Drover x m!Reader
A/N : this fic is like 3 blue moons old its ok though
WC : 4k
TAGS : m!reader, aristocrat!reader, enemies(ish) to lovers, internalized homophobia (drover and reader), reader drinks, reader is kind of sarah ashley
WARNINGS : elements of homophobia, slurs mentioned. a bit suggestive at the end.
Your relationship with the drover was…tense. Uncertain. Confusing.
You didn't know what you two had. It started out as a rivalry- you'd hated him, and he'd hated you. It had been a purely professional agreement. He helps you move your cattle to Darwin, you pay him with the horse he wants. Done deal. But it got…complicated.
It warmed up too fast, and the glass cracked. You were back at the starting point.
One night on the trail, you'd had too much to drink and you'd kissed the man. Kissed him hard, rolled around with him in the grass. It could've been good, you and him. Til he pulled back and gritted out that he wasn't no sodomite.
After that, you were back to hating him. Burning with anger that he used that word to describe people like you, burning with embarrassment at the rejection. And despite it all, you couldn't bring yourself to pull all the way away. You lingered. You wanted to make it work.
He who hated stuck up rich folk like you. You who should hate wild, mannerless men like him. It could never work, even as you watched him wash up on the last night of the drove, yearning to feel that big, warm body encasing yours again. You knew you fit well in his arms, you knew his lips fit against yours like a puzzle piece slotting into place.
And you knew that, for all his acceptance of people who were oh so different and hated, Drover would call you a fag if you so much as sighed longingly in his direction.
You wondered why. He'd kissed you back, hands grabbing at you, squeezing your hips, feeling up your spine. And all of a sudden, he'd wrenched away from you, like he'd been burned.
You wanted his lips back on yours. His body pressed to you again.
All this, you reflected on as you got ready for the event you'd been invited to. After all, despite all odds, you survived the drove through the Never Never, with a “dangerous” man like Drover and the “unpredictable” company he kept. Now people wanted to parade you around like the poor, fortunate soul they saw you as. The lucky man that survived the drover. You wondered if you really did.
Truth be told, you didn't want to go.
You also didn't want to stay in this stupid house you'd rented in Darwin, with Drover. It felt like a prison, dancing around him.
As you fixed your tie, you stared, almost longingly, at the white suit you'd gotten for Drover. You didn't know why you bought it, he'd never come with- besides, you were almost too afraid to ask him to join you.
“What's the other suit for?”
You flinched, looking over your shoulder at Drover, who had a hip leaning against the doorframe and his arms crossed over his chest.
“You should've knocked. I could've been naked.” You grumbled, picking up the suit and folding it up in your arms. “And for your information, it's just another option.”
“Doesn't look like it would fit you.” He commented, snatching the blazer from your hands as you passed, unfolding it right in front of himself- and raising a brow when it lined up perfectly with his frame.
What could you say- you had a photographic memory for that body of his. It hadn't been difficult to remember a perfect fit.
Mumbling something about a mix-up at the tailors, you took the blazer back and hung it up, along with the vest, shirt and pants, in your closet. Perhaps along with the rest of you, that was rotting somewhere in there.
“I'll be back late.” You said, fixing your cuffs as you passed him. “Don't wait up.”
“Wasn't planning to.”
You held back the urge to call him something mean- Bastard, asshole, something or other. You wondered if he was deliberately trying to make you mad- and for that reason, you did your best to stay stone cold towards him.
You hadn't spent that long in the Outback, and yet you already felt unused to polite society. It felt so dull, and at the same time, it was too much. The forced smiles, the polite conversation, the batting eyelashes of women hoping to be asked to dance. The stench of expensive perfume, the stiff movements of people trying not to damage their tailored outfits. As you brought a glass of bourbon to your lips, you thought back to the steady, fluid rocking of a body on a saddle, the musk of sweat after a long day taking a beating from the sun, and a specific unshaven face, with his dirty, ripped clothes and well worn pants.
