'CHAPS ROUND YOUR WAIST

"You think I'm doing all this touching with everyone else?" He means his boys. Like Trent's his boy but something else too. Cassell hasn't felt anything like this since he was that embarrassing rookie showing up to training with stars in his eyes for his vet. Corny shit that no one ever mentions. Cas hasn't even looked at any men like that since then. He knew it wasn't ever going to be like that for him. And then he crossed paths with Trent and all those ideas came back. Still Cassell can't ask anything of him and he wouldn't ever being to give him anything he deserves but he can give him this. If he wants. "Want this." He murmurs with a slow nod as if he can see anything but the blurry outline of Trent's eye the way they're pressed so close. "You want it?" Cas doesn't even really know what it means. He likes touching Trent and he doesn't want to stop. His hand slips up Trent's back with purpose now; slow and gentle in a way he doesn't ever remember being. He presses his lips to Trent's hairline, brushes along the skin there. "How do I make you feel Trent?"

"No." He says almost instantly, because it hadn't crossed his mind — until right now. "Are you?" He asks, as neutrally as he can. Though his voice still tips up on the tail end, and he realizes he doesn't want o know. His hand lays flat on his chest, an anchor of sorts, words muffled by the closeness. "Don't tell me. It's okay if you are. I just don' wanna know." Because he thinks Cas is precious and selective with the people he chooses to touch and be touched by, and he knows he wouldn't act right if he knew who else got to bask in his attention. His breathing is heavy and thick with want. In the dark, in the high, his limbs feel slower, like they're moving through molasses — wading in the sweetness of it all. It is sweet, in comparison to some guys in the league. He wants to keep kissing him and touching him until he's sore, that's what he wants. The place where Cas had kissed him tingles, the feeling marking itself in his memory. "Yeah." Trent gets out, a bit above a whisper, kissing him again, pushing his tongue past his lips. His fingers crooks against his chest, wishing momentarily he could grab hold of him, carry a piece of him full in his palm. "Happy." It slips out, without thought. "Are you happy right now?"

Oh, he doesn't know what he'd expected from Trent. It was this, it was always going to be this. Still his body reacts like he's stepped on a livewire. He jolts before going still like he's dead. Cassell just breathes against Trent's mouth before telling himself to relax in his head. He's thought about it before but never once indulged beyond the surface level thoughts of Trent being good looking enough to kiss. He kisses back after a second before he needs to breath. It's a little irritating the way he puffs out softly against Trent's mouth before he pulls back to look at his face. There's this soft, sad sort of thing there that Cas doesn't know what he did to cause. The moons bathing Trent in this etheral sort of glow. Cas thinks he must be an angel. "Hey." Cassell says more firm than the syrupy sweet tension needs, "Fix your face. We just kissed and you're looking like it made you feel sick." He murmurs. "Do you feel sick?" Cas wonders out loud as he searches Trent's face for something positive. Has Trent kissed a guy before? Has he kissed a teammate? Damn, Cas is thinking about everything now. "Am I making you feel sick?"

Trent doesn't really know where all that's coming from, but he doesn't know what his face looks like — ever, really, because he stares at the mirror so long but thinks he only knows what he looks like from the expressions of people looking at him. Like Cas, right now, looking for something he can't find, slightly unsettled maybe, by what is there. So Trent does, fix his face, rubs along his brow with the heel of his palm, muscles still heavy from the high, heart still racing from the kiss. "No. No, you didn't do nothin' wrong." He assures quickly. "I thought it might'a not been what you wanted." Bracing for rejection maybe. It's been like that before, good in the moment, the comedown sobering. Rodeo's just as bad but there's millions more eyes in the league. Trent tries not to care, but the paranoia from past love lingers — all that stupid locker room talk, NDA's and talkin' 'bout only texting through Snapchat. "You don't make me sick." Trent promises, curling into him closer, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, trailing up his neck, mouth warming around his pulse.

When Trent's gaze goes back up to the sky, Rose finishes his beer and then turns to look at him, watching the man's side profile catch the cast of warm pinks and reds. "I know right?" He had to pay a pretty penny to fly private just to get here without the media following. "But I wouldn't trade being back here for the world."

"I do remember." He admits softly. A whistling rocket shoots through the sky, squeaking on the incline. It makes him smile. It's not like they wait the whole year for each other. Trent remembers 21 years old, on the back of a rodeo world champs, bringing a girl he was so sure he was gonna marry. Him and Rose hadn't slept together that year, but Trent had broken up with her a few months later. Unrelated, probably. "You're a good friend." Because that's what they are, at the end of the day. "I see why everyone loves you. I'm your biggest fan, though."

