#outer range drabble

It was your favorite game, lowering your head, rising your eyebrows along with the corners of your lips and nodding once just to let him know you see him. That he’s doing a good job at not letting you see how his hand grips on his waist, how his breathing weights on his chest when you’re locked on his eyes.

You wore a tight long-sleeved shirt which color could be stained with wine and it wouldn’t show a difference. Dark red, maroon, Rhett knew about colors. It’s the type of detail it would make you compare it to a certain wine brand or his bruised hands after riding. Type of detail that doesn’t escape your ability to continue chatting. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. Semi-finals had caught him on a cold night. Bull was rougher. His mind could’ve lingered a little longer on the top if it weren’t for the red lipstick painted on your face. The lights started to dim, and people began to fade.

Rhett’s questioned where would you go after this on the tip of his tongue but he was betrayed by his own body the moment he had you only meters away from him. People walking around your bodies like a river softening stones. His shoulders falling once your steps got you closer to him. He froze, keeping in mind the way your father whispered in your ear before the rodeo. He caught your mother’s disapproving eyes staring up and down and calculating just how much of a man he was that couldn’t measure to be even remotely deserving of capturing your eyes. He waited on you to make a move. Not as tough as people made him out to be.

Some say you reap what you sow. And your little eye game riled up his mind beyond forming any coherent word as you got closer. Maybe it was the moon dancing over the side you brushed your hair behind your ear. Maybe his breathing finally stopped and he had you confused with an angel all those years ago.

His clothes stuck to his body from the sweat, bringing out his broad shoulders and tightening around his chest. You swallowed, keeping posture before trying to meet his eyes but he was nowhere to be found. His gaze wandered the floor below and his fingers trailed his brown leather jacket. Boots tapping the dry sand he stood above, there wasn’t any escape and doe eyes stared at you caught on the brightness of your presence.

Then your greetings came as a whisper. Pride on his mouth was spit to the ground before he did something he’d be scared not to regret.

“Not bad,” you insisted as a wry smile adorned his face. As his features could be detailed closer and the skin below your nose tarnished hot from his breath. It was only a matter of time before he got so close he could see behind your façade. Shivers went down your spine steading you to the ground. Focusing on his eyes and the dim light reflecting distracted you from noticing them tracing your mouth. Pink painted his nose and cheeks as the wind blushed his face.

“Expected more” he recited with a low voice, while the grip on his jacket tightened. The results were enough for next round and the thought circles his mind as birds preying, he had been just enough, not good nor great. He swallows the thought before taking a pause to let the mix of hay, sweat and vanilla fill his lungs. The last scent makes him travel to the first and only time he had enough audacity to dare his nose trail the skin below your jaw. A grin lights his face remembering, like yours when it happened.

The kind of games that you played with him worked too well. The small balancing of your torso in place, waltzing to yourself before him, impatient. Something was between you two for years since you’ve started as a nurse in town. You faking you didn’t know what you were doing when you licked your lips staring him with a frown, confusing and intoxicating. It started to poison him the moment he saw you standing on the bleachers tonight. Losing temped him.

There hadn’t been a day now where the thought of tasting you wasn’t the only thought in mind. His family played dumb. Misplacing a plate on the fridge when he caught a bird outside the window that you told him about its legs automatically clamping on branches when they sleep so they don’t fall, his smile only raised concerns to his mother that he was slowly losing it. When you wore a dress tight on your torso and loose on your hips, cut a little above your knees, spotting him staring and smiled, making him miss the door on the store to end up on a wall, Perry only laughed. Now, jeans hugging your legs, arms behind your back, acting all innocent for him, his stupid causing a grin on you.

“Stop that” only making you frown from his stern shaking voice. “What are we doing?”

