Cowboy Daddy

There was a twangy tune filling the room with popping, snapping sounds of banjo strings being plucked. Jimmy was laying on the mattress of a double bed, holding a cigar in between his lips, all while he cradled the banjo like it was a puppy.

Clouds of smoke gathered in the atmosphere, and Jimmy didn't even have the windows open. The small, box-shaped bedroom was filled with thick, grayish-white smog. He didn't care, though. Having barely any gold had its perks.

As Jimmy averted his gaze to the closed door, a loud clout sounded at the wood. The door slowly opened, causing a creaking sound to be heard. The face of a younger male looked into the crack of the door, keeping the door only open a jar for the time being. He breathed heavily, showing a signal that he was nervous.

"S-sir?"

"Ah, Peter, what a lovely surprise. I've been thinkin' about ya. Come 'ere and give ya daddy a hug."

"...Yes, of course. I'll give you just that, sir."

Peter walked through the doorway and closed the door behind himself. The creaking sound of the door made him flinch, but Jimmy didn't care about the sound.

"Peter," he started, setting the banjo down beside the bed and up against the wall. Jimmy then glanced over at Peter again, this time patting his lap, "I know you like bein' a queer and doin' queer things. No need to be shy when yer around me."

Hesitating with a snicker, Peter held his hands close to his chest. His body quivered when he stepped closer to the man laying on the bed, moving very gradually. Peter was a tall, slender lad, and probably a bit too scrawny. He was as skinny as a twig, standing at five foot seven, and yet he had a very pretty, feminine face.

"I-I killed a rabbit. The trap worked."

"Good. You're startin' to learn about the ranch and what we do 'ere. I castrated eighteen bulls today."

"I heard you did that without any gloves on," mentioned Peter, as the lad tried to pull a weak, quivering smile.

"Men don't need gloves to do such things."

"I know, s-sir."

"What do ya think about my friends? Are they keepin' ya company?" Jimmy asked, striking up a conversation.

"...They ride around me on big, big horses, and constantly call me a 'faggot'. It kind of makes me feel scared to ever visit your ranch, sir."

"They're just tryin' to be friendly with ya; make ya feel welcome at our ranch. It's not often we get eighteen-year-old boys comin' to work at our ranch," reminded Jimmy, "I'm not jokin' around or nothin', but you scream at everythin' that surprises you when you're workin' there."

Coughing, the smoke was intense in the room, especially with Jimmy still puffing on his cancer stick. The older man pulled a dirty grin that stretched from ear-to-ear, while his hand patted his lap another time.

Jimmy was clad in bootleg trousers, a button-up black shirt, and a pair of heavy, dirty boots. Peter wore a white shirt of similar design, a pair of slim trousers, and his short brunette hair was combed neatly to one side.

"Come 'ere. Don't just stand there, princess," urged Jimmy.

To Peter, Jimmy looked intimidating with that tall, wide-brimmed hat on his head. A traditional cowboy hat.

Drawing closer to Jimmy, Peter took a seat beside Jimmy on the bed. Peter straightened his back as soon as he sat down, placing his hands in his lap. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Yes, sir," answered Peter, as his brown orbs stared up at Jimmy's face.

"Quit it with that 'sir' crap. Call me Jimmy. Just 'cause I'm an old man, don't mean I need to be called 'sir'. Remember that, boy."

A large, well-built arm swathed around Peter's shoulders, as Jimmy pulled the younger male closer to himself. The stench of cigar smoke filled Peter's nostrils, and he could smell it even more when Jimmy spoke. Peter noticed how greasy Jimmy's hair looked, as dirty blonde locks rested down the side of his face.

"Yes, J-Jimmy," the boy hesitated, gulping again.

His hand fondled the lad's shoulder, feeling just how bony it was. Jimmy leaned forward and planted an idle kiss onto Peter's third temple.

"Good boy. Now don't be shy."

Leaning away, Peter lightly licked his lips, sniffing through his mouth. Jimmy wiped his hands on the boy's shirt, feeling down his back and arms. He felt the lad's spine through his shirt. But every touch Jimmy gave him, Peter inched away, trying to brush Jimmy's hands off him.

"Why are you tryin' so hard to be polite and friendly?" Jimmy questioned.

"I-I'm just nervous, sir, that's all. I mean...Jimmy," he hesitated, meeting Jimmy's gaze with his own another time.

Jimmy just laughed, "I won't hurt ya, I promise. I know you're so easy to break but I ain't gonna break ya."

"...You promise?"

"Isn't that what I said, Peter?"

Coming closer, Peter pressed his knees into the mattress of the bed, as he started to crawl up to the laying man. Peter placed a hand onto Jimmy's chest, albeit quickly moved that hand away. Peter was just like a stray cat - nervous and lacking any trust.

"Come on, boy. No need to be slow."

Jimmy draped his arms around Peter's back, and quickly pulled him closer to himself, allowing the lad to lay right beside him. Peter grunted, smelling the smoke even more. But his lips quivered, curling into a small smile. Peter's brown eyes glanced up at Jimmy, eyeing the lit cigar in between his rims.

"Perhaps I could try your cigar, Jimmy?"

Raising a hand, Jimmy took the cigar from in between his lips, and soon offered it to the lad beside him.

"Sure."

As Jimmy offered, Peter didn't even touch the cigar with his hands, but instead, Peter took it in between his lips and inhaled the smoke into his lungs. He could taste Jimmy's lips, too, from when the man had been smoking on the cigar before Peter. The taste was sweet, and the smoke smelled dirty, woody, masculine...an aroma that didn't feel healthy at all. But Peter didn't care.

"Thanks," he still looked up at Jimmy, now blowing out a stream of smoke from his mouth.

Jimmy still had his arm swathed around the lad's shoulders, and now, feeling relaxed, Peter rested his head onto Jimmy's shoulder. He felt comfortable, even though he hadn't yet washed up after spending the day on the ranch.

"Ya know, if ya ever want to, you can call me 'daddy'. I'm old enough to be your dad after all."

"...I'll think about it."