You sighed into your glass. Not a man here was as desirable as the Drover, for they were all fake. All made up of money and no real personality. Nothing true, nothing of substance. Even as you were…window shopping, so to say, leaning against the bar and lazily running your eyes over the other men present, you always got bored with what you saw, and returned to your drink.
What was the point? They all looked the same, and you knew you only wanted one man, no matter how disgusted he was by you. You finished your drink, put the empty cup down on the bar top, and took your leave. For all that “guest of honor” bullshit they fed you, they sure as hell didn't notice you slip away.
You chose to walk home instead of asking for a ride. Your luck had it that, in this damnable country where it practically didn't rain for 6 months a year, you'd picked the one night to walk home where the wet season started. A raindrop hit your nose, then another, and another, and soon enough, you were soaked through.
You didn't even bother trying to run home. What was the point? You'd get wet anyway.
You wondered if Drover was in bed. If that man even slept. Would he have left the house you'd gotten, left Darwin while you were gone? You wondered if the thought made you sad or relieved. Wondered just how much you loved him, and how much you hated him. Which was more prevalent.
Every answer pointed at the fact that you loved him more. You ignored it.
After all, hate and love were similar emotions- maybe you were just mixing them up.
You came through the door to a silent house, removing your sopping blazer and wiping water off of your face. Clicking on lights as you headed deeper into the house, footsteps quiet against the clean floors.
You tossed your wet blazer into the bathroom as you passed, the thing landing with a disgusting “splat” sound in the bath. You unbuttoned your vest, shucking off the equally wet garment as you ducked into your room. Your white dress shirt was practically transparent, it had gotten so wet…you might as well not be wearing it. The room was dark, you couldn't see, but you could hear someone breathing, and, looking over, you discovered that the drover had taken up residence on your bed.
Your face scrunched up. He'd said he'd sleep on the couch, the bastard! You sighed, and fought your way out of the rest of your heavy, wet clothes, before yanking on a clean pair of underwear and crawling into bed.
You laid, stiff as a board, next to him, staring blankly at the ceiling before closing your eyes hard. You tried to will yourself to go to sleep, but there, on the far edge of the bed, you were so uncomfortable that you'd never manage.
So, resigned, you scooted closer to Drover. After a moment, you decided you were too cold, to sleep so far. You scooted closer again. And then, you became bothered by the way your back fixed the open air, not pressed against a wall. You rolled over, and shuffled over a little til your back pressed to his chest.
You laid there for a moment, then closed your eyes, snuggling back into him with a little sigh. It's his fault, really. He'd said he would sleep on the couch.
It didn't take long for you to fall asleep.
You woke up slowly the next day, Drover's body encasing yours. His arm was draped over you, his nose pressed against the top of your head. You knew he didn't mean to end up like that with you…but you couldn't help but savor it, at least for a moment. His hand was on your chest, and you rested your hand over his, keeping it there. You closed your eyes again. Maybe you could sleep a little longer…
Of course, the world had other plans, little Nullah bashing his way into the room excitedly.
“Mister Boss!” He called out, as he clambered into bed. “Good morning, mister Boss!”
This woke Drover up, and he immediately rolled off of you, while you reached out for the little boy who was eagerly climbing over Drover to get to you.
“Ah, Nullah…c'mere, buddy. Good mornin’...” You sighed, as the boy you'd come to treat as a son came to lay in your arms.
Drover seemed grumpy about the way he'd woken up, rubbing a hand over his face and his scruffy facial hair.
“Sorry for the waking, mister Drover!” Nullah laughed, even as he seemed very unapologetic, sitting on you with a big smile splitting his face.
“Ah, ‘s alright, kid…” Drover grumbled, giving you a strange look- you weren't too sure what it was- before slipping out of bed.
You shrugged as Drover left the room, returning your attention to the young boy.
“How was The Wizard of Oz?” You asked him, knowing he'd gone to town to watch it last night, when you were at your event.
