#pierre chavanges

“come to bed, dear.” you urge gently, voice quiet as you hook your chin over his shoulder.

his eyes were glued to the laptop screen, as if in combing through multitudes of official and unofficial documents would somehow grant him a miraculous insight he has overlooked previously.

he didn’t move, nor make a sound of any kind. his eyes remained focused, as if in a trance that allowed the rest of the world fall away. your heart ached for him, it really did. in one fell swoop, his livelihood was torn away from him, all despite his best efforts.

“pierre.” whispered, like an ancient beckoning—warm, promising, and void of the familiarity of desolation.

this time he hums, a noncommittal sound, but an evidence that he was present, at least relatively.

you bring your hands to his shoulders. start slow, you remind yourself. ease the burden from his shoulders, find the space to allow yourself to carry it for him, even just for a little while. “pierre,” you whisper again. “the room is cold without you.”

“in a minute.” he responds, dragging the cursor on the screen to click on an article he had already read thrice before.

your heart clenches as you watch the man you love try to make sense of the devastating lost. wordlessly, you step to his left. you’re mindful not to disturb him often, but tonight you felt the ache was almost palpable.

prompting his arm to raise slightly, you duck under his elbow and gingerly crawl onto his lap, your chest against his as you tuck your face into his neck.

you breathe in his scent, a mixture of his minty shampoo and him. he doesn’t shake away your touch, and you instead feel him slowly relax beneath you. taking that as a sign, you wrap your arms around his waist, your hands rubbing along the faint ridges of his spine and latiss.

“i love you, pierre.” you murmur against the warmth of his neck, the hair at his nape tickling your nose as you breathe softly.

his chest rises against yours with a deep inhale. then you feel warm palms on your hips, his fingers tickling your ribs as he holds you closer.

the embrace was what he wasn’t fully able to communicate into words yet. ‘i’m sorry, i’ll do better. i’ll figure this out. for you, for me. i’ll fix this.’

you lift your face from his neck, hands on either side of his head as the pads of your thumbs stroke the skin beneath his ears. “let me take care of you tonight… can i, please?”

he seemed almost taken aback by the sudden determination in your eyes. but his hands held you all the same.

“it’s okay, you don’t-“

“but i want to.” you cut him off. “i want to make you feel better, even just for a little bit.” when he doesn’t respond right away, you tilt your head slightly, pretty doe eyes blinking into his, “please, let me love you.”

“oh, honey..” his hands ran up and down the expanse of your back, fingers bunching up the material of your tshirt.

a soft smile started to crack through your lips, “is that a yes?”

he sighed, eyes searching yours for a quiet moment. “you could do whatever you wanted to me, and i would never object.”

you smile softly as you press your lips to his, finding a tender rhythm. you shift in his lap, knees pressed on either side of his hips. with smooth movements, you begin to softly grind against him, feeling the faint bulge beneath your core.

your hand finds the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair as he stares up at you, lips parted slightly. his fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts as he brought his lips to yours again.

a subdued moan slipped into your mouth as you pressed down more attentively on his lap, your fingers tugging at the roots of his hair with a teasing gyration of your hips. you jumped faintly when a warm hand dipped into the back of your shorts, dragging the material down your thighs and revealing you bare.

“no panties?” he hummed, half to himself.

you grinned, teeth biting your lip as a quiet whine threatened to rise from the back of your throat. “figured i wouldn’t be needing them.”

“you little minx…” he sighed, bordering on admiration.

you could feel how wet you were, how worked up you were quickly becoming. a steady hand tested the waters as you reached between your bodies, fingers grazing over the growing bulge in his jeans. you felt it twitch under your fleeting touch.

pierre huffed as your featherlight touch quickly became more confident, assured. he head fell back against the chair, his adam’s apple bobbing. “fuck…” he cursed with a guttural groan, “you don’t know what you do to me.”

you press a trail of warm kisses to his throat, tongue teasing the skin every so often. “then why don’t you show me?”

