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Ocelot sighed to himself. Of course his car would have to break down in the middle of nowhere. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it had to be while he was in Texas.
In the summer.
A few miles back, he’d asked for directions from a gas station clerk, and was told the next town could easily be reached within an hour. So much for that.
His habit of wearing an unbuttoned shirt was of little help against the heat, which he’d already been walking in for well over an hour. His loosened scarf wouldn't make much of a difference as long as he still wore it, but leaving it in his car had simply not been an option. Likewise, his revolver rested snugly in its holster, a reassuring weight as he trudged along.
Despite it all, he considered himself lucky that it was already nearing evening. Otherwise, bearing the afternoon sun would’ve been sheer hell. As it was, Ocelot already cursed his lack of provisions. At the very least he should’ve brought water along. Not that he hadn’t, but the limited supply ran out much sooner than he’d anticipated, back when his car was still working.
Ever since he left his car on the side of the road, he’d seen nothing but sand and sky. In a way, it was exciting, like Ocelot had been transported into one of his favorite movies, left to explore and discover the Wild West all on his own. And even though that sentiment could still be felt, it had faded after the first twenty minutes, mostly to be replaced by an increasing sense of annoyance and distress at his state of affairs. When he’d first started walking, he imagined he’d be able to make it to some sign of civilization before too long, but enough time had passed that he was now contemplating whether it wouldn’t be more prudent to try to make it back to the sanctuary of his car before nightfall.
Just as he decided on turning back while the sun was still out, he saw something moving in the distance. Unsure of what exactly it was, he hesitated, knowing he had no means of hiding once he was spotted. A moment passed with Ocelot watching the figure intently, only to find that it didn’t seem to be getting closer, merely traveling back and forth around the same area. Deciding the possible benefits outweighed the risks, Ocelot resumed walking, this time towards the figure. As he neared, his eyes began making out what appeared to be a person riding a horse. Behind them, he now saw there was a fence that stretched into the horizon. Unsure what exactly the rider was doing, he paused again, watching as they continued their movements.
Over several minutes, he observed as the horse moved back and forth in front of the fence, continuing until the rider, seemingly satisfied, had it walk farther along the perimeter before repeating the process. They were probably checking to see if the fence needed any repairs, thought Ocelot.
If he was right about that, chances were that the rider wasn’t a simple criminal roaming around, but rather someone personally invested in the fenced property. Perhaps the owner? On the other hand, that didn’t necessarily mean they’d be sympathetic to his plight. They might think he was trying to trespass. Again, there was no way to be sure, but Ocelot would rather try his hand at proving his innocence to a stranger than to attempt making his way back to a stationary car in the middle of the night.
Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he approached the rider.
He’d barely walked a minute before they spotted him and called out, “Hey, stranger!”
Ocelot decided to save his relief until he was certain the rider wouldn’t become hostile, but their greeting was certainly encouraging. He kept walking and waved at the rider, prompting them to wave back and direct their horse his way.
As the distance between them closed, Ocelot realized that the rider was a man. He thought nothing of it until noticing that the man appeared to be wearing a Stetson on his head as well as a pair of chaps, at which point his mind blanked out save for one all-encompassing sentiment.
…Fuck.
It was truly a testament to his acting ability that his steps didn’t falter. He could almost visualize the destructive whirlwind of emotions currently attempting to wreak havoc on his capacity for rational thought, and summoned all his willpower to put a stop to it. What he needed was to stamp down on his obsession with all things Western and focus on finding a way to fix his car and continue on his way.
What he did not need was to embarrass himself in front of a man who for all intents and purposes could very well be a cowboy.
An actual cowboy.
Ocelot halted in his tracks, thinking the whole thing couldn’t possibly get any worse, then finally got a good look at the man. Just like that, all his hopes of making it through the situation with his dignity intact nosedived past the point of no return.
The man wasn’t anything like Hollywood’s cowboys at all, but then, everyone knew the world of film wasn’t wholly representative of reality. Besides, while Ocelot did love those movies dearly for introducing him to the Wild West, he wasn’t about to turn down a real, in-the-flesh cowboy in favor of an actor paid to recite a script.
As the man neared, Ocelot felt his mouth bypass his brain. “Are you a cowboy?”
Still atop his horse, the man gave a low chuckle as he looked down at Ocelot. “Cowboy? Eh, I consider myself more of a vaquero, really. But sure, I can do cowboy. Did you need some help?”
Ocelot’s mind cleared enough for him to remember hearing the word. Vaquero. Weren’t they the original cowboys? The ones who formed the basis for the later types that emerged on the continent? And if he was remembering right, many people considered their methods and techniques to surpass those of later cowboys.
Oh, God. He’d found himself the Alpha and the Omega of cowboys.
“Hello? Are you okay?” The man had dismounted and was now watching him with an expression of utter concern.
Damn it, he needed to get ahold of himself.
Ocelot cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” He forced himself to refocus his blank stare, and almost wished he hadn’t. In contrast to Ocelot’s own pale features, the man had a pair of absolutely stunning brown eyes amid flawless brown skin. As if that wasn’t enough, his jet black hair peeked out in waves from under his hat, and his light stubble put Ocelot’s meager whiskers to shame.
Ocelot had never had any particular preferences in what he found physically attractive, but he’d be an even bigger liar than he already was if he denied that the individual in front of him was nothing short of an outstanding human specimen.
The man continued looking at him as if worried for his health, a reminder that he’d yet to answer the original question. “My car. It broke down about an hour ago and I’ve been walking since. I was told there was a town nearby…?” He gave the vaquero an expectant look.
“Hmm. An hour ago,” the man repeated, rubbing his chin in thought. “Which way is it? The car, I mean.”
Ocelot swept his hand in the general direction he’d come from.
A laugh managed to escape the man before he stifled it. “Sorry, sorry. I know you must be feeling pretty lost. But tell me, did the person who gave you directions happen to be a gas station clerk? Straight hair, about this tall?” He motioned with his hand, the approximation spot on.
Confused, Ocelot gave a nod.
“Man, you are lucky I put off checking the fence until now, or else you’d be spending the night curled up in the sand.”
“I was going to go back to my car just before I spotted you,” Ocelot retorted.
“But would you have made it back before nightfall?”
“Maybe. Why does that matter?”
“The moon won’t be out tonight. Do you have any idea how dark it can get out here when that happens?”
Ocelot internally thanked whatever force was responsible for having him come across the man. Not that he hadn’t already been thankful, but he felt much less shallow about his reasoning now.