Once Trent picked his plate, Jessie plucks a few raspberries on top of her pancake before pouring some syrup on her plate, handing him a fork between her fingers. "I bet you can't go a whole day without touchin' me or sweet talkin' me."

He forks at another piece of his pancake. Trent considers it — he doesn't actually think he could, because he's always thinking about her. "See now you know I can't resist a good bet, but that sounds downright miserable."

Kyree winces in pain as he pulls his bandaged leg off of Trent. He presses his hand onto the wall in an attempt to get up. "I'm always going to say what I want involving you or otherwise." Kyree lets him know as he ignores Howard's demands of rest. He doesn't want to rest he needs to get out of this prison. "We can switch spots. You stay in here. since he's so good."

Instinctively, Trent gets up too, offers his body as a place to lean, trying to offload some of Kyree's weight onto him. "No, no. I'll come. We can go upstairs. It's nicer upstairs." He decides, even though it sounds like he's making it up on the spot, because he is. Trent hobbles with him to the metal door, already ajar, met with the stairs leading up to the main floor, the makeshift pantry on the left of them. "Let's go upstairs. Howard can change your dressing upstairs." Out of breath and out of practice, and an internal plea for Kyree to listen.

"Wrong answer forehead." Cas snorts as he closes his eyes blocking out any remnants of light filtering in the room. He feels peaceful in a way he hasn't for a long time. He'd even been tense on the drive over here worrying about hotel rooms and flights to catch. It's all fallen away now as he listens to Trent's steady, deep breathing. The silence in the darkness weights heavy and warm like a quilt. The same kind your grandma puts on you when you're already sick with a fever so you sweat it out. He doesn't know the last time he felt like this and it doesn't scare him strangely enough. The question makes him perk up a little bit and fully open his eyes when Trent takes his hand. He hadn't thought much of Trent touching him because he's always like that. But this is something else. This is an invitation from Trent to touch him back. He squeezes Trent through his sweats before his hand trails up to his waist and finally to his cheek as he cups it gingerly. Cas can't help the way he smiles as he nods finally. "You're here. Still right here." He doesn't move his hand.

Trent's not scared of anything, least of all the touch of someone he cares for, that could never be a frightening thing. It can be hard, and Trent's struggled to forge something real from the path God's set him on, all the games and the money and the wide-eyed children that cling to the hope of having a life just like his. He's not afraid when Cas looks straight at him, just looks back, a nearly-there smile flittering at the corner of his mouth. Trent is glad he's right here, because he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. If this is what being high is like, he's unsure why he doesn't smoke more. The want doesn't really sneak up on him because it's more or less always there, a constant hum that buzzes through his body. Leans into it like second nature, then leans into him. Touches Cas's lips with his own, a light press, a kissing sound that barely disrupts the silence. And he doesn't know tact so he kisses him again, for a little longer this time. His brows pinch slightly because he'd forgotten to ask if this is what Cas wants too. Sometimes Trent thinks his desperation is so palpable it festers and infects the air. His face looks a little apologetic about it, but the room is dark and the silence isn't bothering him.

His gaze is glued to Trent's face. Every twitch that might give him away. Kyree catalogues them in his head. He didn't wanna let me in. Kyree squints at Trent like it might give him some other answer. Something else to make any of this make sense. He cannot find a single thing. What the fuck is he supposed to do with this? He glances down to his knee and the bandage that appears to be seeping. Trent hadn't looked at it and Kyree grinds his teeth about it. His gaze turns toward the sound and he wants to throw Trent in front of him like a shield. Human sacrifice. Trent's words are clipped in a way Kyree has not noticed from him before even in the very short time they've been speaking. The door swings open and his gaze lifts up towards who must be Howard. "He was checking my knee. It's bleeding." Kyree explains with some strange need to protect Trent from him and that voice of his. "I was screaming at the door and he heard me." He lies.

Howards plods back up the stairs, and Trent doesn't say anything, a bit embarrassed to be a told-off kid that Kyree felt the need to defend against. "You didn't have to say that. He's intense but he's not — you know, bad or nothin'."