as if to reinforce your words even more, you slide off his lap. he looked as if he was about to protest, but as he watched you slide your shorts completely down your legs, any complaints quickly died in his throat. you return to straddle him, but this time you worked the facet of his belt open. your mouth was on his as you slipped a hand into the front of his pants, moaning softly against his tongue as his cock twitch in your palm. you free his length from his jeans, the tip blushed a pretty red as you let your thumb run over the slit and down the length of it.

pierre let out a shaky breath. it’s been too long, you thought. too long since you’ve last had the chance to take care of your lover.

he helps line himself up with your entrance, both of you eager to satisfy that hungering lust.

as you sink onto him, your eyes flutter shut. his hands grip your waist tightly, fingers sure to leave bruises as you clench around him.

“easy,” he prompted softly. he shifts in his seat so that he’s reclined slightly, giving you a better angle. his blue eyes stared into yours as the pads of his calloused fingers gently began to massage your hips. “take it slow, yea?”

you’re mindful as you begin to find a rhythm, the small room quickly filling with the soft acoustics of breathy pants and whispered moans.

he could feel you clench around him sporadically, a telltale sign you were close. your forehead was on his shoulder, fingers gripping onto his biceps for stability. his hands fell to your hips. with an effortless grip, he took control of your movements, working you along his length with steadied ease. his lips pressed to your face, hoarse words warming the shell of your ear, “fuck- just like that dear, you’re so good-“you felt his teeth nip at your earlobe, “gonna make me come.”

you felt your breath stutter, whole body warm and alive with an all-consuming need. “in me,” you gasp out, “please come in me.”

his grip on you tightened, but his words were quiet with uncertainty, “you sure?”

“shit- yes, please pierre, please come in me.” you beg again.

the shift in his demeanor was evident as he fucked into you with a newfound vigor. “gonna fill you up, fuck-“ he growled, “so fuckin’ tight.”

you came with a pitched whine, eyes clenched shut and mouth agape. your body shook lightly in his grasp as you felt his cock pulse in your cunt, a new heat filling you from the inside out.

you both stayed quiet for a moment longer, panting softly.

his hands soon began to rub small, nonsensical shapes along your back. his lips pressed soft kisses along your temple as you brought a hand to the side of his neck, your fingers playing with the hair there.

his raspy voice broke the silence. “so.. is this your way of telling me you’re ready for a family?”

you could hear the smile in his voice. your own smile grew. “i just think that maybe.. it’s time for us to start a herd of our own.” you nearly cringe at your own words, but when you pull away to look at his face, any thoughts of doubt were stripped from your mind.

A good distance from town, you continue to observe Pierre. He has dark bags under his eyes and a crease on his forehead. He's had a stick up his ass since this week, and he hasn't told you or anyone anything. He's driving flat out through the dark road, and you're worried he's going too fast, especially because he had a couple of drinks.

"I know there's something going on, Pierre. You can tell me. I can help." You ask with a gentle tone this time.

"No." He shuts you down.

"Is it me? Are you mad at me?" You attempt to make him spit out the truth. Pierre chuckles. "Did Paris turn you into a narcissist?" He asks. It stung, but you ignored it to get to the bottom of his sour mood. "Well, is it the farm?" 

You just don't give up. Pierre grunts because he's annoyed that you're snooping into his business. He wishes you'd go back to your big city and forget about him like you did when you left after high school. He angrily scratches at the back of his neck, not noticing the skin there is bleeding. He snaps out of his trance when you yell out his name. He feels your hand grab the cold skin of his arm, pulling his hand away from his neck. Pierre immediately steps on the brake, and the car halts a few paces from his house.

He looks at you and sees the fear in your eyes. He immediately feels sorry for putting you through all that. Pierre tries to run his hand through his hair, but your hand stops him from moving.

"Don't scratch it; it's bleeding!" You hold his arm tighter, afraid he might hurt himself again. "Is it your health? Is that what's bothering you? Are you sick?" You ask, fearing for his answer.