“Anyway, I’m guessing you need a place to stay?”
“I was hoping to get my car fixed and be on my way, actually. But going by what you said, it’s probably too late for that today, right?” He desperately hoped the man meant to invite him to stay the night. Where exactly, he didn’t know, but as long as the man was around, Ocelot would be a happy camper.
The man lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair, an action which served little purpose beyond leaving Ocelot’s gaze transfixed on the unruly mess. “Listen, I’d love to help you with that, but I’m not good with cars.” He put the hat back on and gave Ocelot a grin. “The rest of my family’s great with them, though. They’re not around right now, but should be back sometime tomorrow. You’re welcome to wait out the night in the bunkhouse, if you like.”
“You have a bunkhouse?”
“Yeah. Nothing too fancy. After all, our ranch isn’t that big, so we just need enough space for the few of us. But still bigger than your car, I imagine.”
Ocelot gave a nod, lost in his thoughts. A vaquero, a bunkhouse, and a ranch, even! This was turning out just like one of his Westerns. He watched as the man mounted his horse, eyes wandering down to his boots, which had a distinct lack of spurs. A stylistic choice overall, though Ocelot was far too fond of his own to ever consider doing without them.
“You coming or not?” The man reached a hand towards Ocelot, waiting to help him atop the horse.
Ocelot was willing to bet cold, hard cash that he was blushing as he took the offered hand and settled in behind the vaquero. His only consolation was that the evening was now dark enough that it may have gone unnoticed. Even so, that would hardly suffice if he was going to spend the rest of the night embarrassing himself, something which seemed like a very real possibility.
“Mind doing the honors?”
“Huh?”
“Your spurs. Be a shame for them to go to waste, don’t you think?”
Ocelot tried to suppress a grin. “It certainly would.” And with that, he gave the horse a quick prod, surprised at the immediate response.
“We need to get moving faster if we want to make it back before it’s totally dark, so hang on tight, okay?”
He barely processed the words before the horse sped up, seamlessly shifting to a gallop. Quickly, he reached for the man’s waist, careful not to grasp it any tighter than necessary. After all, the vaquero might get the wrong idea. Or the right one, but that was highly subjective, and Ocelot’s viewpoint wasn’t one shared by very many people.
The man suddenly shot him a quick look, raising his voice over the wind rushing past them. “I’ve been pretty rude.”
Ocelot's eyebrows raised in question, and he waited for the man to continue.
“I haven’t actually introduced myself. The name’s Esteban,” he elaborated. “But you can just call me Steve.”
“Esteban?”
Esteban turned to look at Ocelot again, an amused grin on his face. “Yeah! I’m surprised, your pronunciation’s pretty good.”
“Knowing more than one language helps,” Ocelot replied.
“How many do you know?”
“A few.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a pretty skilled tongue, then.”
Caught off guard by the comment, Ocelot asked the first innocent thing that came to mind. “Why Steve?”
“Like I said, your pronunciation’s good. Most people’s isn’t, so I might as well make it easier on them. What about you? What’s your name?”
“Adam—” blurted out Ocelot, stopping himself far too late. Damn it, he really needed to get ahold of himself. The fact that Esteban would likely never come into contact with anyone working in his circles was of minimal assurance. He’d made a career out of lying, and was well aware that a simple slip-up like this could easily bring it all tumbling down. With any luck, none of his associates would ever think to use his affinity of Westerns to their advantage. Even for Ocelot, certain things had to be kept sacred.
His musings were interrupted by Esteban’s voice calling back to him again. “Adam? Like the first, huh? I like it.”
He was spared from coming up with an answer to that by the horse dramatically slowing its pace.
“Well, here we are,” Esteban said, pointing out the buildings in the distance. “The stable’s right there, with the bunkhouse a little farther back.”
Ocelot leaned over to get a better look. Esteban hadn’t been joking about the size of the bunkhouse. While definitely bigger than Ocelot’s car, it still looked pretty small from the outside. Perhaps the interior was a single room, like the bunkhouses of old. That would be unfortunate.
Esteban brought his horse to a stop in front of the stable, waiting for it to completely still before swinging a leg over its neck and hopping off. “Come on down, Adam.”
Not needing to be told twice, Ocelot followed suit, landing smoothly beside the animal. He turned to Esteban, only to see him already grabbing the reins and taking the horse inside. Unsure whether to follow or not, he stood on the spot and watched as the horse was led into a stall.
Overall, everything was turning out better than what he’d been expecting ever since his car broke down. At least, things were as good as they could be. Now if only he could get through the night without outing himself as some sort of pervert with a cowboy fetish, the whole incident might go down in his books as a success.
He could do it. Ocelot let out an exasperated huff. Of course he could do it. Bottling up his obsessive tendencies and acting like a normal person wasn’t exactly the highest of standards to reach, and should be no problem for someone like him. For fuck’s sake, half of what his profession called for consisted of outright lying. The expectations he had of his own abilities ought to be higher than this, really.
But his already low expectations plummeted as soon as Esteban swaggered out of the stable and threw him a crooked grin, asking, “Now let’s go eat dinner, shall we?”
The walk to the bunkhouse was a short one, but to Ocelot it seemed like an eternity. His eyes were helplessly drawn to the swishing of Esteban’s chaps, the smooth leather shining even in the rapidly waning sunlight. The clinking of Ocelot’s spurs seemed much louder than usual, further emphasizing the silence between them as they walked.
Esteban reached the bunkhouse's door and unlocked it. Once inside, Ocelot looked around, finding the arrangement rather cozy. To the right, there was a basic kitchen with a small dining area. On the left side, there was only a couch covered by what looked like a large wool blanket, two mismatched cushions resting atop it.
“That door takes you to the bedroom,” Esteban said, gesturing to the door directly ahead, separating the two sides. “I'll show you which of the beds you can use after dinner. For now, if you go through the door in there, you’ll get to the bathroom. Feel free to go wash up while I get the food started.”
Ocelot nodded his thanks and went through the door. Indeed, there was a bedroom with a door to the bathroom, though he'd hesitate to call it a legitimate bedroom. The beds were barely more than glorified cots, the mattresses thin and the sheets likely to retain little body heat.
But those were the least of his worries. In a room like this, with practically nonexistent privacy, anything he may do during the night, consciously or not, could potentially be detected by Esteban. Considering Ocelot’s behavior in the past hour, any such detection would surely prove highly embarrassing. Maybe he could opt to use the couch instead, with some excuse or another about not wanting to take advantage of Esteban’s hospitality.