He launched into a spiel about the movie and how much he liked it, while you tried to make it look like you were listening intently, nodding your head along. But really, you were only half listening, the rest of your mind on Drover, and the look he'd given you that morning.
“Mister Boss,” Nullah poked your shoulder. “Do you listen to me?”
“Yes, Nullah. Sorry.” You must've looked visibly distant, for Nullah to pause his ramble. “Just thinking about something else- I'm listening, now.”
But he didn't start back up again, instead looking at you curiously. He looked out the door, then leaned in conspiratorially.
“Is it because of the drover?”
You chewed on your cheek, and chose to lie.
“No. No, Drover and I are…fine.”
“Liar. Mister Boss and Mister Drover haven't been talking. I notice ages ago- you are angry with him.” He whispered insistently.
You nodded half-heartedly, not knowing how to explain to Nullah that you were nursing a broken heart while trying to stubbornly hold a grudge.
“Drover and I had a disagreement, that's all. Adult problems. But everything's alright.” You told the boy, squeezing his little shoulders reassuringly.
“I don't like it. Mister Drover and you used to get along very good. But now, you treat each other like enemy!” Nullah shook his head. “Even Jeda sees. She whine and whine because you two not friends.”
Jeez, if even the dog was noticing, then you and Drover really were being pissy towards each other. You didn't think it had been that bad- maybe a little one-sided, from you.
“I'm sorry, Nullah. I'll talk to him, okay?”
But you didn't talk to him. You were too stubborn. And part of you was afraid of that harsh word Drover had directed at you, even if you'd heard much worse in the past. You went back to Faraway Downs, acknowledging that there wasn't much left for you in England, and got to work restoring the property. Drover was around, sure, but you still barely spoke, and it made you feel ill. You felt like a puppy, watching him fix up a fence out in the sun while you worked on some furniture inside.
Nights were long, days were long. God, you were disgusting, the way you pined for him. Nullah still bugged you about it, asking when you and the drover would be making up. You also wish you knew.
“You got it bad for that drover now, don't you?” Bandy asked you, as you sat on the porch, hidden from the setting sun, watching him work with some horses while you polished your boots.
“Yeah.” You admitted to her with a sigh, not fearing judgement from her. “And he knows.”
“How'd he take it?”
“Not well.”
You both went quiet as you started polishing your boots again, looking away from Drover.
“Reckon he's scared.” Bandy finally spoke up again. “Of love.”
“Who wouldn't be scared of lovin’ a man? Gets you killed, out here.”
“No, not just loving a man. Loving in general.” She clarified. “Drover was married once. She was an Aboriginal woman. Lost her to white folk not wanting to treat her when she was sick.”
You nodded pensively. You'd heard Drover had married before- hadn't heard what had happened to the wife, though.
“But maybe he's scared of loving someone different again. Scared it'll get them killed too.”
“If that's how he felt, he didn't show it well.”
“How'd he show it?”
You hesitated. Maybe it was normal here, as it was anywhere else, to treat men like you that way. Maybe she'd tell you you were overreacting.
“He called it dirty. What I was doing.” You finally said. “He called people like me sodomites. Called himself that. For kissing me.”
Your polishing slowed to a stop, and you raised your eyes to look out at Drover, who was leading a horse around in a pen, with Nullah on its bare back.
“I thought he'd be the last person to think that of me.”
Bandy said nothing, sensing you might still have more to say. You did.
“He didn't say it like he was guilty. He said it like he was disgusted…he spat it in my face. Like I'd tricked him.” You whispered. “But I don't understand, Bandy. He kissed me back, for a moment. He held my face and looked at me like he saw me- really saw me. And all of a sudden, his expression hardened and he…he pushed me away.”
“Was he drunk?”
“We were on a drove. He's never drunk then.” You whispered. “I guess..I guess we had been drinking, because of Flynn…but…he was stone sober. He'd only had one drink.”
