence. Unfortunately, barbed wire fences were quite adequate at snagging clothes, leaving Craig tangled and dangling from the silver wires. "Fuck!" He cursed, tugging at the snags of fabric hung in the barbs.

Knowing he shouldn't, Karl still looked back, and what he saw stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't hold back the snicker this time. Shaking his head, he dropped the two rolls of tubing and walked over to crouch down a couple feet away from big-city man. "Toucha trouble?" he asked over-brightly.

Craig's eyes lifted slowly to meet the other man's steady gaze. "No. I just thought this'd be a nice place to hang out for a while."

Karl smiled and tilted his head back and forth. He lifted his green John Deere cap and pushed it back on his head a bit, rubbing his hair with it before resettling it. "Reckon you've got the right of it. Pretty land, here," he said, again looking out over the hills, paying the other man's predicament no mind.

Craig couldn't see much of the other man's face due to his position in front of the early-morning sun. What he did see, however, was a shapely silhouette, lean arms bracketing a wide chest as the tall local stood with his hands on his hips. "A little help? Please?"

"Ah, well then, sure thing," Karl said with a proper grin, crouching down to unhook the barbs stuck in the back of the other man's jeans and collar. He got him untangled and through the fence. "There 'ya go." He popped the underside of his cap with one knuckle and turned, striding back to the plastic tubing, whistling.

"Wait!" Craig called out, running to catch up with the loping strides of the other man. After all, it couldn't hurt to have a friend here, could it? "M' name's Craig Parker. I'm writing a book about the decline of the local farm industry. Someone told me that there's a farmer around here named Urban who does quite well for himself..."

Karl arched an eyebrow, stopping at the plastic tubing. "He does, does he?" He scratched the back of his neck. "Don't know that I'd rightly agree about quite well, but he does okay. Seems happy enough." He seemed to think about it for a few seconds, then he shrugged and crouched to pick up the tubing.

"I'd like to shadow him for a couple of weeks, see what he does in comparison to the other farms I've visited," Craig crouched as well. "Could you tell me where to find him?"

Standing with a roll of tubing on each shoulder, Karl looked around the field for a moment, then sighed. He supposed he wasn't going to shake this city boy right away, and he wasn't one to lie. "I'm Urban," he said as he started walking to the garden not too far now.

Tilting his head, Craig studied Karl Urban carefully. "But....but you're so young!"

"What's that? Young?" Karl chuckled and looked at the man walking beside him. "What's young got to do with farming?"

"Everyone else has been, well - rather old," Craig answered honestly, following the other man toward the garden that was now visible in the distance. "Of course that may be why they're failing. Most of their techniques and machines are rather antiquated. You can't be...you can't be as old as I am, even."

"Well, you may have the right of it there. There's Mr. Weaving, down the lane, been farming 'bout 30 years. Then there's old man Hill, Christ. I knew him when I was a tot. I guess Mr. Lee is older than God." Thoughtful, Karl shrugged and dropped one roll of tubing, sliding the other to his forearm and starting to pull off the twine.

Craig grinned at the young farmer's description of the other men's ages. He was probably spot-on. "Would you be willing to put up with me for two weeks, Mr. Urban?"

Karl looked up at him, studying him, wondering if the city boy would be more trouble than he wanted to deal with. "S’pose wouldn't mind," he said mildly.

Brightening considerably, Craig could see the day had taken a turn for the better. "I can help, if you'd like. I've never...shoveled manure, but I'm willing to try anything!"

Chuckling, Karl glanced up at him again. "First thing, then, City Boy. Might want to park the car off the lane."

"OH! Of course!" Craig ran back a ways before turning to call back, "Is there a gate or something? I don't want to hang out in the fences all day!"

Bemused, Karl snorted. He pointed the opposite direction, back past himself and the garden. There was a gate not ten feet away.

Craig blushed sheepishly. "Right!" He hurried through the gate, taking extra care to latch it behind him. After all, one thing Bernard Hill had taught him (after he'd inadvertently left a gate ajar and caused a cattle stampede) was that you ALWAYS close the gate. He started his car, pulling forward a bit before stopping and getting out again. "Mr. Urban?" He called out, hoping he could be heard across the distance, "Where should I park?"