Deciding he’d bring it up after dinner, he headed to the bathroom. Like the kitchen, it was simple and a bit cramped, but sufficient in its purpose. There was even a shower with several bottles lined up inside of it. Curiosity getting the better of him, Ocelot moved aside the curtain to get a better look. Amongst the standard shampoo and conditioner bottles, there were several different body lotions. Surely one person had no need for that many? Then again, Esteban did say his family would be back tomorrow, so perhaps some were theirs.
Making himself a mental note to ask Esteban about his family, Ocelot turned to the sink and removed his gloves, picking up the bar of soap. His hands weren’t visibly unclean, but he was nothing if not meticulous. He took the opportunity to splash some water on his face as well, sighing at the much anticipated freshness after having endured hours of the Texas heat.
As he dried his face and hands with the towel on the wall, he watched his reflection in the mirror, ensuring his presentability. A few adjustments of his hair later, he felt ready to return to the kitchen. Slipping his gloves back on, he left the bathroom and made his way back to where, if the delicious smell wafting through to the bedroom was any indication, Esteban had started cooking.
Sure enough, Ocelot was greeted by the sight of Esteban slicing tomatoes, a small pot boiling on the stove beside him. Hearing the jingle of spurs, he glanced up from his work and gave Ocelot an inviting smile. “Sit down, Adam. Food’s almost done.”
“What is it?” asked Ocelot as he took a seat.
“Tomatoes, eggs, and pickles. Some bread too, if you’re still hungry.”
“And to drink?”
“Tea.”
Ocelot tilted his head skeptically.
“I also have tequila and rum, if you’d prefer one of those,” Esteban jokingly suggested.
Shaking his head with a smile, Ocelot waved off the offer. “Tea works.”
There was a pause where neither spoke, Esteban focused on slicing the pickles and Ocelot trying to watch him as inconspicuously as possible. He’d taken off his hat while Ocelot went to the bathroom, and now it was nowhere to be found. What he hadn’t taken off were his chaps, something Ocelot suspected had been done in an effort to speed up dinner. Though he appreciated the probable motivation behind leaving them on, mostly he just appreciated the mere existence of those things. The kitchen’s lighting beautifully emphasized their form and texture, symbolic of all Ocelot held dear. Not to mention how well they framed Esteban’s perfectly rounded ass.
Trying to distract himself, Ocelot mentally cast about for a suitable topic of conversation, promptly remembering his earlier question. “Esteban?”
“Yes?”
“You said your family normally lives here with you?”
“Mm, not exactly.”
“Oh?”
Esteban finished the last of the pickles before washing his hands and turning around. “We have our actual house farther away, and we switch off on who has to come stay with the cattle.”
“I didn’t see any cattle,” remarked Ocelot.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Esteban said, attending to the pot. “They’re bringing it back tomorrow.”
“I see. Who else stays here?”
Esteban began setting the table as he talked. “Just me and the twins, really. This ranch has been in our family for generations, and since it’s not that big, we tend not to hire anyone else. The extra beds don’t get used much.”
“Twins?” Ocelot gulped, cursing the images that had begun dancing through his mind as soon as Esteban said the word.
“Yeah, Gabriela and Gloria.”
“Oh.”
“That’s right, I’m the only boy around. Not that it really matters. Sometimes I think they get everything done better than I do.” As he spoke, Esteban set a full plate in front of Ocelot and began pouring the tea.
“The sisters do it better than you, huh?” Various long-repressed memories flashed before Ocelot’s eyes. “I can believe that.”
“You got sisters yourself?”
“No,” Ocelot said. “Just know a lot of women in my field of work. Also know that anyone who underestimates them is probably going to learn that lesson the hard way.” Events he’d really prefer not to dwell on came to mind again.
“I know that feeling,” chuckled Esteban, finally sitting down to eat. “Shall we?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Ocelot replied, picking up his fork and trying out a slice of hard-boiled egg. “Esteban, your cooking is delicious, but I really just have to ask. Do you normally slice every single thing in it?”
Esteban grinned as he finished chewing. “No. I just didn’t want us taking too long on dinner, mostly.”
Ocelot nodded. That made sense, and confirmed his theory. Esteban had kept his chaps on in an attempt to speed up dinner. He likely wanted to be a good host and let Ocelot go to sleep quickly, hence the hassle-free sliced food. Forcing himself not to spare the aforementioned chaps the most minimal of glances, Ocelot refocused his attention on the plate in front of him.
“Plus,” continued Esteban, “I wanted to make sure I'd have your full attention for my question.”
“Question?”
Esteban said nothing, content to simply finish off his food.
Ocelot’s eyes narrowed. “What question?”
Finally, Esteban put down his fork and met Ocelot’s gaze. “Just something I was wondering.”
“Which is?”
“Do you make a habit of openly staring at people you’ve only just met?”
Shitshitshitshitshi—
“Or am I just a special case?”
Ocelot turned back to his plate as calmly as possible. “Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked, helping himself to another forkful.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not exactly subtle.”
Ocelot nonchalantly looked up, raising an eyebrow carefully calculated in its disinterest.
“Oh, you try. Believe me when I say you almost fooled me. But the fact that right now you’re as red as those tomatoes you’re eating is kind of a giveaway.”
Damn him, this not-cowboy, and damn his chaps and his—
Esteban scooted his chair around the table, and it was all Ocelot could do to not jump to his feet and run out into the desert night to fend for himself. Instead, he stayed perfectly still as Esteban came to a stop about a foot from him and waited.
The silence was so unbearable that he decided breaking it was the preferable option. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you can tell me,” said Esteban. “I’m pretty sure I already know what’s going on, so you can go ahead and just tell me. It’s not the first time I’ve encountered someone with this particular… Affinity.”
“Affinity.”
“Yes.”
Ocelot scoffed. “What affinity would that be?”
“Oh, you know. This and that.” At Ocelot’s unimpressed stare, Esteban ventured, “Cowboys?”
Ocelot hoped his sharp intake of breath was inaudible enough for Esteban not to notice. “What in the world gave you that impression?” he asked, angry at himself for putting up with this line of questioning at all.
Esteban gave a pointed look downwards. “Your boots.”
Ocelot remained silent, waiting for an explanation.
“You’re wearing spurs. In the desert. While driving a car. Something tells me you didn’t get those on just because you knew you’d be riding my horse.”