Cas can only nod cause his mouth has really already said too much. His usual strict brain to mouth filter has gone all fuzzy from the weed and close proximity. He's gotta desperate grasp the tether that keeps him from saying too much. He wants to. There's so much that he wants to say. He tries to steady his breathing as Trent keeps talking about who is in his phone. Is he really that curious? "You." Cassell says instead of anything else. There's a few people here and there. Probably someone he intended to hook up with but knowing him the chemistry dried up over text. That's usually what happens. Cassell is a deep thinker and not the best with short form flirting but he doesn't want to tell Trent that. He might get jealous or start pouting and then they'd really have a problem. Trent's touching him suddenly and despite how slow his movements are Cas feels caught out. He stills beneath the others touch before his lips part with the press of Trent's thumb. His words come out a little too breathy to be anything but want. "Working on me, Trent."

Trent feels lightheaded again, but in a pleasant way, slightly unmoored by the darkness they're enveloped in. He laughs, a breathy, lilting thing because obviously he'd meant to exclude himself in that question too. "Goofy." He says, and he could be talking about either one of them. Trent lets himself enjoy this. He's at his best when there's nothing left to say, he thinks. Although he supposes that might sound coy, and a little bit cute, to ask what's working on him, Trent's nothing if not blatant with his affection, a glaring open wound, all rosy and throbbing. So, he just hums instead, a little hmm sort of thing. Trent wants to lay on top of him and mash their mouths together until they become one. More than that he'd like to just kiss him. "What about me?" Without warning his hand abandons his mouth, to take Cas's hand and place it on the inside of his thigh. "Am I still here?"

"Expensive as hell, Trent. Gotta plan in order t'see what we can an' can't do." It's said with disappointment, but she's watching as the bubbles start to form in the pancakes and she's already grabbing the spatula to nudge the straying sides of the pancake back to it's circular shape. "Unless you're wantin' t'spend a couple hundred on mouse shaped ice creams." It doesn't take long for the side planted down against the pan to signal it was time to flip, and Jessie gently slides the spatula underneath the golden brown side to flip, listening to the sound of sizzling get louder as the batter touches the heat. "I do like your enthusiasm though, an' you bet your ass that I'll be takin' pictures everywhere in them mouse ears." She lets the pancakes cook for a moment, going up on her tiptoes to grab a plate from the cabinet and letting it sit on the counter beside her before she's turning to Trent with a tired smile. "Today I was thinkin' we could go to the pool, hang out here for a bit, an' then go to the movies I'm cravin' popcorn."

"Oh." He frowns, forgetting that things cost money. Trent's never felt restricted by it because he knows how to run up a credit card like it's nobody's business, but he's been maxed out for months now. Trent would, is the thing, spend hundreds of dollars on mouse-shaped ice cream. "But we gotta go big or go home, right? I ain't worried 'cos there's so much work around these parts. We can grind for a week then blow it all on everything we wanna do at Disney." He grins. Trent's getting excited already. He's never known savings, or what to do with them. Trent grabs the berries from the fridge, the thought of coffee set aside when the pancakes are nearly ready. "What d'you wanna see? You should choose somethin' you don' care about concentratin' on so I can make out with you."

"You talk like he is." Kyree insists softly as he tries to understand the dynamic. Are neighbours not usually friendly? It's curious to see Trent react to his words. How he seems to digest everything all at once. Takes everything at face value. It would be easy to get him in here Kyree thinks. He stays watching him because anything else is a gray wall. There's another angle he can go at him with and he's about to try it. "Really? Why do you think that Trent? Tell me." Kyree keeps saying his name on purpose. He wants Trent to feel familiar, like he's special, he keeps looking at him. "I would have never guessed." His knowledge of America is limited to the man he came here for and pop culture. "Yes I am." He's not surprised Trent guessed that. They all do. It makes him smile when it comes from Trent's mouth though. "It doesn't matter. I want you to." The look on Trent's face is intriguing enough that he would like to press his fingers into his features. His face expresses everything and gives him away. The sound of footsteps draws his gaze away but he doesn't move. "I don't know Trent. I don't want to be here. Doesn't that make it bad?"

"I brought you crutches." The low, booming voice is heard even before the metal door swings open, creaking on its hinges. It takes several moments for Howard to assess what his eyes are seeing. "What the hell are you doin'?! I told you to leave him alone and let him rest."

"We're about two hours away from Orlando," The redhead pipes up. "Kinda wanna plan a trip to Disney while we're here." Because she didn't think Florida was Trent's end goal, but she wanted to make the most of it.

