He moans around Robbie’s cock, which makes Robbie’s hips jerk, and his mouth more insistent, which makes Lance moan again. They keep feeding off of each other in a fast and brutal cycle that quickly ends with Robbie pulsing and coming straight down Lance’s throat, so Lance only notices that Robbie is coming because of the undulations in his shaft. And when Robbie in turn closes his hand around Lance’s cock, he comes at that first touch, though after two orgasms in close succession, it almost hurts.

Even after he’s come, Robbie is tonguing his hole, laving it, and Lance can do nothing but fall onto his forehead and elbows between Robbie’s knees while Robbie holds him up by the waist and thigh. He worships Lance until Lance is whimpering with the feeling of a trail of saliva dripping down his balls and his over-sensitized shaft.

Lance collapses, rolls onto his back, and stares at the ceiling, panting. Robbie lays back against the pillows so they’re lying next to each other, but head to toe. Robbie takes Lance gently by the ankle and Lance bats at his calf, warding him off.

“You can’t. You’ll break me.”

Robbie chuckles and guides Lance’s reluctant foot into the center of his body, where he cradles it between both hands, then slowly and gently rolls his thumbs into the arch.

“Oh, my God. I take it back. Do that. Keep doing that.” Lance’s eyes drift closed, and he says nothing else except the occasional murmur of approval for what Robbie’s hands are doing, offering a whimper of protest when Robbie stops and then a happy sigh when he discovers he’s only switching to Lance’s other foot. He throws his arm over Robbie’s leg and strokes small circles into the skin of his thigh, just above his knee, until he falls asleep.

The next thing he knows, he’s lying on his side, neatly tucked under the top sheet and blanket that smell exactly like what they were doing earlier, and he can hear Robbie speaking to the calf.

“Look at you, you big, strong girl,” Robbie coos. “Up on your feet. Lance is going to be sorry he missed this.”

Lance props himself on an elbow, blinking sleepily. “Sorry he missed what?”

Robbie looks up from where he’s crouched. The calf is back in front of the wood stove, but instead of in her blanket nest, she’s standing. She’s definitely wobbly, and looks skeptical about the wisdom of the act, but she’s upright and balanced on her tiny, sharp hooves like they’re four spindles and she’s a trainee acrobat.

Her empty bottle rests on Robbie’s knee. He rubs the calf’s chest and beams at her.

Lance has the absurd urge to ask, “Can we keep her?”, and then to demand that he himself get to name her, considering Robbie’s track record with animal names.

He manages to stop himself.

Regardless of the bliss of the past day, he and Robbie aren’t together. They don’t get to build a picket fence around a new farmhouse and pen in a frolicking pet calf. Soon, Lance will have his court date, and the best-case scenario after that is for him to get to Chicago and take back the small parts of his life that aren’t irretrievably entangled with Niall. Robbie hasn’t invited him to stay forever, and even if he did—