Karl stood from where he was laying out the tubing and sighed. He hadn't realized he'd gotten so used to being on his own out here. He pointed at the barn up the lane. "Plenty'a room there," he called out.

Hating to be a nuisance, Craig pulled up to the barn, admiring the various farm machinery. Wow - a new John Deere tractor! He grinned, taking out his camera to snap a photograph before heading back to the garden. He admired Karl Urban's form for a while, snapping a few more photographs.

Hearing an odd clicking, Karl looked around while he crouched by the small trench he'd dug. Then he craned his neck to look behind him. "Don't know that piccys of my arse would be that much of a draw in a farming book," he commented, turning back to the tubing he was covering.

"Depends on how I market them," Craig teased jovially, stopping to squat next to Karl. "And it's not a bad arse," he added in a mischievous tone.

Karl just snorted, not even looking up from where he was grubbing in the dirt.

Craig moved to the other side of the trench so he could take a front view photograph of the young farmer. "You don't trust my taste?" He asked as he snapped once or twice.

"Don't know your taste, now do I?" Karl answered reasonably, finishing with that roll of tubing. He stood up, stretched, and went to grab the other roll.

Frowning, Craig looked down at his camera, turning it off. "Right. I'll just put this back in the car."

Looking up from where he was untwisting the twine. "Don't bother me none," he said with a shrug. "Just don't think I'm that interesting, 'suppose."

"I think I have enough for now. Maybe later I can get a shot of you on your tractor?" Craig looked up, hope written all over his face.

Karl peered across the field to the barn. "Don't see why not. Though I wasn't plannin' on any plowin' 'til Thursday." He looked curiously at the City Boy. He seemed awfully excited about being here.

Craig's enthusiasm dampened a bit. "Thursday's fine. I can get some perspective shots then. If you'll just call me first...I'll leave my number."

Nodding, Karl lifted the tubing, though he watched City Boy as he walked back over to the other furrow in the ground. "Thought you'd be hangin' about," he commented, dropping the end of the tubing into the rich dirt.

"I don't want to be in the way," Craig replied, pulling out a notepad to make notes. "I have a few questions."

"Can ask whatever ya like," the farmer answered. "But you'll learn better by gettin' your hands dirty."

"School - have you had any training for this?" Craig asked, pencil poised to write down Karl's answer. He really needed to get a voice recorder.

Karl looked up from where he crouched, moving dirt again, amused. "What sort of training you interested in? I've got my fair share of schoolin', to be sure."

"Any and all," Craig responded, beginning to write. "Formal, informal, anything. I want to know how you developed your current farming practices."

"I was born and raised here on this farm. Me Mum and Pa moved off to Wellington once I came out of Massey." He shrugged. "Got a couple degrees, work a bit on the side since wireless came in."

http://inr.massey.ac.nz/courses.html

"Degrees?" Craig perked up, looking at Karl speculatively. "What course of study?"

Karl didn't look up from the dirt. His schooling wasn't all that, though he supposed it was to some. "Agriculture, 'course," he finally answered. "And I was interested - am interested - in conservation, so I picked up natural resources while I was there. Was so close, made to sense to go ahead and get the extra certificate. Not that it amounts to anythin' but paper, but the government likes it."

"Do you think it prepared you for what you're doing?" Craig asked, scribbling as hard and as fast as he could.

The farmer tilted his head as he watched the other man write. "Why else do it then?" he asked mildly. "I use it more often than not, though I like experimentin'. Like here." Karl waves his hand over the turned bed he knelt in.

Craig crouched beside the young farmer, looking closely at the dark soil. "What is it?"

"Dirt."

The surprise of the answer nearly sent Craig sprawling in a pile of - well - dirt. "What's so special about it?"

Karl chuckled and looked at him with amused eyes.

"Well?"

"It's clean."

"Clean dirt," Craig's voice was flat and disbelieving. "Is there such a thing?"

"'Course. No chemicals, no additives, no trash. Water in it is clean, too. That's why I support conservation. We're all healthier that way," Karl explained.

Rising from the crouch, Craig stuck the notepad in his back pocket. "That's it. That's your secret? Why would you tell me?"