Ocelot flushed at having his interests so easily exposed. Normally, he didn’t mind people knowing, but this? Oh, Ocelot couldn’t take this. He couldn’t—shouldn’t—wouldn’t take this. If Esteban, who wasn’t even an actual cowboy, was going to sit there and smugly rub Ocelot’s face in his own weakness, then he’d better be prepared to face the consequences. No matter that he was what cowboys originated from, or that he had a charming personality, or even that he was so goddamn handsome. If he was so eager to face Ocelot’s wrath, then so be it. Ocelot’s wrath is exactly what he would g—
“But if you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay too. I just thought it was kind of, well, adorable.”
He did not. As if angering Ocelot wasn’t enough, now he had to go and mock him too? No, that was it. That was the last straw. Clenching his fists, he seethed, “If you’d be quiet for just one minute, I’ll have you know that I don’t owe you any answers. But if you absolutely must know, the spurs are for entirely practical purposes." He willed himself to relax before continuing. "Likewise, I have no affinity” —he gave Esteban a quick glare— “for cowboys at all. Now, if you’re done interrogating me, I’d like to finish what’s left of my plate and then go get ready for bed.”
Surprisingly, Esteban didn’t seem at all affected by his change in demeanor. “Really, I got it wrong?” he asked instead, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Wow, I’m really sorry, Adam, it’s just that I’ve gotten used to meeting a certain type of person every once in a while.”
Ocelot gave no indication he was listening, instead making a show of turning his attention back to his food. Despite the effort, it seemed Esteban sensed his growing curiosity all the same, and obliged. “Every couple months or so, I mean. People who get lost, or are stranded, they usually end up here. And I get along just fine with most of them. But there’s a few who’re… Different.”
He felt his back stiffen, an involuntary reaction to the words. Keeping his face as impassive as ever, he continued eating, not sparing Esteban the slightest glance, but the words pressed on nonetheless. “Some are more obvious about it than others. It also gets easier to tell after a while. They stare at me when they think I’m not looking, get flustered when they realize I am…” Esteban sighed. Ocelot looked at him out of the corner of his eye and saw that he'd turned away, giving them both some space. “I really don’t mind it. Like I said, it’s actually kind of adorable. I’d rather they just told me, though. Some did. Most didn’t.”
Putting down his fork, Ocelot thought over Esteban's words. None of them had been judgmental, not even their tone. He debated pursuing the topic, all too aware that there was a chance Esteban had been lying. Maybe he'd noticed the way Ocelot was acting, and was trying to get him to confirm his suspicions. Then he'd have the excuse he needed to kick Ocelot out. But that'd be the most manageable of the worst-case scenarios. Ocelot paused, then decided there was only one way to find out. “Those people. Were they all—” He hesitated. “What were they like?”
Esteban continued looking away and gave his answer to the wall. “That’s like asking me what people whose favorite color is green are like. They were all different.”
Ocelot gulped. His attempt at acting nonchalant had crumbled as the explanation went on. Esteban really did sound sincere about everything, but there was no way he hadn’t been mocking him earlier, was there? Unless...
He bit the bullet and asked, “But some were men?”
“Of course.”
“And you still would’ve wanted them to tell you?”
Esteban finally turned to look at him again. “Why wouldn’t I? If a person likes someone, they should tell them. At least, that’s what I think. I know it’s not how things work, because not everyone else thinks that way,” he said, eyes glazing over in thought. “And I understand why some people wouldn’t. But it seems like it should be the right thing to do. You’d want to know, right?”
“Know...?”
“Yes! If someone liked you. You’d want to know, wouldn’t you?”
“I— I don’t th—”
“It’s fine if you’d rather not. All I know is that when people have gone ahead and told me, we’ve both been the happier for it.”
Ocelot was taken aback. “They've told you? That they’ve got a th— That they like you?”
His attempt at covering his tracks was ineffective. “Not everyone who likes me does it because they’re into cowboys, you know.” Esteban’s face relaxed and he cracked a grin. “I do have my own merits.”
“I know that!”
“Do you?”
Ocelot opened his mouth and immediately shut it, realizing that this was one of the few times in his life where he was unsure what path to take. Sure, the safer option would probably be to brush Esteban's conversation aside, go to bed, and then leave in the morning and forget he’d ever even met the man. As for the other option... Well, it was simply much too risky. While it was highly unlikely that Esteban would ever come into contact with anyone who’d ever worked with Ocelot, there were still a great many factors to consider. Namely, his dignity.
His ever-fading dignity. It already suffered some heavy hits, and if he made the wrong choice now, it'd likely end up in irreparable shreds. But what a choice it was. He’d only just resisted making an utter fool of himself up to this point, but it was sounding more and more like Esteban wouldn’t completely humiliate Ocelot if he admitted to a few things he’d never told anyone. He might even be... Supportive? Damn it, it was so hard to resist the expectant look in those gorgeous dark eyes. It’d be so easy to just get it out in the open, to just say it, just—
“I have a cowboy fetish.”
There. He said it. Now the only thing left to do was wait. He stared down at his lap, unsure if the last five seconds were something he’d simply imagined. Maybe he hadn’t said anything at all. Why else would Esteban still not react? He should’ve done something by this point. How much time had passed? It felt like hours, but that couldn’t be right, could it? Fuck, what if it had been hours? What if Esteban was so upset at his confession that he’d gotten up and left without Ocelot even noticing? What if—
Esteban leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
Ocelot froze, not even daring to breathe. Vaguely, he noted that his higher thought processes had more or less stopped as well. He distantly heard a broken plea leave his lips.
“More.”
Evidently surprised by his change of tune, Esteban took a couple seconds to move again, this time grabbing at his scarf. A soft tug prompted him to turn his head, unfocused gaze hardly registering Esteban.
“Hey. Adam!” Esteban gave the scarf another tug, this time with more force. “You still here?”
Ocelot blinked a few times, still not entirely certain that the current scene wasn’t some elaborate fantasy he’d dreamt up. “I’m here,” he mumbled, unsure if that was actually the truth.
“Good.”
And then Esteban was kissing him softly, reassuringly, the gentle pressure on his lips snapping his mind back into the moment. This was definitely not a fantasy. Unconsciously, a quiet whimper escaped him as he pressed into the kiss, reaching towards Esteban. His hands landed on Esteban’s legs, the distinctive feel of the leather chaps further reminding him of what exactly was happening, who exactly was kissing him.