"I'm alright. Please let me go." He sighs and gently pries your hand off his arm. He's no longer angry. All that's left now is sadness and distress. He avoids your gaze, knowing you're about to cry about him.

You slowly let go of him. You're scared for your special friend. He was always the quiet one in school, standing on the sidelines and joining in on the laughter when something was funny. He was that lanky kid who knew a lot but never really overachieved anything. He was the forgettable type. All the other batchmates from school don't remember him well, but you do. You came back to your little town to see how the youngest Chavanges kid is faring, and you've heard from the baker's daughter that Pierre is doing okay.

He still doesn't say anything, and now you feel like you've crossed the line. You sling your bag on your shoulder before moving to open the car door. The lights on the porch of his house illuminate the truck's interior when you notice something. You look to your feet, and then to Pierre's, and then you laugh.

"What's wrong with you?" Pierre sounds exhausted. You kick your feet up on the dashboard to show him what's funny.

You were still wearing the bowling shoes, and so was Pierre. He regarded you as if you had the worst case of insanity possible before giving up and chuckling to himself as well.

You're sure you weren't laughing about the shoes anymore, but something was funny because Pierre was laughing too, and oh, his laugh. Was it the porch light, or did the world suddenly seem a bit brighter? Pierre looks at you and pulls out a cocktail umbrella from your ponytail. You both laugh again, and it feels like you were both fifteen all over again.

A few minutes pass as you wind down, still chuckling and giggling. He leans his head on the steering wheel, and he keeps his eyes on you. Both your faces were flushed with the drinks, the laughter, and maybe something else. 

At least he's smiling now, you note to yourself.

"Will you please tell me what's bothering you, Pierre?" You gently ask, slowly moving your hand to his.

Pierre's smile fades. He's reminded of the dead cow stored in the milking shed. The sadness in his eyes returns, and you don't miss the shift in his mood. The crease on his forehead comes back, but in his eyes, there's only confusion. The same look he used to have back in high school when the lessons became too difficult. He exits the truck, his movements rushed but careful. He then enters the house, leaving the door open. An invitation.

This was progress, you tell yourself. You get out of the truck and land on the rented bowling shoes, not entirely missing your Dior sandals. As you enter the house, you are filled with a sense of nostalgia for your younger days when you would visit the Chavanges house during the summers or after school. Pierre comes out, dressed in work overalls and holding two pairs of boots.  

-------------

You stand next to him inside the milking shed after swapping the bowling shoes with the work boots he left for you. He stares at the dead cow, rigor mortis kicking in. On it's head was a gaping hole. You are left to piece these facts together when Pierre begins roping the cow's feet, dragging it out, and tying it to the tractor.

He comes back a while later to clean the shed. This time, he lets you help with scrubbing the floors and disinfecting the railings. He chuckles to himself when you clumsily knock over a bucket.

"Do you remember when we were eight, you said you wanted to be a dairy farmer's wife?" He asks while draining the blood from the floor.

"Um, yes..." You wonder where this conversation is going, ignoring the splashes of blood and soapy water on your Balmain shirt and jeans.

"That's unlikely for you now, is it?" Pierre is smiling. The whole situation is confusing you.

Your favorite dairy farmer finishes up by spraying disinfectant in the shed. You stand outside just as the sun comes up, waiting for him to finish.

"You can't go home looking like that." Pierre comes out of the barn, carrying a calf in his arms.

"Oh, look at that! He's so cute!" You ignore what he said and begin petting the calf as Pierre walks by to the house, still carrying the calf. Weird, but okay.

"What's going on? Why are you bringing him into the bathroom?"

"He needs a shower." Pierre answers plainly, as if it explains anything that has happened in the past 24 hours.

He still hasn't kicked you out of the house, which was a good sign. You observe him gently bathing the calf. Pierre lets you reassure the distressed animal as it attempts to leap out of the tub. The calf seems to favor you when you pet him and let him sit in the tub while Pierre rinses the soap out of its fur.

"So, to answer your question, yes, I am still qualified to be a dairy farmer's wife." You chuckle while running the towel down the calf's body.