"Cause it's not a secret. 'Cause the more people know, the better off the earth will be," Karl said simply. He trailed his fingers through the dark dirt.

Craig knelt once more, grabbing a handful of the dark soil and rubbing it across his hand. He lifted it close to his face and sniffed it. "Smells rich."

"Yeah," Karl agreed. "It'll grow good strawberries," he said as he stood up and brushed off his knees.

Letting the soil fall back to the earth, Craig stood as well, suddenly struck by how handsome Karl was. He found himself blushing.

The farmer picked up the little pieces of twine and shoved them in a pocket of his worn and tattered jeans. Ready to head back to the barn, he looked over to City Boy, noting the flushed cheeks. "Might want to get a hat, if you're gonna be out in the sun," he suggested, turning to walk the couple hundred yards up the hill.

Tipping his head to the side, Craig caught up with Karl. "Did I introduce myself earlier?" He felt as if the sun and the closeness of the other man addled his brain.

"Parker, yeah?" Karl asked as they climbed the hill. "Craig Parker. Writing a book about the decline of the local farm industry. Someone told you that there's a farmer around here named Urban who does quite well for himself..." He snorted and shook his head again. "Who told you that?"

"Bernard Hill," Craig blushed harder, "Right after he cursed me for letting his cows out."

Karl actually laughed heartily. "Aw hell. Old man Hill and those fuckin' cows. Lemme guess. ALWAYS close the gates!" He did an uncanny impersonation of Bernard, pinched nose and all.

Craig had to laugh at that. "Does he have a vendetta against you? To send me your way?"

Making a sound of dismissal, Karl waved a hand as they got to the barn. "Nah. The old man's been around so long, everybody knows him. Grew up 'round here, right? Tipped his cows in secondary," the farmer chuckled as he walked inside the structure.

Following into the barn, Craig stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dark. "So - people 'round here stick together?" He found himself imitating Karl's easy drawl.

"Sometimes too well," the taller man answered as he emptied his pockets and pulled off his cap, wiping his forehead with his forearm. "Can be smotherin' if you're not used it. All of everybody in everybody's business." He shrugged and checked a small battery-run clock that sat on a tool cabinet. "I'm for a bite, you hangin' around?" He looked over at City Boy, wondering if he'd really stick and find out what working the land was really like - or if he'd ask his questions and leave.

Craig felt his stomach rumble at the suggestion of food. "I'm famished, actually. The granola I had for brekkie is gone."

"C'mon then," Karl said, beckoning as he turned and walked out the back of the barn and started up another hill.

Craig followed a step or two behind, appraising Karl's able body and easy gait. The other man was attractive in spades, and Craig wondered what he'd find in the farmhouse. All local gossip pointed toward Urban being single, but gossip wasn't always reliable.

Thinking about what he had to serve, Karl started whistling as he crested the hill and looked down at the house and trailer. The trailer sprawled neatly, having been built onto over the years. The house set back behind it was built into another hill and blended into the greenery. Smiling at the sight of it, he led the way down the hill, figuring City Boy would follow.

Studying the unique blend of house and in front of it, trailer, Craig tilted his head. "I don't understand," he whispered goofily.

Karl glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Craig had stopped halfway down the hill. "What's up?" he asked.

Gesturing at the two living areas, Craig asked, "Where do you live?"

Karl shrugged. "Depends. I'm building the house, sometimes crash there. Trailer's finished."

"It's beautiful," Craig breathed, looking more closely. "Did you design it? Are you building it on your own?"

"Got it out of a book, mostly. Had some help putting up the walls, but the rest I've done," the farmer said as he bounded up the steps of the trailer and disappeared inside.

Unsure whether he should follow without being invited, Craig hovered at the doorway to the trailer, gazing still at the in-progress home. It amazed him, that any one man could do this on his own. Maybe he wasn't alone, though. Possibly he was married or had someone to help him with things.

"You eatin', City Boy?"

Craig jumped, nearly falling off the step he stood on. "Oh - yeah - sure!" He stepped slowly into the trailer, glancing around at the interior. Karl Urban was obviously a very tidy man...maybe. "Do you live here alone?"

Karl's head popped around a corner to see Craig standing inside the screen door. "What's that? C'mon, kitchen's in here."