A few more tugs at his scarf, and then Esteban was pulling it free, moving his mouth to Ocelot’s jaw and slowly beginning to kiss his way down the newly uncovered expanse of neck. He hurriedly moved his hands to Esteban’s hair, reluctant to give him full access to what was one of his most sensitive areas.
“Ngh, wait, wait—”
Instantly pulling back, Esteban gave him a questioning look. “Yeah? What is it?”
“My neck...”
“What about it?”
Ocelot paused, not wanting his uneasiness to sound too pathetic. After all, what kind of person didn't like having their erogenous zones kissed? Then again, most people didn't turn into horny messes just from having their necks touched. “It’s very delicate,” he eventually said, wary of his word choice immediately afterwards.
Concern crossed Esteban’s face. “In a bad way?”
“No!” Ocelot quickly assured him, unsure of how to establish a balance that wouldn't leave his neck ignored altogether. “It’s just sensitive. It won’t hurt, but—”
“It’ll feel good then?”
“Yes, just—”
“Adam.”
“Yeah?”
“If it feels good, then let it.”
His hands tightened in Esteban’s hair, needing him to understand. “It’s not as simple as that. It feels too good, okay? And I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night,” he grumbled.
“Why would you be embarrassed at your own pleasure?”
Ocelot stared blankly at Esteban, unable to help his next question. “Is it... Is it a cultural thing?”
“Is what?”
He cast about for a way to describe it. “Your openness. Frankness. Inability for rejection?”
An amused huff escaped Esteban. “Now that is not true.”
“Isn't it?”
“Absolutely not true,” reaffirmed Esteban, moving a hand to lightly glide his fingers over the skin of Ocelot’s neck, producing a subtle shiver throughout his body. “I have an enormous ability for rejection. I reject a lot of things. For example,” he leaned in to breathe alongside his fingers, “I completely reject your idea that your pleasure should be stamped down on. I reject the idea that it’s something to be ashamed of.”
As controlled as they were, the attentions to his neck, combined with his building anticipation, managed to override Ocelot’s senses regardless. He let out a moan, hands slipping down to clutch limply at Esteban’s shoulders.
“Mostly,” continued Esteban, other hand moving to unbutton the rest of Ocelot’s shirt, “I reject your belief that you shouldn’t let yourself have this.” That said, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the spot he’d been breathing on, and Ocelot screamed.
His body jerked with the waves of pleasure radiating from his neck. Flushed with arousal, he felt himself involuntarily shifting, hips angling downwards to seek friction from the chair he sat on, legs slowly spreading apart to make room for Esteban.
As soon as Esteban finished undoing the last shirt button, he pulled back to survey his work. He must present quite a wanton sight, thought Ocelot, all exposed skin and open legs. The angle of his hips concealed his erection, but the way he was insistently rubbing against the seat left no room to doubt that he had one. He scrabbled at Esteban's chaps, distraught at the sudden loss of sensation. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” he whined.
“Adam, I’d love to keep going, but don’t you think the bedroom’s a better place for this?” asked Esteban, getting up and scooting his chair beneath the table.
The question took a couple seconds to make it past the haze in Ocelot's mind. He thought it over, paying consideration to all its nuances, brow furrowing in concentration and chest still heaving.
Esteban watched him patiently, waiting for him to reach a decision.
Eventually realizing that a more comfortable surface would probably prolong their activities, Ocelot agreed. “Fine.”
There was a pause where neither of them moved, Esteban finally asking, “Do you need help getting up?”
Him, needing help? Preposterous. He awkwardly moved around, noticing that his lower half was partially numb from the position he'd been holding. A few wiggles and shifts later, he was forced to mumble, “Maybe.”
Esteban waited for Ocelot to take his offered hand firmly, then pulled. For the most part, it worked, though his stance was visibly wobbly. Not wasting a moment, he began ambling towards the bedroom, Esteban a few steps behind.
“Here, we can use this one,” Esteban said, pointing to one of the beds. Before Ocelot could get on it, Esteban pulled him close again, laying kisses along his jaw and running fingers along his abdomen. Ocelot’s hands gripped at him, thoroughly needy. Pulling away with a groan, Esteban pushed him back towards the bed, coaxing him to take a seat. “Get undressed," he breathed. "I’m going to go get a few things for us to use. I’ll be right back.”
Ocelot felt himself pout, schooling his features back to neutrality a split second too late. He cringed at Esteban having seen that display of utter immaturity, belatedly noticing that he'd already turned to leave. As he opened the door, Ocelot called out, “Wait!”
He looked back, head tilting in question.
“Do me a favor, okay?” asked Ocelot. “Keep the chaps on.”
A grin crossed Esteban’s face and he gave a quick nod before walking out and shutting the door.
Alone again, Ocelot’s euphoria slowly faded, giving way for his doubts to resurface. Shrugging off his shirt and scarf, he moved to undress his lower half, all while his worry increased little by little, until at last he sat naked on the mattress, still-gloved hands absently tracing patterns onto it. The thought of what he'd been so ready to do was now eating away at his nerves.
What was he even doing here? This was a terrible decision.
His predictions had been right after all. He hadn’t even needed Esteban to humiliate him; he’d done a perfect job of it himself. Losing focus, moaning shamelessly, even spreading his fucking legs? He was hopeless. If the entire experience taught him anything at all, it was that he needed to get his Western thing under control. At this rate, some spy could probably don a cowboy disguise and get him to spill all the closely-guarded secrets he was meant to be keeping. It’d be the simplest espionage operation ever. Hell, they’d probably even get a free fuck for their trouble. Pathetic, that's what it was.
Before he could wallow any further, the creaking of the door alerted him to Esteban’s return. He’d evidently left the bunkhouse, since now he carried a coil of rope in one hand, something he must've gotten from the stable. In his other hand, he was carrying that distinctive hat, casually holding it just beneath his navel.
A navel Ocelot’s eyes were uncontrollably drawn to, as Esteban had removed his shirt while he was away. Ocelot felt his gaze roam Esteban’s upper half, admiring the well-toned muscles and spotless skin. He knew he was staring, but was beyond caring in the least.
“You kept the gloves on, huh?” asked Esteban, startling Ocelot out of his trance.
“Oh, sorry, I’ll get them o—”
“No, leave them.”
“What?”
“You want me in my chaps, I want you in your gloves. Fair’s fair, right?”
Ocelot smirked, expression growing hungry as Esteban neared him.
He came to a stop at the foot of the bed, still holding onto his hat and rope. “Do you trust me?”