“What do you mean,” you tilted your head. Amusing yourself with the idea of riling him up without even a touch. The saintly woman you ought to be couldn’t let herself enjoy knowing the effect you had on him. He never stood a change under your voice, your gaze. Delighted by the desperate sight of a man finding little interest in praying to God, pleading to you.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he held his fingers close to your waist, never quite reaching. “Once we do this, I don’t want nothing else”

He was tortured by your ever addicting laugh. Rhett should grab you but his hands stood still, he never waited on permission but any word from you could bring him to ruin. Anger filled his cheeks red trying to find the joke of of having him wrapped around your fingers.

“I want you,” consumed by the loss of his mind, surrendering himself to you. His hands began to shake in place, once you lowered your head to see them. Frowning further.

“What about Maria?” it came as a whisper again, tainted with mistrust. The first time he didn’t hear a gambler tone, or followed up by a topic changing the leading of the conversation as he caught you doing when he tried to flirt with you out front. He did once, thought he could get you easily. Then he got to know you and learned you loved proving people wrong about their expectations of you. It only made you stronger than smoking. He was the one frowning now, searching for the confident foe he made you out to be.

“What about her?”

“You’ve been in love with her since forever,” you reached for his fingers with yours, not reaching his palm. “When she looks at you, you’ll be done with me”

“Was a high-school crush,” he holds your fingers to lead them to his chest, not trying to hide the trembling of his hands. His heart raced on your palm and his eyes traveled from your golden rings adorning your hands to your eyes focusing on him. “I can’t anymore, I know I ain’t much. God’s honest truth that is. But I want all of you”

Rough voice against your tender lips. The tip of your noses lightly finding each other. Your eyebrows relaxed once under his eyes and the pressing of your lips goes unnoticed by the shadow casted from his hat. He takes it off with his free hand, when the right still steadies above your own. Daring to brush his thumb to bring you back. You begin to move your head softly. His head rested on the right side of his neck now, almost bowing.

“I should kiss that grin out of your face,” you manage to say and what kind of man was he to stop you.

“Should’ve done it sooner” before resting his hat on your head and reaching for your ear between his index and middle finger and allowing his thumb to play around your smiling cheek. He sighs when he realizes your free hand reaching for the back of his neck and bringing him closer.

“I hate you” was the last thing he heard before your lips greet his. Slowly finding your way against his mouth. He could taste the lipstick before you opened your mouth to taste his tongue.

The sweetest con often comes in the idea of an indefinite place of faith by someone else’s hands. His, bruised in purple and green with scratches he often downplayed their severity to calm you down, rough and slightly dirty fingers traced a path on the edge of your cheeks. The Rhett Abbott from everyone’s eyes could be careless, couldn’t be more different than the one whose hands slightly tremble when holding your face. You pretend not to notice how he crumbles from touching you, how his eyes tempest blue underneath your gaze.

-

every so often when you pass by rhett, you squeeze at his bulging biceps or at his crotch that’s already supporting a semi from your heated touches. he lets out a low grumble the fifth time you pass him by and you mock pout at him.

“what is it, daddy?” you elongate the last part of your wording with a flirtatious touch and bat your eyelashes teasingly at him.

rhett’s jaw is set firm as he scowls at you. his eyebrows are knitted tightly together in frustration as he bites back at you. “quit it. you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ whore right now and it ain’t helping.”

“but, daddy—” you whine out again, but rhett is there to cut you off instantly.

“enough. fuckin’ help me finish this and maybe, i’ll be nice to y’ later.”

his tone is firm and unwavering, and you should know better than to push him, but you excuse the heat for your lack of better judgement.

“fuckin’ fine. i’m goin’ inside and finishing myself off, somethin’ you can’t do.”

that snaps the final cord of patience that rhett has inside of him for you. he’s quick to grab at your forearm with a bruising grip as you leave the barn. you yelp out and struggle against him as he manhandles you, pushing you closer to a corner of the barn. it overwhelms you how strong he can be. your thrashing is no use.

your eyes are wide when you see him dragging you closer to a breeding stand, yet you feel the inside of your stomach somersault at the prospect of what rhett is suggesting. you still go along with it however, pleading with desperation as he ties you to the breeding stand.