You set your boots aside, shaking your head. “I don't know why he stays. Probably for the boy.”
“I doubt it.” Bandy said softly. “I think he stays for you.”
“Don't try to make me delusional, Bandy…”
“Fire him, then, if you think he should leave.”
You couldn't do that. You remembered what Drover had said, the day you met him. “No man hires me, no man fires me”. You remember that day like it was a dream, like you were looking at a different person. It hadn't been so long ago, but you'd changed so much.
The day you'd arrived, you'd worn a fitted black tailcoat, with your riding gloves, with a cane, with polished shoes and a well tied, silk cravat. The drover had looked you up and down that day, and told you those words.
When you'd been out on the trail with him, it hadn't taken long for you to ditch classiness for comfort and utility. Getting rid of your tailcoat, rolling up your sleeves, unbuttoning the top few buttons of your shirt and tying your cravat back up in a way that was less restricting. Drover had commented on how the wildness of the outback suited you better than the quiet, proper look of polite society.
After that, it stuck. No more tailcoats. No more shoes polished to a mirror shine. You’d dream of wearing his clothes, maybe the morning after a long night.
Maybe you'd never get over him.
Ever since that night, you hadn't let yourself have a proper drink. Tonight, you drowned your sorrows, and fell asleep with your head buried in your arms, wondering distantly if you were overreacting, if Drover was really worth all this longing.
When you woke up- or at least, regained a semblance of consciousness- it was because someone had shaken you slightly, then grabbed you to try and pick you up.
You groaned and wriggled slightly at the arms hauling you off the stool you were sitting on, the way you fought back, just about as effective as a child throwing a half hearted tantrum. After a bit of a struggle, your eyes still closed and your brain soupy from the alcohol, you went limp, too tired to keep fighting.
“Let me go.” You whispered dumbly, not too sure who it even was picking you up.
But the moment your face was in the crook of his shoulder, and he was carrying you like you didn't weigh much, you were hit by the thick scent of saddle soap, smoke, and sweat.
“Drover…” The name left your lips breathily, your hand fumbling with his worn out necktie.
“‘M right here.” He replied, and you clung on tighter, your other hand gripping the back of his shirt.
“Don't drop me.”
“I won't.”
You sort of phased in and out of consciousness, half aware of where he was bringing you. Once in your bed, he sat with you, and you slowly opened your eyes.
“Drover.” You whispered again, hand reaching up to cup his jaw, thumbing through the scruff of his facial hair. “Oh, Drover…”
He didn't say anything, but you didn't want him to. You leaned up, pulling him down so he'd meet you halfway, and pressed your lips to his. He let you do so for a moment, before pulling back.
“Don't do that again.” He whispered, even as he seemed to, for once, return your softened gaze. “Not…not right now. Too drunk.”
“Okay.” You mumbled, nodding along. Yeah, you probably were really drunk.
Then, your lip trembled, and your eyes welled up with tears. Drover was startled by the sudden emotion change.
“Hey, hey, hey…what's this?”
“Why do you hate me?” You asked, pathetic. “‘M so in love with you, Drover…can't help it…can't help that I…I can't look at women the way I…look at you…”
“Oh, crikey-” Drover sighed, but you interrupted whatever might come after.
“I don't want to be like this.” You continued to babble out. “Wish I wasn't…a…a…”
He shook his head to tell you to stop, and you did, lip still trembling.
“We'll talk about this in the morning, yeah? When you've sobered up a touch…” He convinced you, setting about tucking you into bed. You nodded along, still sniffling like a child. You probably looked very stupid, you realized, and it made you start crying again. Damn your emotional, drunken self.
“Hey, hey, come on, your about to go ta sleep, no use cryin’ so much…”
“I look stupid.” You informed him, and he cracked a smile. You did indeed, wrapped up in your blankets like an imprisoned worm.
“Don't try ‘n make me laugh, now.” He told you off, and you sniffled, smiling a little.