Ocelot looked up at him, eyes greedily shifting from his exposed torso to the chaps peeking out around the sides of the hat. The question scratched at his insides, making him reflect on his life’s work, and how heavily it depended on his distrust of others. He thought about all the colleagues he’d betrayed, and all the colleagues he was planning to. And finally, he dwelled on the fact that for all his skills as a secret agent and general manipulator, his entire self-control came crumbling down around him the moment he was confronted by a handsome, half-naked vaquero.
Tentatively, he got out, “Yes.”
“Good,” said Esteban, a satisfied smile adorning his face. “Now, since you trust me, I’m going to ask you to lie down.”
Ocelot quirked his brow, but when no explanation was forthcoming, stretched back on the bed and waited expectantly.
“Turn around, on your stomach.”
Confusion growing, he complied all the same, lying down and turning his head in the hope of seeing what Esteban was up to. Instead, he felt Esteban’s weight dip the bottom of the mattress, near his feet. He began shifting his way up Ocelot's body, hovering over him but never touching, then stopped about halfway up and brought his hands down to gently massage the muscles of Ocelot's back.
The feel of Esteban’s calloused hands dragging across his body was exquisite, and Ocelot let out a long groan only partially muffled by the pillow beneath him. The careful touches quickly dissipated his tension, and he felt himself relax, sighing contentedly as they glided along his shoulders, over his ribs, down to his waist. After a few minutes he felt as if he'd melted into the mattress. Esteban kneaded his arms, gradually working down their length, each of his hands massaging Ocelot’s wrists before shifting to stroke his palms. He lingered there, rubbing the seams of Ocelot's gloves, bending his fingers this way and that.
Lost in his pleasure, Ocelot didn’t think much of it when Esteban asked, "Can I try something?" He gave a lazy nod and Esteban began pulling his wrists up toward his back, crossing them over one another and holding them in place. But when he felt something winding its way around his wrists, it finally clicked. The coil of rope. Esteban was tying him up with the rope he’d brought in. Once he'd tied the knot, Ocelot gave an experimental tug, testing the rope’s hold. Interestingly, it was secure while still allowing some leeway.
“That okay?” asked Esteban.
The rope’s soft, plush texture put Ocelot at ease, and he gave a noise of affirmation before relaxing into the mattress again.
Esteban gave Ocelot's gloved hands one last caress before scooting back down and stopping where he’d started, beneath Ocelot’s feet. When he spoke, his voice was thick with arousal. “Spread your legs, Adam.”
Still unsure what Esteban’s endgame was, Ocelot nonetheless did as he was told, feeling Esteban move to sit between his calves. Again, the feeling of those hands running along his legs, even stopping to massage his ankles, was all he needed to let out yet more gratified noises.
Some time passed and he felt Esteban's hands come to rest on the backs of his knees. Confidently, they moved upwards, groping at his thighs. Ocelot felt himself tense, previously satisfied sighs turning into impatient mewling. Reaching the junction of his thighs and ass, Esteban's touch became much more deliberate. Ocelot's back arched and his whimpers surged in intensity, but Esteban remained unhurried, tenderly splaying his fingers over the flesh. Squeezing lightly, he trailed his hands upwards, finally grasping Ocelot’s cheeks and spreading them apart.
Ocelot thrust weakly into the mattress, desperate for some friction on his aching cock. He angled his hips towards Esteban, craving more contact, arms straining at the rope binding his hands together. Esteban chuckled and loosened his grip, scooting away again.
Ocelot growled in frustration.
“Patience, patience,” chided Esteban, grasping his feet and bringing them up towards his back. Like before, he wound rope around the ankles to bind them. “Okay?” he asked again, apparently not wanting him stretched beyond his limits.
Ocelot flexed his arms experimentally, then stopped, realizing that the action pulled his legs farther back. Cautiously, he tested his mobility, opening and shutting his legs, then twisting his hips around. He wiggled from side to side, curving and arching his back. Finally, he asked, “Did you really just hogtie me?”
“Would you rather I hadn’t?”
Ocelot paused. The thought of being helpless while Esteban was free to do anything he liked made his face grow hot. It wasn’t a terribly surprising response, as he’d had similar fantasies before. But all the same, finding out that experiencing an actual situation reminiscent of those fantasies turned him on just as much? It was rather unnerving, and made him wonder what else he might like to try someday. Maybe he could plan out a way to—
“If you like, I can take them off,” offered Esteban, interrupting his musings.
“Wait, wait! I... I like the feeling.”
A pause, and then Esteban murmured, “I'm glad.”
Ocelot felt him climb off the bed, and turned his head to follow the sound of footsteps. As soon as Esteban’s chaps-clad lower half came into view, he felt his eyes widen. So that’s why he hadn’t just come in wearing the hat.
He'd divested himself of his shirt earlier, but what Ocelot hadn’t realized at the time was that his pants were gone too. All Esteban wore were his chaps, providing Ocelot with a mouth-watering view of the thick cock proudly jutting out from his hips.
Unable to stop himself, Ocelot blurted out, “Can I suck your cock?”
Esteban looked down at him, surprise in his expression. “I don’t think you can do it all tied up like that,” he said, opening the drawer beside the bed. “But if you really want to, I can turn you so it’s easier.”
“Please.”
Esteban grinned. “Works for me. But you’re going to have to wait a minute.”
Ocelot watched as he pulled out a condom and placed a bottle of lube atop the drawer. Tearing open the condom, he slipped it on and carefully rolled it down himself. The whole process was taking entirely too long for Ocelot, who snapped, “Turn me around, already.”
“All in good time,” Esteban said. He grabbed Ocelot’s shoulders and moved him to lie sideways across the bed, head hanging off the edge. “Comfy?”
“Extremely,” said Ocelot, and stretched out his neck to give Esteban’s cock a quick lick, eliciting a soft gasp as he moved closer, cradling Ocelot’s head in his hands. The gesture had Ocelot practically purring, and he moved to mouth at the cock again. Unfortunately, Esteban was thicker than he could comfortably fit in his mouth, so he settled on giving small licks up a side, then slurping at the head before starting up the other side.
Esteban’s hands slid to clutch at his hair, tugging it enough to be just this side of painful. Ocelot doubted Esteban realized he was doing it, but the sensation was delightful all the same. Daringly, he closed his lips around Esteban’s cock, teasing it with his tongue as he tried to work his mouth open.