“r-rhett? what are you fuckin’ doin’?!” you land with a final thud as rhett pushes your neck down to rest on the head stand that would be used for animals. you’re bent over and on all fours, with your feet teetering and scraping along the hay covered floor. your dress is flipped over your ass and you feel rhett’s hot and calloused fingers hook inside your underwear and tear them completely from your frame.

“if you’re gon’ act like an animal in heat,” rhett’s voice behind you is an ugly snarl, his teeth biting at one another. “i’m goin’ to be breedin’ you like an animal in heat.”

you hear his belt buckle clang against itself before a harsh smack is delivered to your exposed ass and the backs of your thighs. in reaction, you let out a cry that ends with an embarrassing moan. you hate yourself for being so incredibly aroused by this, but you don’t hate yourself for playing into his fucked up little fantasy.

his hands grip tightly at the flesh of your hips as he mounts you like an animal himself. you let out another pleading moan as you feel his tip push through your folds.

“rhett! please, please—” you’re begging and pleading with him, but you don’t know what for.

You dove for him as soon as the door locked behind you. Fingers tangled in his hair, jacket and plaid shirt tossed aside, you trade slick kisses on the motel bed. The weight of him presses you into the mattress, springs creaking in protest. It has been a couple days but from the way he solders himself to you one might think it’s been months. Cradling your head, petting just below the wire of your bra. He needs time to get ready and you’re more than happy to give it to him - you’re not going to complain about anything that buys you extra time with him handling you like you’re the most precious thing known to man. He leaves a trail of kisses along your jaw, up your cheek and temple. Stops there to breathe in the scent of you. You crack an eye open to peer at him. His hands haven’t ceased their motions but there is something different about him. 

“What’s on your mind, Royal?” you ask. Another kiss at your temple, followed by the scratch of his beard as he nuzzles at you, followed by two words.

“Ride me.” he says. You hesitate. You haven’t tried that with him because it’s not how he usually likes it. Royal likes having you underneath him, in front of him. It’s how delicate you look and feel, he explained, how he overshadows you completely reminds you of how he wants to protect you. How he has to protect you. Strong hands seize your waist and then he rolls onto his back, effortlessly bringing you with him. Your legs shift of their own volition, moving to straddle his hips. He cocks his head, smiles up at you as one hand goes to his belt. It comes undone with a faint clink of metal and you swallow thickly.

“Go on.” he encourages. It’s not that you mind it, you’re just not sure if you’ll get it right. But when he looks at you like that you have to at least try. Drawing in a deep breath through your nose, you pop the button and unzip his jeans. The rest of the clothes follow, joining the pile on the floor, and you fit your legs around his hips again. Royal wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pressing gently to bring you down for a kiss.

“Want my fingers first?” he asks. You shake your head in a silent ‘no’. It will burn more this way but you like it. Royal lets you sit back up, and his hands fall to your hips instead. You spit into your upturned palm, not oblivious to how Royal’s eyes darken at the sight, and take him in that same hand. His abdomen jumps at the contact then tenses as you proceed to coat his length in saliva. It makes you slightly more confident, seeing that what you’re doing is affecting him.

“Royal?” you call softly. He cracks an eye open to look at you. It’s enough to make you choke up, tears threatening to spill.

“Tell me I’m pretty?” you whisper. His face, already lax, goes even softer. Royal takes your free hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” he says, then tacks on “Much too pretty for someone like me.”

“That last part isn’t true.” you tell him, as stubborn and reprimanding as you can make yourself sound in the moment. Royal simply kisses your knuckles again. You shift your grip and line him up, then slowly let yourself sink down even as the first press threatens to overwhelm you. You end up flush against him, reeling from the sensation. Royal sighs, content.