Noting the non-answer, Craig followed into the other room, still impressed by the cleanliness. Man had to be married. No man was this neat. Not unless he was gay...and well - Karl was too much of a man's man.

Karl whistled as he pulled a griddle out from under the stove. Gathering bread, meat and cheese, he started buttering the slices. "Melt okay?" he asked. "And I didn't catch what you said out there, fan's on." He pointed up at the whirring ceiling fan.

"Melt's fine," Craig answered, standing near the counter. "Can I help?"

"Crisps in the cabinet there," Karl pointed again, dropping two fat sandwiches on the griddle where they sizzled.

Rinsing his hands in the small sink before looking, Craig found the crisps, searching for a couple of plates to spread them in. Setting the plates on the table, he doled out the crisps before sitting down. "I asked if you lived here alone."

"Yeah, just me. Well, and Ringo, but he comes and goes," Karl said, pulling a spatula out of a drawer and flipping the sandwiches.

"Ringo Starr?" Craig chuckled, stuffing a crisp into his mouth.

Karl snorted. "Wait till you see him, then you'll understand." He turned to grab the plates, shoveling the melts onto them, the cheese stringing. He set them on the table and turned back to the stove, efficiently cleaning up everything before sitting down.

Craig bit into the hot, stringing mess of a sandwich, eyes closing in delight at the flavors. "Mmmm. This is SO good..."

Taking a bite, Karl hummed in agreement. "Not bad. Maybe I'll try the pastrami next time," he said thoughtfully.

"I usually have tuna. It's quick and easy and requires no heat." Craig shared. "This is like a feast!"

Karl turned up his nose. "Eh. Don't care for fish, myself." He shrugged and tucked into the lunch, then abruptly stood to pull two glasses from the cabinet. He pulled open the fridge and took out a gallon of milk, filling both glasses.

Craig ate heartily, cleaning his plate and draining the glass of milk before sitting back and rubbing at his belly. "I'm afraid that two weeks with you will have me saying goodbye to my waistline."

"Depends, 'suppose. You come out and work with me, you'll need every bit to keep it on. Workin' the land will sweat it off 'ya." The farmer gathered their plates and took them to the sink, running hot water and washing them up.

"Is that how you stay so fit?" Craig asked, hopefully as casually as possible.

"Yeah, fourteen hours physical labor a day will do that," Karl said as he shut off the water and dried his hands. He turned around and leaned against the counter, looking over City Boy. "I'm thinkin' you have a desk job, yeah?"

"I write. It requires a computer. Requires a lap at the very least. That requires sitting. So - yeah. I don't get about much."

"Decided, then?" Karl asked.

"I decided to do real research instead of finding it on a computer. Led me to this town. Led me to you." Craig spoke carefully by way of answer, not wanting Karl to think he was merely research.

Tilting his head, the farmer considered. "You decided to learn the lay of the land? Or you just gonna watch?" Karl really wanted to know the answer before he made his decision on how much to cooperate.

"I'll do anything you ask me to. I want to do this." Craig answered truthfully.

The taller man smiled. "Well then. Welcome to Fruitful Farms. Might wanna pack a bag. I get up before dawn and often work past sundown." He tipped his hat back and scratched his head with it, an unconscious gesture. "Suppose you could have your choice of where to bunk."

Karl's welcome was an open door for Craig, and he decided to step through. "You can put me where you want me. In the barn - in the field - anywhere." A broad grin crossed his face as Karl took his hat off, revealing thick, luxurious hair. Maybe working on the farm would help him to look that good.

Chuckling, Karl shook his head. "No need. Plenty of room here, or in the house, if you want."

"Whatever's most convenient for you," Craig offered. "I don't want to inconvenience you." Truth be told, he wouldn't mind spending time with the young farmer, getting to know him better outside of the confines of his research.

"Guess we'll just play it by ear." Karl shifted to look at the clock. "I'm headin' over to the house to work some, done with farmin' for today. Want to come back tomorrow?"

Realizing the other man was trying to get rid of him, Craig stood and straightened his shirt. "What time should I be here?"

"I'll be up and moving about 5," Karl said.