Little by little, he took more and more of Esteban into his mouth, feeling his lips stretch around the intrusion. He determinedly kept at it, focusing his eyes straight ahead, watching Esteban’s hips shaking with the need to push forward. More importantly, he admired the way those damned chaps framed Esteban’s cock so wonderfully, the contrast of the leather with his dark skin truly a sight to behold. Ocelot longed to reach out his hands and touch it, a muffled grunt escaping him at the realization that having his extremities tied together did indeed have its drawbacks.
He'd managed to swallow down about half of Esteban's cock, wondering if he shouldn't be more hesitant. Embarrassed, even. If not by the events leading up to this, then definitely by the fact that he was currently immobile and fully exposed, hair grabbed by the fistfuls and mouth stuffed with cock. He felt himself flush at the thought of how he must look, but nothing beyond that. A pleased grin would've stretched his lips if they weren't already at their limit. He was sucking off his own personal wet dream and there was absolutely nothing his subconscious could do to ruin it for him.
Suddenly, Esteban was squeezing the base of his cock and gently dragging it from Ocelot's mouth. He let his tongue chase after it, giving the head one last lick before throwing a disappointed look up at Esteban.
“Don’t wanna come yet,” he explained, grabbing the bottle of lube from the drawer and climbing onto the bed again. He shifted Ocelot back to his original position, leaving him with only the wall to look at. “I had lots more in mind for us,” continued Esteban.
Ocelot laid his head back on the pillows, grateful for the chance to rest his neck. “Like what?”
“Like this,” said Esteban, one hand holding Ocelot open while the other’s lube-slicked fingers teased his entrance.
A sharp squeak escaped Ocelot before he clamped his mouth shut. He tensed as a single finger began circling the sensitive area, lightly pushing at seemingly random intervals, until at last it made its way in. Esteban worked it steadily, angling it to stretch him out. Then came the second finger, teasing the rim around the first before finally joining it inside. He felt them moving around, stretching him out even more, as well as curling up and prodding at him. They slid in and out, deliberately dragging along his inner walls.
It was a tight fit when the third finger made its way in, and he felt himself clench up at the slight burning sensation. Carefully, the fingers started moving again, grazing along his insides until they brushed against a spot that had him thrusting into the mattress with a sigh. Esteban continued pressing there, evidently pleased at having found his prostate. As much as he squirmed, it was impossible for Ocelot to get any friction against his cock, and he frustratedly hissed, “Damn it, Esteban, untie me!”
“I thought you liked the feeling,” Esteban said, cheekiness apparent in his voice.
“Look, unless you grab my dick yourself—”
“Sure thing.”
And with that, Esteban deftly undid the knots holding his legs up, easing them down before flipping him over. For a brief moment, he rested uncomfortably on his still tied hands, but then Esteban pulled his lower half onto his lap, reaching up to snatch a pillow and place it underneath him for good measure.
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to untie my hands too?”
“True, but easier doesn’t always mean better,” Esteban said, shifting his legs underneath Ocelot, trying to find an ideal position. “Besides,” he continued, “you do like the feeling. I figured, why not have the best of both worlds?” He reached to the side, grabbing the hat he’d brought along earlier. Setting it on his head, he lifted Ocelot’s legs up and positioned himself to push in. “After all, I only aim to please, Adam.”
Ocelot was entirely too overwhelmed to form a coherent response to that. As far as he was concerned, all that mattered was that his hands were tied, his backside was resting on a gorgeous pair of leather chaps, and—most importantly—he was about to be fucked by a goddamn cowboy. Or vaquero. Fuck, did it even matter at this point? The man was a stunning representation of the Wild West, Hollywood be damned.
His admiration was cut short as Esteban began pressing in, the head of his cock breaching Ocelot and pushing ahead. A feeling of intense fullness overcame him as more of Esteban entered, finally bottoming out and letting go of his legs, giving them both a chance to adjust.
A moment of silence passed before Esteban broke it. “All right?” he asked.
“Just peachy,” replied Ocelot, wrapping his newly freed legs around him. “Don’t move for a second, okay?”
Esteban gave a nod and reached down to lightly run his fingers over Ocelot’s swollen cock.
A moan escaped him and he gave a weak thrust into the slight touch. The movement jarred the cock inside him, its presence becoming more pleasurable by the second. Ocelot gave a few experimental squeezes around it, reveling in how huge it felt. Tightening his legs around Esteban for leverage, he shallowly rocked back and forth, opening himself up wider. The action earned a groan from Esteban, prompting him to finally take his cock in a strong grip and tug it in time to the pace.
“Fuck me, Esteban. Fuck me now.”
Immediately, Esteban grabbed his hips, raised himself up on his knees, and started pumping in and out. Ocelot tried maintaining his composure, but the attempt wore thinner with each thrust. Despite his best efforts, he was sure that he was letting out some kind of noise each time Esteban plowed into him. Chest heaving with each breath, he gritted his teeth against the onslaught and shut his eyes, needing to focus on something else in order to preserve what little, if any, dignity he had left. As far as he was concerned, there was a world of difference between showily swallowing down a cock and being reduced to begging for that same cock.
Unfortunately, all shutting his eyes accomplished was bringing the surrounding sounds into sharp focus. He heard his own needy panting, laced with an undercurrent of moaning, in addition to the rustle of the sheets and the soft creaking of the bedsprings. However, by far the most overpowering noise was the repetitive slap-slap-slap of Esteban’s thighs against his ass, the sturdy chaps roughly connecting with his reddening skin. The sound of the leather smacking against him with each push was too much, and he opened his eyes in search of another distraction.
Abruptly, Esteban gave one last, hard push into Ocelot and stopped.
“Wh—”
Before he could finish the question, Esteban was shoving aside the pillow under him and bringing them chest to chest. Then, in a maneuver too quick for his hazy mind to keep track of, Esteban flipped them over, leaving Ocelot awkwardly lying atop him, hands still tied. He felt Esteban scrabbling at the ropes, fingers expertly undoing them in less than a minute.
As soon as his hands were free, he sat up, gingerly stretching them out. “Why the change?”
“Switching things around makes everything better,” said Esteban, tossing the rope to the floor. “And I thought you should have the chance to play cowboy too. Here.”
Ocelot watched as he lifted his head, pulled off his Stetson, and handed it over.
Distracted by the hat, he swept his fingers over it, hardly noticing as Esteban pulled at his cock. Completely fixated, he simply turned the hat over and continued admiring it from different angles.
“Aren’t you going to put it on?”
Ocelot shifted his focus back to Esteban, snapping out of his impromptu trance.
“The hat. You should put it on.”
“And then what?”