"Not in those clothes, missy. You smell like a whole manure pit. No farmer would want you." He smiles teasingly as he takes off his work suit. You spot the wound on his neck. There are also red stains on the back of his shirt where patches of the wounds bleed through. The teasing mood doesn't last.

"Your turn in the tub. Let me put antiseptic on that." You sternly tell him as you point at the wound on the side of his neck. Pierre wanted to protest, but he was exhausted, and the look in your eyes made it seem like you would not take no for an answer.

------

You return to the bathroom as soon as Pierre calls you in. He sits inside the tub, his bare back facing you. 

"I think you just want to see me naked." He mumbles, trying to make jokes to distract him from the sting of the antiseptic that you were pouring.

"I'm building up my farmer's wife qualifications." You play along as you pause, letting the pain abate for a bit. After a few seconds, you pour over the last patch on his shoulder. He grunts at the pain.

"Also, Pierre? Don’t flatter yourself. It's not that impressive." You say it jokingly as your gaze points to between his legs. He gets mildly offended and shoots off playful insults. Pierre's face flushes in embarrassment and annoyance, but at least not in pain.

He lets you take a shower and lends you some fresh clothes after he finishes. You catch him on his laptop when you walk out of the room, wrapping a towel around your hair. Biniou, the calf, lays comfortably on the sofa. Pierre doesn't move away when you sit next to him. You were hoping he'd watch football or some TV show, but he's watching a news report. His attention is laser-focused. His hands fiddle with the collar of his shirt, trying to stop himself from making the wounds worse.

"A disease?" You ask, trying to follow through with the report while taking his hand away from his shoulder.

Pierre hits pause and sits up to face you. Your hand remains in his, like its the most natural thing in the world. He begins explaining to you the whole cow disease debacle. His eyes hold your gaze as he passionately explains what he had thought. You tried your best to follow through with what he was explaining because surely you were getting lost in his eyes. 

"Do you understand? I'm trying to save the herd." Pierre finishes. Both your hands are in his much larger ones now. He looks down and takes in your soft hands, contrasting his rough and calloused ones.

"Pierre... I don't think..." You don't think this is salvageable. He thinks so too, but he's got to try. He nods, fully understanding what you mean. 

“B-but what about you? Those... on your back?" You stutter, fearing his answer.

"I'll be okay." He smiles slightly. Somehow, the warmth of his hands bring comfort to you.

---------------------

"You skipped breakfast..." You appear in front of Pierre as he works on the pulsator of his milking machine. The usual crease on his forehead is there again. You refer to this as Pierre's work-mode face. He lightens up a little when he looks up and sees the plate of bread, eggs, cheese, and meat you brought for him.

"Oh, you can just put it inside. My hands are still greasy." He shows you his hands.

You shrug and lift a forkful of scrambled eggs to him. He stares at it, feeling hesitant.

"Come on! Do you want me to make train noises? Choo choo!" You laugh. He obliges you with a bite. His face flushes with playfulness and laughter.

"I'm not a child!" He chews his breakfast.

"I know. But someone has to look after the farmer while he's looking after his cows."

Pierre's face flushes, overwhelmed by the feeling of love-

"Oh! Bonjour, Pascale!" Your first impulse interrupts you as you watch a silver Opel pull up. You immediately regret waving at her because Pierre's sister is now eyeing you suspiciously. You? Alone with Pierre at this time of the morning? Wearing clothes that are obviously not yours? 

In your defense, you were worried for Pierre. Although his back was beginning to feel a little better, he needed your help putting cream on his back before bed for the last few nights. You also helped him make healthy meals while his parents were away. He lets you sleep on the couch with Biniou, which was rather comfy. Pierre stacked you with soft pillows and blankets to make sure you're warm and comfortable.

Pascale walks into the tool shed and pulls Pierre away as they have a serious conversation. You return to the house and hang out with Biniou for a bit, waiting for Pierre to come back.  