Nodding, Craig thanked Karl for the meal. Stepping toward the door, he smiled. "I'll see you bright and early."

"That you will, City Boy," Karl said with a grin, following him out and heading over to the house.

They parted ways, Craig walking back up and over the hill to his car. Just as he crested the hill, he looked back over Karl's spread. He couldn't see Karl any longer, but he still knew he was there. He smiled as he turned and continued on his way.

==

The next morning, Craig found himself dressed much more comfortably for the warm summer weather. As he walked across the small rise to Karl's homestead once more, he found himself appreciating the view - the lay of the land. He could see why someone would make a home here. It was gorgeous country - especially as the sun rose over the eastern hills, leaving the sky splotched with shades of pink, orange and purple.

Karl had watched the sunrise, kicked back in a lawn chair, thinking about the man who'd invaded his life and gotten under his skin in less than a day. He'd thought about Craig until late into the night. The city boy had made him remember how lonely he was at night, and Karl had no idea if Craig would be interested in someone like him anyway. A farmer. A man. He laid his head back against the trailer, gazing out at the pinks and oranges of the sun that wasn't visible yet.

Eyes lowering from the banner in the sky, Craig focused on another beautiful sight. A dark silhouette was seated in a chair near the small trailer, leaned back with a foot propped on a barrel intended to catch rain. He caught his breath, biting his lip as a flush of arousal stole through him, making him realize that Karl was something to be desired as well.

A smallish, fuzzy, dirty-white dog ran up the hill, barking at the newcomer, running in circles about his feet, getting underfoot. Karl looked up from the magazine on his lap to see Craig picking his way down the hill, Ringo trying his best to trip him up. With a chuckle Karl set the journal aside and stood, coffee mug in one hand. "Mornin'," he said by way of greeting when Craig got within earshot.

"Good morning," Craig returned, comfortable with Karl even though his body was trying to convince him that he was a bit TOO comfortable with the other man. "I thought I'd dress more appropriately today. This okay?" He gestured toward his own body, snug t-shirt slinking down to cover the worn waistband of his favorite pair of jeans, which cuffed over a worn pair of boots.

Karl dragged his eyes up and down the other man's body, nodding in approval, stifling the rush in his groin. He wore much similar clothes himself, but he'd never thought of them as alluring. "Should be fine. We'll start with the livestock, then the watering, and I want to get at least half the strawberries planted before lunch," he said, already walking up the hill.

"Livestock...watering...strawberries..." Craig ticked off the list on his fingers, mentally taking notes of how Karl maneuvered around the farm. "Any special instructions?"

The farmer glanced back and chuckled, seeing that Craig was about to step in the compost pile. "Watch where you're walkin'?" he said with a grin.

Craig stopped, foot in midair as he stepped. His arms cartwheeled as he lost his balance, falling backwards with a thud. Looking up from the dust, he grinned. "At least I didn't fall into it?"

Shaking his head, Karl started off to the barn again. "Remind me not to have you walk the beams," he threw over his shoulder.

Craig's face paled beneath his tan. "God no!" He protested, jumping to his feet and grimacing as he dusted his arse. That'd leave a bruise for sure.

"C'mon City Boy, lots to do," Karl yelled from inside the barn.

Rushing into the barn, Craig helped with pulling bales of hay down. "What do you country boys do for fun around here?" he asked in a teasing tone. "Torment the sheep?"

Karl snorted. "Not my taste, mate. But it makes for a good joke," he said, tossing a hay bale to Craig's feet. "Myself, fun is puttin' my feet up at the end of the day and havin' a bath, maybe readin' a magazine. That's 'bout as good as it gets."

"And what kind of magazine would that be?" Craig asked with a leer.

Shaking his head with a grin, Karl grabbed another hay bale. "Agriculture journals, usually. Sci-tech stuff. I'm not too keen on skin mags," he answered. "Hard to find anything I like without driving into Welly, that's about three hours. Not worth the trip."

Not sure he was reading the message behind that statement correctly, Craig tried to get clarification. "What DO you like? Maybe I can post some back to you when I go back..."