“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
Almost reverently, Ocelot brought the hat to his head and positioned it. Satisfied, he turned his gaze back to Esteban. “And now? Do you expect me to do all the work?”
“You are the cowboy.”
Ocelot paused at the remark, eyes scrutinizing Esteban’s playfully innocent face before asking, “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You don’t normally go around making such a show of being a vaquero, right?”
“No. Would you rather I changed it up?” Esteban punctuated the question with a quick thrust into him.
Curious by nature, Ocelot ignored it, not about to let the topic go so easily. “Changing it up implies you have something else to flaunt. What is it?”
“Maybe you’ll find out once you get going,” said Esteban, giving Ocelot’s ass a soft smack. “Ride ‘em, cowboy.”
Ocelot’s secondhand embarrassment was only overpowered by his own personal embarrassment at actually finding the god-awful phrase arousing. He gave a noncommittal grumble and placed his hands on Esteban’s chest, adjusting his legs for maximum efficiency. Taking a breath, he slowly rolled his hips, watching Esteban for a reaction.
“Mm, keep going.”
Sitting back on his haunches, Ocelot began lifting himself up and down, creating a steady rhythm of bouncing on Esteban’s cock. The control the position offered was addictive, and soon he was speeding up until it seemed like Esteban was on the brink of coming, then instantly slowing down and torturously lifting himself up until only the head was inside him. After having his fill of Esteban’s exasperated groans and cries, he sank back down, newly impaling himself and starting the pattern again.
After it repeated a few times, Esteban moved his hands over Ocelot's, fingering at the leather of his gloves. Inspired by the display, Ocelot steadied himself on one hand and moved the other to rest lightly against the hollow of Esteban's throat, an action which prompted him to start spouting Spanish, only bits of which Ocelot understood.
“Ay, te ves tan guapo sentado ahí. Actúas tan lindo que me gustaría besarte de nuevo—”
“Ngh...what are you...saying to me?”
Esteban gave a breathy laugh. “It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if I just told you, would it?”
“Is that your other talent?” asked Ocelot, managing to keep his pace despite the conversation. “It’s either full-on cowboy puns...or sultry Spanish?”
“More or less. But it doesn’t have to be one or the other. I can go both ways.”
Ocelot paused, unsure if Esteban was purposely making a pun. The falter in his rhythm was enough for Esteban to grab him close and flip them over again, the new angle misplacing the hat onto his face. He fumbled with it for a moment before pulling up the brim and throwing Esteban a withering look.
“Another change?” he asked, impatience clear in his voice.
Esteban tilted himself over the bed’s edge and stretched to grab one of Ocelot’s boots. “Yes, but I think you’ll like it.”
Ocelot watched in confusion as Esteban took one of his legs and placed the boot back onto it, then did the same with the other.
“Feel okay?”
“Well, yes, but... Why?”
“A cowboy needs his boots, right?”
Ocelot’s expression morphed into one of mild annoyance. Loathe as he was to admit it, he did actually adore all the ways Esteban had been incorporating elements of his obsession into their activities. Nonetheless, while the idea of wearing his boots was nice, he imagined it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun in practice. By the time they finished, his legs were bound to ache from holding them up to stop the spurs from—
“But not just for show,” Esteban clarified. “I want you to use them.”
What.
“On me.”
What.
“I mean, if you’re not totally comfortable with it, that’s o—”
“I would love to.”
Esteban’s face lit up with relief, Ocelot’s eyes glinting in anticipation and the quirk of his lips turning predatory. Not deterred in the least, Esteban said, “I’m going to start out slow. So whenever you want me to speed up, use them, okay?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Ocelot rumbled.
Looking excited at uncovering this new side of Ocelot, Esteban leaned forward, bringing his mouth to Ocelot’s in a deep, sensuous kiss. Ocelot brought his legs up and let the spurs gently dig into Esteban's ass, melting into the kiss. Gradually, Esteban began to move, fully sinking into Ocelot before pulling himself nearly all the way out, methodically repeating the process even as their kiss grew heated. He took Ocelot's hands in his own, intertwining their fingers and rubbing his thumbs along the gloves' seams. The ministrations brought Ocelot back to full hardness, but the slow pace wasn't doing him any favors. He raised his legs and sharply brought his spurs down on Esteban’s backside, feeling satisfaction at the way his boots sprang back from the force of the impact.
Instantly, Esteban's thrusts sped up, and he left Ocelot’s mouth to kiss at his neck, drawing out yet more helpless moaning. Belly covered in precum and cock red with arousal, Ocelot anxiously wanted to come. He gave another kick, nearly regretting it when Esteban left his neck to prop himself up. Soon, the thrusts not only grew faster, but also harder. Incessant strokes against Ocelot’s prostate steadily turned him into a quivering puddle, fingers scrabbling madly at the sheets. Esteban reached down and splayed a hand on Ocelot’s chest, holding him down even as he was rocked back and forth from the momentum generated by each push.
Ocelot shut his eyes, eager to let himself get lost in the sensations. He felt Esteban’s hand continue to press him down, the sensation making his body give an involuntarily jerk, driving his spurs into Esteban’s ass yet again.
Hands switching to grasp his thighs, Esteban pushed Ocelot's legs up and farther apart than he would've thought possible. Nearly bent in two, he barely registered Esteban’s reassuring squeeze before feeling as if he was being pounded into the mattress. Esteban wildly rammed into him, and all of it was simply too much. Ocelot reached his breaking point and wailed out in abandon, coming at last.
Wave after wave of convulsions swept through him, cock gushing cum across his body. He felt his muscles contract around Esteban, milking him to his own orgasm. Once steady thrusts grew erratic, slowed, then stilled.
Ocelot lay motionless, eyes closed and breath heavy. He felt Esteban pull out, hearing him make his way to the bathroom, presumably to throw away the used condom. The sound of his footsteps returned, and Ocelot let him tug off his boots, too boneless to do it himself. Rustling followed, presumably Esteban removing his chaps, and then the mattress dipped as he clambered back onto the bed.
A few minutes passed in near silence. Ocelot could feel the cum drying on his skin. It had spread much farther than usual, leaving him feeling as if he'd been coated in it. Eventually, his eyes fluttered open, lazily sliding over to look at Esteban.
“Those are some nice boots, Adam.”
“...Adamska.”
Esteban blinked in confusion.
“My name. But it’s not as easy as ‘Adam’, so you don’t have t—”
“Adamska it is, then.”
Ocelot fell silent, staring at Esteban.
“Я хочу тебя поцеловать.”