"You wanna go today?" 'Cos that's the way they've always moved — immediate, taking the world by their hands and bending it to their whims. Routine non-existent in the realm of gigs and side hustles, and they're not immune — to a 9:00 to 5:00, or something with a mortgage, staying in a place long enough to get to know their neighbours, but they're not quite there yet. Though he's not sure if he'd ever get used to the idea of working a job where he's gotta book a day off two weeks in advance. Their BnB's got a Nespresso machine. It's pretty cool, and most importantly, hard to fuck up. "Do you really gotta plan it all out? I ain't never been before. You'd look cute in them ears though."

"Yeah, can be. If you look hard enough." Cas just doesn't give it away so easily. His face never gives away anything when he's in front of a camera. It's only when he's with the people he trusts does he let his guard down. And between the weed and Trent's smile it's gone. He likes having his own things and he likes Trent's things cause he's real passionate about them. Cassell has always liked that Trent's just himself all the time. He's just that sweet and that endearing. It's almost got his teeth aching. "Easy." Cas accuses as a grin breaks across his face. "Yeah it does. You can call me whenever you want. A like ain't getting you shit." He side eyes Trent when he asks about him giving out his number. "Exclusive club." He assures him. Confusion screws up his face as he watches Trent get up wondering where he's going. Cas presses his face into the pillow with closed eyes as he feels Trent next to him once more. "I'm here right? Not gone somewhere else?"

Trent doesn't have to look that hard. Because really Cas is thoughtful about everything, the way he dodges the paps and ices out the press — something conscientious that Trent can't fathom in himself. And it makes it even sweeter that Trent isn't on the other end of that. He's never had a friend like him, though he does remind him of Luke. "Whenever I want?" He probes. If that's the case, he'll add him to his list of contacts he plays roulette with, for his morning drives to practice. It feels like the world's opened up. Trent's going to call Cas all the time. He smiles to himself, happy to be part of a special club. "Who else is in the club? Apart from your family. And teammates. And agent." A silence settles thinking about this. Trent feels a bit selfishly greedy, to want all Cas's special thoughtfulness for himself. It's ugly and a sin. "Mm...Let me check." His hand fumbles toward Cas in the dark, eyes closed, too heavy from the weed, and tonight's game catching up to him. He grazes on his knuckles and clutches around his wrist. "You hand is here..." His fingers climb up his arm, along his bicep, up his shoulder, "And your neck." Imagines him in his head and follows the path upward, thumb tagged on his lower lip. "Lips." He says softly. "An' you're breathin', which I think means you're here."

"Your friend is." Kyree snaps a little bit because the pain is making it hard to focus. Trent certainly appears to be an extension of Howard. "You shouldn't make people do things that they don't like Trent." He doesn't actually know which angle to use on this guy. He's not giving off any specific vibe that Kyree can use to his advantage but he'll try anything He needs to convince him to open the door. Kyree does not know what's going on. "Tell me what you saw outside." Kyree aims to sound helpless as he blinks at Trent. He wants to hit him in the face for looking so earnest while saying that bullshit to his face. "You are so American." They always think someone is out to get them. Howard does sound crazy and so does Trent. Isn't it his American right to go out there and die? Kyree glances where Trent's hand has just moved from before he looks back at his face. "I want you to look at it." He insists again. Shouldn't Trent be moved by the wound on his leg? He lifts his foot onto his leg and tries to gauge how bad it is by feel alone. "It hurts. You don't have anything for me?" Kyree needs to sway Trent or incapacitate him and he doesn't think the second one is an option. He presses down onto Trent's leg and hisses like it really hurt. "Trent, don't leave me in here."

"He ain't my friend." Trent pipes up, a little defensively. His expression screws up into this tense little face again, because this feels unfair. He's not making him do anything. And Kyree's got this tone with him like he' telling him off and it upsets him. Trent chomps down on the inside of his cheek until it hurts, then takes deep breath through his nose. He shakes his head. Trent can't. Physically. He's not going to talk about his horses with Kyree. That's all that he'd seen. And what he'd felt had been immeasurable. "I think there's something in the air." He says, in a small voice. And Howard has his theories: nuclear fallout from the Russians, toxic gas from the aliens. He looks at him, mouth quirking. "Texas born and raised." Nods, doesn't get that Kyree might mean it as a bad thing. "Are you from London?" He tries. It's the only place in England he knows of, which is where he must be from. Trent looks at him, helpless and useless. "But I ain't no doctor. Howard's the one who wrapped it up for you." Pinned in place by the deadweight of Kyree's leg, the offer to get him a Tylenol is cut short by the sound footsteps, heavyset and intruding. His heart speeds up, but he's not sure why. He has half the mind to stand, like a soldier prepping for its sergeant to enter, but he doesn't want to move Kyree's leg off him when he's already in pain. He's not sure why Kyree is saying his name like that. Like it means something. "This ain't a bad place to be. I promise. We can get Howard to give you some painkillers."