"'s okay. No reason to go to the trouble," Karl said as he carefully didn't look to the other man as he started cutting bale straps with a pocket knife. He'd learned the hard way at university that some things just weren't tolerated well on the South Island. He'd have been better off going up to Auckland, he'd heard. Instead, he'd just clammed up and forgot about it. Then last night Craig had riled it all up again, and he felt the desire too close to the surface of his skin.

"I probably have a few 'Fabulous Farm Boys' in the boot, if you're interested in that sort of thing," Craig fished for hints.

Karl couldn't keep himself from glancing up in surprise. He narrowed his eyes. "You teasin'?" he asked pointedly.

"Seriously? No - I'm not teasing. I probably really do have some of those mags. They may be a little...worn - but I do have them." Craig grinned wickedly. "I buy them for the articles, of course."

The farmer couldn't keep his lips from twitching, and he just shook his head, grabbing a pitchfork and refraining from commenting. "There's feed in that bin over there. Fill up four of those gallon containers and we'll take 'em out," he said.

"All work and no play makes Karl a dull boy," Craig sing-songed as he filled the buckets.

Karl glanced up with a wry smile. He'd heard that one before. "Considering the only one to notice is Ringo - and he could really care less - it doesn't bother me too much," he said, forking hay into the empty stalls. The three horses usually stayed out to pasture, but it was supposed to storm tomorrow, so he'd bring them in.

"I'm here," Craig pointed out, stopping to brace a hand on his hip as he looked Karl over. "And I sure do notice you."

Straightening up and leaning on the pitchfork, the dark-haired man looked over Craig measuringly and frankly. "Izzat so?" he drawled, retreating into his 'country' image again as a defense, just in case Craig was teasing.

"Yeah, it is," Craig answered honestly. "Very much so."

Karl studied him for a bit, tempted to drop his pitchfork right then and there for a toss in the hay. Instead he smiled lopsidedly. "I'll keep it in mind," he said before getting back to work.

Craig thought about the easy answer for a moment before asking, "Is that it?"

"Is what it?" the farmer asked, not even turning around as he continued to pitch hay.

"You'll keep it in mind. That's what I'm asking - is that it? No throttling me with the pitchfork? Dunking me into the water trough?" Craig kicked at the bale of hay.

Karl turned around, looking very amused. "Whatya want me to say? Drop yer trou an' I'll bugger ya in the mud?" He raised an eyebrow, daring Craig to answer.

"Might be nice," Craig grinned, shaking his bum slightly.

Karl finally boggled and had to cover his face for a moment. "Damnation. You're quite a piece'a work, aren't ya?" he finally said, cheeks a bit red. Craig had no idea how close the farmer had been to doing just that.

"You don't know the half of it," Craig chuckled. "But I'd sure let you find out."

Shaking his head, Karl turned back to his work. Nothing but words, no action. "We'll see how ya feel after a whole day's work, yeah?" he said, knowing full well Craig would be totally exhausted and over his little attempt to feel up the farmer boy. To get a real taste of country. And Karl just ached now, even more lonely than before.

Craig spent the next few hours generally mucking up all of Karl's well-made plans. And grinning like a fool. By lunch time, Karl didn't know if he wanted to roll over laughing or stand up screaming. He'd got almost nothing done today, what with Craig following him around, asking questions every few minutes, marking in that little book, batting those big blue eyes...grumbling, he tossed down the hoe and started back to the house, pulling off his gloves and shoving them into his back pockets.

"Frustration is horrible, innit?" Craig asked innocently, tailing Karl's steps doggedly.

Now irritated, Karl stopped in place and sighed before turning to look at the other man. "Ya know, you're not gonna learn anythin' for your book you keep this up. I won't get any work done."

Effectively put in his place, Craig remained silent for the rest of the walk. Once they got to the trailer and the farmer had pulled a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge and poured two glasses, he sat at the table and looked at Craig. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't have snapped. Just not used - to that. Attention," he tried to explain.

Shrugging, Craig stirred his tea. "Sometimes I come on too strong. It won't happen again. You're right. I have a job to do and I wasn't letting you do your own job, either."

Karl figured he'd insulted the man, but all he'd done was tell the truth. He couldn't change it. So instead of worrying about the chance missed, he stood up. "Lunchtime - barbecued lamb or roasted turkey?" he asked, back to his easygoing projection.