Your eyes squinted open slowly, peeling awake to the sunlight falling through your lacy curtains on your bedroom window. The reflection of the morning sun in your eyes shot to your headache immediately, making you wince. Your mouth felt full with cotton and your body ached a little. Rhett slipped in through your bedroom door with a warm smile.

“Good mornin’, gorgeous.” You gave him a kiss in response as he curled back into bed next to you. You propped yourself up slightly to lie on Rhett’s chest, humming in content. You were slightly hungover, but the warmth of your lover soothed your head.

“Y’ had a good time last night?”

“I think…” You questioned yourself as you played back the night behind your closed eyes. You remembered everything, which was the first good sign, but you were slightly on edge at Rhett’s question. “Oh God, why d’ y’ ask? Did I do somethin’ stupid?” You grumbled and winced again, burying your face further into his chest as you awaited his response.

You felt his chest vibrate with a chuckle and he soothed his fingers through your hair to reassure you. “No, no, darlin’. Just in the truck home, y’ were smilin’ to yourself, talkin’ about how happy y’ were, how much y’ enjoyed the night.”

“Oh.” You hummed back to Rhett. A small smile graced your lips with relief. “Yeah, I remember that.”

You do remember. That was good.

You both lay there in a domestic and blissful silence for a while. Rhett didn’t let go of holding you close to his chest as you let the morning sun wash over you both, slowly waking you up for the day. It was a rare Sunday when you had no ranch work to do urgently, hence the chance to have a drink last night. You were planning to enjoy this Sunday like you did best together. Wrapped up in the bedsheets and making home cooked meals. Your stomach grumbled at the delicious thought, but your mind was still pre-occupied with more pressing matters. Rhett’s question, again. That triggered something in the back of your mind. Past memories clouded your senses and you just had to ask one more time—

“Y’ sure I didn’t do anythin’ stupid?”

He chuckled again and squeezed you tightly to his chest, wordlessly reassuring you. “Why y’ askin’ so much, baby?”

“I guess, I just… I feel, guilty?” You rounded off your statement with a questioning tone. You weren’t sure what this feeling was. You instinctively drew your nail beds to your teeth as you chewed on them with nervous hesitation. Your nails had grew in the last couple of months. Without the constant gnawing from your swinging jaw once a bag of powder was soaked through your nerves, you had no real reason to constantly bite them. None the less, Rhett was there as a wordless reminder, drawing your fingers away from your teeth to play with them mindlessly. Deep down, he was purposefully distracting you, but on Sunday mornings such as these, he enjoyed feeling out each crease and indent on your hands.

“Don’t,” Rhett’s voice came almost a beat afterwards. “Y’ had some drinks, got a good level of ‘drunk’ and came home to me. No drugs, nothin’. It’s ok to have a bit of fun. You’re doin’ so much better now, y’ shouldn’t feel guilty for that.”

You were still laying on his chest and listening to the rumble of his morning voice through your ear, staring ahead and taking in his words. Your eyes traced over the pattern on your lacy curtains. You registered his words, but the guilt.

The fucking guilt.

It was gnawing away at your stomach like you would your nails.

“But d’ you remember what—”

Your proposed, and self inflicting argument against yourself, was cut short by Rhett barking out a quiet laugh. “Nope, nu-uh.” He clicked his tongue between his teeth and you sat up to look at him now. He wetted his bottom lip with his tongue as he shook his head, still with a small and knowing smile on his face. “I know you, your group knows you, your support worker knows you. You’re doin’ so, so fuckin’ well, darlin’. I won’t let anyone tell my diamond girl ‘ny different.”

“Okay.” You mumbled with a loving smile gracing your lips. You were still feeling a little too hungover to argue, and, you knew Rhett was right.

“Okay.” He agreed with you and outstretched his large calloused hands to cup at your jaw and squeeze on your cheeks. “C’ ere.” He pulled you down to meet him again and placed one, two, then three, repeated kisses on your lips. As he parted with a wanton and low groan, he asked the one question that he knew would make all your worries disappear in an instant.