Something about Trent's smile is creeping him out and it shows on his face. Lip curled up before he masks it back into a line. He's almost doll-like in that Blythe sort of way. Big, pleading empty eyes and all. Kyree might want to fuck him if he wasn't trapped in a fucking prison with him. There's no doubt in his mind. Kyree would rather burn up outside or become radioactive if it meant getting out of here. "Why can't you let me out? What happened?" He shouldn't have come to this country to visit a man. This is what he gets. Kyree wants a cigarette so badly he might start clawing out Trent's eyes. "You don't know?" Kyree tips his head to the side. That seems very strange. If they're neighbours and must have been good ones by the way Trent speaks about him. Kyree's suspicious gaze narrows in on Trent's mouth and the expression has him confused. "So you don't know him well." Kyree supplies as he shakes his head. He doesn't say anything as he brushes his hand along the cylindrical block wall. This is a cellar. This is a fucking dungeon. "Why are you down here?" There's two lights on the wall and Kyree starts to move before his knee buckles beneath him. "Fucking hell." Dread washes over him as he sits back down onto the mattress. "It hurts." Kyree complains as he looks back at Trent. He seems easy to manipulate but unfortunately loyal. Kyree just needs to get him to switch sides. "You need to look at it."

And the questions come barrelling toward him again and Trent tries to catalogue them all — but the world's ending, he's pretty sure, and the questions will be too. "I'm not keeping you here." He interjects, desperate for Kyree to know that he's not a prisoner. Trent looks visibly distraught, taking a breath and then clamping his mouth shut because what is he meant to say? He doesn't know. But he'd felt it outside, he's sure. Something in the air. In the end, he decides to parrot what Howard had told him. "Um, maybe aliens. Or the Russians?" He asks, like a question. "Howard said whatever it is, it ain't American. He's, like, a doomsday prepper. Everyone in town thought he was crazy. Now they're probably wishin' they did the same thing." Instinctively his hand drops from the door handle and reaches to steady him in case he falls, Kyree manages by himself. He stays static at the door, but he feels so bad for Kyree, in pain, and it feels like a call to action even though he has no medical experience. "I think maybe you should be keepin' it raised." He sits at the edge of the mattress, cross legged. "Can I lift your foot? You can rest it on my knee." The corn chips are finally set aside. "The pantry's just outside the door. I was hungry. And curious. Howard told me to leave you alone though."

"You're buying land there? Trent you got the whole wide world." Cas lets him know cause he genuinely doesn't know if Trent thinks he's landlocked to a certain place. If he knows that he came bring people with him wherever he goes. "I wouldn't want to put you through that." Cas teases with a wide grin. He does like how eager Trent seems to be about it though. Cas think he'd be interested in anybody and it's not anything special. The last thing he needs is to be thinking that what's happening here is any different to who Trent treats everyone he meets. Cas doesn't need pining and he doesn't need distance. He pushes it all down and nods in agreement. "Yeah, you would. I know." It's almost too fast how quickly his words come out. "Be home steading for a captor. I see it all." And he can see by Trent's face he'd feel special about it too. Cas wants to throttle him. "You're not worryin' about likes on your posts. Not from me. You have my number Trent." That should mean more shouldn't it? Cas pulls away from Trent to pull his sweater off feeling too hot. "Does that work on anyone?" Cassell knows that it does.

"Maybe, I dunno." He knows he's got the whole wide world, but he hasn't been anywhere outside of America — and he's sure there's farms everywhere but he doesn't want to be everywhere. Just close to the people he loves. "That's real thoughtful of you." Trent means it, a rush of sweet fondness pressing down on his heart. Maybe he doesn't need to. Their different interests hasn't really affected how much he wants to hang out with him and be around him, which is, all the time. "Only if they were hot." He'd watched a show once because his partner had wanted him to, something about a bank robbery where one of the robbers fell in love with the hostage an it was pretty romantic. "Does it? Mean more? Who do you give your number to?" Trent gives his number to everyone, but Cas isn't Trent. Maybe it is special. He feels quite pleased about that. Trent can't look at Cas with his sweater off so he gets up, only to flick off the light. It's not quite pitch black, the light from the hallway leaking under the door, stretching from the highrises outside his window. He flops back onto the bed, shuffling up until his head rests on the pillow. "I dunno. Is it gonna work on you?"