Standing uncomfortably, Craig picked at the tail of his belt. "Maybe I should go. I think I have enough that I could do you justice...And I'm just in your way here."

Gazing at him calmly despite inner turmoil, the farmer shrugged slightly. "Your choice," he murmured, setting the package of meat down on the cutting board. He had to try one more time - the attraction in him demanded it. "Want to see the house before you go? You seemed interested..."

Debating on seeing the house and postponing the eventual parting of ways, or leaving then and avoiding the issue of being unwanted, Craig reached into his pocket, looking for his keys. "I don't want to trouble you. Thank you, Mr. Urban. I'll be sure to send you an advance copy of the book when it is published."

Unaccountably hurt, Karl knew there was nothing else to be done. "Thanks. It'll be good ta read it. Was nice to meet ya," he offered, already withdrawing.

Nodding a final time, Craig stepped out of the small trailer and began his long walk back to his rental. He felt like a complete and utter failure. Maybe not at his job, because he did have enough information to write what needed to be done, but he felt like he'd failed at life.

And not for the first time.

Karl stood in the kitchen, hot with lingering arousal and lingering doubt. He could think of one thing - he didn't want Craig to leave. He didn't know him from Adam, but damn it all. He was horny as hell - and he had to admit he liked the man. Maybe - just maybe - he could convince the city boy to give the country boy a chance. He walked out on the porch, grabbing one of the posts and leaning as he watched Craig walk away. He called out. "Hey, Parker."

Craig slowed to a stop, not turning. He didn't need to see pity on the other man's face. "Yeah?"

"You get a hankerin' to dig in the dirt again, to see the lay of the land, you come see me, yeah?" the farmer said, offering it as a gesture of peace and hope.

Craig turned, squinting back at Karl. He wasn't sure how to interpret the words. Instead, he stood still, probably looking like the biggest dumbass in the history of the world.

Tilting his head and trying bravery, Karl winked, actually wanting Craig's company, at least if he could still get a moderate amount of work done. "I suppose I could put up with ya a little more often. Don't get much company out here...sides old man Hill, anyway. Why don't you write up ya book here?"

Craig nearly boggled at the suggestion. "You mean that you'd actually put up with me long enough to finish my book? Why?"

Karl shrugged, not wanting to risk scaring Craig off again. "If you're workin' on ya book in the house, you won't be in my back pocket, yeah? At least not all the time. Rest of the time, like I said, company. I was seeing that maybe you liked my company?"

"But I didn't think YOU liked my company." Craig was still confused.

"Didn't say that, now did I? 'Ya know, you're not gonna learn anythin' for your book you keep this up. I won't get any work done.'" Karl recited from memory. "That's what I said." His heart was beating harder now.

Re-examining the words, Craig had to nod. "I guess you're right." He watched Karl for a few more moments. "Where does that leave us?"

Karl looked at him evenly. Time of truth. When he spoke, the drawl and lazy accent was gone. "Ask the real question, Craig. Don't talk around it."

The change in tone and accent both surprised Craig and didn't really, at the same time. For some reason, Karl didn't fit exactly into the 'country boy' image he tried to project. "Why do you really want me to stay?"

"Don't rightly know," Karl shot right back, the accent returned. "I like you, I suppose. You could be a help, if ya put ya mind to it. You're good company, even with all the teasin' and goin' on - not that I mind it all too much, will make summer that much hotter in the hay," he said with a jaunty grin. Then he sobered again, tone dropping again, almost wistful. "Maybe it's because I lived in your world. And I'd like to see you in mine."

The raw honesty behind Karl's last reason touched something deep inside of Craig. "Okay," he answered simply, walking back to join Karl in the trailer.

Once Craig stopped in front of him, Karl reached out and grabbed his shirt, pulling him until they stood with the post between them, almost but not quite touching. Then the farmer leaned so their lips were almost touching. "It wasn't just teasing, was it?" he murmured.

"I never tease when I see something I want," Craig clarified. "It's called flirting. You should try it some time."

"Haven't had much call for flirtin', I expect," Karl said, back to his country drawl. "I'm for right out sayin' and doin'." And with that he pulled Craig to him and kissed him firmly.

*****

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Decadence