“‘M sorry. Will you stay?” You asked softly. “For a bit?”
He nodded, and scooted around to comfortably sit by you. You closed your eyes, snuggling up to his legs.
When you woke up, you were in his arms, nursing a hangover. You must've crawled onto him during the night, because he was holding you a bit like a child holds a plush toy. Hastily, you pulled away, your head throbbing at the sudden movement. Oh, no, you'd come onto him when you were drunk, it's horrible, he's going to hate you, he's…
Drover's eyes opened, and he gave you a softened look, sitting up a little too.
“Mornin’. That grog wear off, yet?”
You nodded a bit stupidly, staring at him like it took all of your brainpower to compute why he was being nice to you. You looked down at yourself. Still fully clothed. So was he.
“What's going on?” You asked him, before awkwardly starting to remove your shirt- you didn't want to be wearing yesterday's clothes.
“Nothin’. Why are you taking that off?”
“Clothes are dirty...”
Once you got your shirt off, you laid back down, but not near Drover. Keeping a respectable distance- you weren't drunk anymore. You were both awkwardly silent. You were afraid to say anything, and he seemed unsure of what to say at all. You even cleared your throat a little as though to start talking, but decided against it.
“I'm sorry.” He finally said. “For…for that night. On the drove. Was a proper muck up on my end and I see it that way. Shouldn't have said that to you, not when I led you on in the first place.”
You gazed sidelong at him, as though waiting for him to suddenly change his tune like he had that night. But he just continued to gaze at you with those softened eyes.
“It's fine, I suppose. I was drunk. And I never should've made a move on you like that, not without asking.”
“Nah, nah, don't you apologize for none…You said it yerself. You were drunk. It was my responsibility and I…I did everythin’ wrong.”
You cleared your throat a little awkwardly, before nodding and getting up to get out of your dirty clothes from the night before. You didn't know what else to say, just silently stood by the window while you got to work on your belt.
You heard the bed creak as he got up. Assumed he'd be leaving the room next- but instead, he came up behind you, hands tentative as they rested on your biceps.
“Got any idea on how I could make it up to ya?” He asked, thumbing slightly at your elbow.
You swallowed, staring out the window like you couldn't afford to move. But you did, slowly turning to face him.
“You don't have to, Drover. Don't gotta do this just cause I took it hard- I can get over it, you know. Been rejected before…”
“I want t’ make it up to ya.” Drover repeated firmly, holding your gaze. “What I said was wrong. And I said it ‘cause I was scared.”
“You? Were scared?” You repeated, a slight smile curving your lips. “Hard to imagine that from you…”
He snorted quietly, looking away for a brief moment. “ ‘M full of surprises.” He said, cupping your cheek.
You didn't move as he leaned closer, half expecting to wake up with a jolt the second his lips touched yours. But you didn't. Your hands fumbled for his belt, pulling him against you as he held the kiss. It was like he didn't want to breathe, like he intended to die kissing you. It was more than you expected. Hungrier than you expected.
And just as you lost your footing a little, as you began to push his shirt up, fingers feeling up his abdomen, following the trail of hair, you heard the banging of a tiny fist against the door, and the rattle of the doorknob.
“Mister Droverrr!”
You both pulled apart with a gasp, your hand slipping out from under his shirt.
“Nullah.” You whispered, looking over at the door.
“Mmn.” Drover muttered, distracted, trying to catch your lips again, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“Drover, he wants to see you…”
“Ah, she'll be right…kid can wait.” He insisted, pulling you closer for another kiss.
You laughed against his lips, but Nullah hammered the door again, and you had to pull apart for good.
“Go on. I'll make sure you finish this later.” You told him, practically having to peel him off of you.
He didn't answer, just squeezed your arm and pulled away, walking over to the door to yank it open and playfully chase Nullah away. You wiped your brow, and sat on the bed- God, that man was a pistol to your sanity. He'd kill you, one day.
But what a way to go.
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