“Y’ want a fry up?”

You comically groaned, almost similar to how you would when Rhett’s face was buried between your thighs. You let your eyes roll back into your skull and you flopped down dramatically onto the mattress, withering with obscene pleasure at the thought of your lovers famous fry ups.

“Fuckin’, please.”

A playful smile was still plastered on your lips and Rhett’s lips, mirroring your humor in seeing you react like that. He leaned down once more to kiss you again, expanding his palm to give your bare breasts a squeeze before leaving you in bed to make a start on breakfast.

“Grab the laptop, put on what y’ want, my sweet thing.” He called out to you from your shared bedroom doorway.

The wildflowers that you could find in Wyoming were obtained after a sticky, sunset walk with Rhett to a pasture way out East. Somehow, you always found yourself with the wildflowers tickling at your bare thighs as Rhett had your sundress hoisted over your waist.

Every room of your home was covered in them. They sat in antique vases and they were tied together with a thin cord of rope, which always made you blush, heat rising to your cheeks, as you remembered what Rhett used them for. If they weren’t sat in vases, they were dried and pressed and sat in photo frames decorating the boarder of photos of you and Rhett. He would stick the pin in the wall, hammer it in and hang up your new press of flowers. He’d glance over at the whimsical look on your face as you gazed up at your new arrangement and he’d smile softly to himself.

“They’re beautiful, darlin.”

“Thank you, cowboy.”

There were occasions when you got to tie the wildflowers into his hair. That’s when Rhett treasured you, his wildflower, and your wildflowers, the most.

The cool dusk of the Summer night encased your bodies as you sat on your porch in an old and beaten up swing seat. The wood had splintered and it still kept that damp smell when it would rain. From the Summer day, you could still smell the hay thick in the air from where the sun had been beating down on it all day. It radiated off Rhett, with an even heavier musk of his drying sweat running from behind his ears and down his neck.

His Stetson was perched on his head to sheild his cobalt blue eyes from the suns dying rays. You reached over and gently tipped his hat up to allow access to his hair. You tucked the stray strands of his hair that had turned golden by the sunlight, behind his ears. He caught your eye as you tucked the hair behind and a soft smile graced his lips, years old creases in the corners of his eyes appearing with it.

His eyes squinted, “what are you doin’, sweetheart?” His smile turned into a curious grin as he watched you eagerly.

You drew your eyes away and reached behind in your own hair to pull out the yellow wildflower that was nestled in your own. You tucked the sunshine yellow flower behind his hair to rest candidly on his ear. You pulled away from your cowboy momentarily to admire your nifty handiwork, pursing your lips together and smiling at him. You were desperately awaiting his reaction. Rhett’s scraped and worn down knuckles reached up to his ear and he brushed past it, feeling the soft petals against his coarse flesh.

He loved it.

He loved you.

He brought his hand up to your cheek and gently cradled your face. God, you loved his hands. You loved how they could be so rough when he was working away in the pastures, how they were strong with a vice like grip when he was atop of a bull, but the moment they touched your face, they would soften instantly, as if you were made out of glass.

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip, tracing the cracks and crevices and caught your eyes once again.

“My beautiful, beautiful, wildflower.” His voice was barely above a whisper, with his Southern drawl hanging low and punching on every word. It made the blood pool in your cheeks and your thighs squeeze together.

Still, after five years, he knew how to make you swoon.

he turned around with a lopsided smile and gladly takes lambie from you. “yeah, little one? c’ mon, they can sit there ‘nd watch.” he sat your stuffed lamb on the sink counter edge to watch over you in the bath. “‘ere you go, sweet baby.” he hoists you to his hip and lets you down gently into the warm water.

bath toys are non existent on the road, but rhett kindly got you children’s shampoo, conditioner, johnson’s baby lotion and spider-man bubbles. but rhett would make the most fun for you with what little he had. he would trace around the spider-man illustration and make up a story. preacher abbott had never seen spider-man and he never would, but that doesn’t mean what he was saying couldn’t be true.

he would ask you, “‘nd, what colour is spidey’s suit, little one?” and, “what does he do, hm, sweet girl? go whoosh! in the sky?” you would giggle and splash the water as rhett told his animated story to keep you entertained.

you let him keep you occupied as he carted his fingertips through your hair and soothingly onto your scalp, washing the shampoo and conditioner in. “who’s my pretty little lamb, hm?”

you bury your face in your hands with excitement. “me, dada! me!”

“yeah, sweet baby.” rhett’s soft smile in response to you getting shy, makes you squeal and splash a little harder than before, but rhett is there to coo at you gently with a hushed tone. “shh… i know, baby, i know. baby’s s’ excited! but daddy’s gotta get you settled for ni’ nights, alright?”

“ok, dada.” you offer him an apologetic, sweet smile, which happily wins him over. he soothes you down gently with light, fluttering kisses placed to your temple, before getting the towel unwrapped and re-wrapped around you.

regardless of your wet body, you clutch little lamb tight to your frame as rhett carefully dries you off and applies the silky smooth baby lotion to areas of your skin that have caught the sun recently. “sleepy little baby.” rhett hushes into your ear, as he hoists you to his hip and carries you gently to the motel bed.

“y’ know when i’m feelin’, little…”

“mm,” he gently encouraged you as he held your wavering gaze.

“sometimes it would b’ nice if i could have my hair braided. it just… it doesn’t feel nice, and i don’t wan’ do it myself when i’m little.” you let your cheeks become a rosy blush at your admission. you thought you sounded so whiny, asking rhett to do something so simple like that. but he simply gave you a warm smile and reached over to squeeze at your hand that was still pushing your eggs around your plate.

“of course. anythin’ for my little lamb.”

that night, you came out of the motel en-suite and squeezing your hair dry with the rough towel. rhett was spread out on your bed in only his underwear, with his eyebrows knitted tightly together as he was focusing on his phone in his hand. that you thought was odd. preacher abbott rarely used his phone. he said he didn’t like people being able to trace him. you’d be honest, you didn’t even think he knew how to watch whatever he was watching.

you joined him on the motel bed, “what ya’ watchin’?” he shared the screen with you and you let out a tiny gasp, biting down on your bottom lip to hold back your excitement. he was watching hair braiding videos, and by the looks of it, it was his fifth video that night.

not short of a day later and you were already feeling that familiar, soft and fuzzy headspace. you think partly it was to do with knowing that your daddy had taken such special care and attention to your needs. you felt yourself slip, feeling entirely comfortable in his presence.

rhett patted at the motel dresser chair in front of the mirror, “do y’ want to come sit and daddy can braid your hair, my little lamb?” you could barely hold back your squeals and you shuffled to sit as he asked. your stuffed lamb animal was gripped tightly in your hands. he braced his arms either side of your face as he leant his hands on the back of the chair. he caught your eyes in the stained mirror with a playful smile matching your own.

“alright, i wan’ get this right for my lil’ one, but can y’ sit still for daddy, yeah? i jus’ wan my pretty lamb to be comfy.” you nodded enthusiastically in response. “good, little lamb.” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and moved his hands to start cutting through your hair, parting it inch by inch.

by the time he was done, your hair was plaited beautifully. you honestly couldn’t of done it better yourself. he squeezed gently at your shoulders and placed another kiss to your head. throughout the process, he was giving you small kisses of encouragement for sitting so well for him.

rhett wore a beaming smile. he was both proud of his efforts, and he thought you looked terribly sweet. he reached up to stroke his thumb over your rosy cheeks, “my sweet lookin’, little lamb, eh? c’mon, you sat s’ good for daddy. i’ll get you a treat.”