-------------------

After Pascale leaves, Pierre is back in his dour mood. You hoped he'd be chatty today. He had a great sense of humor, and his voice always made you feel at home.

Huh, you never expected to feel at home with Pierre. Over the past couple of days since bowling night, you hadn't returned to your family home. No one cared to look for you, which was good because you were enjoying your time with Pierre, reliving your childhood together.

"Can I come in?" You knock at his bedroom door. Every night, you help him put cream on the healing wounds on his back. Most of the time, they sting, but you make sure to go hard on the teasing just to distract him.

Pierre doesn't seem to be in a teasing mood when he opens the door. His shirtless form sits on the edge of the bed and hands you the cylinder of cream.

He doesn't react when you make contact with his warm skin. You are grateful that it doesn't bother him anymore and the wounds are beginning to scab.

"Pierre? You okay?" You wanted to ask what Pascale had told him. He sighs.

"It's over." He's given up.

You don't know what to say. The farm is his life, and now that he's forced to give up his life's work, you're afraid it might take a toll on him.

"Will you stay with me?" He asks, taking your hand after placing the cylinder on his bedside.

And, of course, you stay.

His bed was a lot cozier than the couch. A lot warmer too, with him next to you. 

He falls asleep first, his head turned in your direction. You see him as a child again—the boy who has never cared about making it big. He was always so perfectly content with his life in the countryside.

"I'm certain that you're going places." Your teacher once told you back in grade school. She was right; you made it in Paris and maybe beyond, but at that moment, you confidently told her you'd rather be a farmer's wife while eyeing Pierre next to you. The entire class laughed. Pierre felt embarrassed. The teacher took it as a joke, but it was what your heart longs for and where your heart belongs. To be with Pierre.

In the morning, Pierre wakes up, mildly startled to see you asleep so close to him. Your head rests on the same pillow as his, and he notices his arm slung around your waist. It feels like the most normal of things. The natural order of your relationship. It has been weeks since he slept this well. Pierre observes your face, which is so gentle and peaceful. He wonders if you're dreaming, and if you are, is he there in your dreams?

Then, as if your minds are one, he sees your eyes shift under your eyelids. Unconsciously (or not), you snuggle closer to Pierre. His heart melts. Then, your eyes open to see his face so close to yours.

A moment passes, and you don't know how long. You lose yourself in his eyes.

"Good morning," he whispers, making sure to keep the peace in the early hours.

You smile. "What time is it?"

"A bit over eight..." He glances at the wristwatch he wears, even when he sleeps.

"Aren't you supposed to check on the cows?" You wonder. He's normally up at six, sometimes before sunrise.

"No." He answers, and his arm tightens around your waist. You presume there was something about the conversation he and Pascale had yesterday. You let Pierre enjoy this calm morning, which you know is a very rare thing for him.

Little did you know that this would become a regular thing.

Gravel crunches outside as cars pull up at ferme Chavenges. Police cars. They have come to put down the whole herd of "infected" cows, leaving Pierre with nothing. 

"Hey, stop, wait!" You try to stop the cops, but even Pascale couldn't do anything. At least they let Pierre milk the cows one last time. He takes you back to the house. Someone knocks a while later and takes the calf too.

You were too distraught to notice the time. The sun had set. You were still on the couch, with Pierre holding you. You felt incredibly sad about the whole situation.

That night, Pierre takes you to his bedroom. Just like last night, he lays you gently on what is now your side of the bed. 

"Maybe you should head back to your folks tomorrow. You're headed back to Paris on Saturday, yes?" He asks, caressing your hair gently.

You nod.

"Okay. Get some sleep." Pierre kisses the top of your head and turns the lights off.

On your last morning at the farm, you wake up before Pierre. It was still a bit dark outside. You hoped it was raining so it could wash the stench away and save Pierre the effort of cleaning up.

Oh, Pierre.

You look down on him, sleeping next to you. His gentle lips are parted as he snores lightly. It makes you chuckle. You can't leave. Not now, not ever.

"Pierre?"

He snores.

"Pierre? I need to tell you something."

"Huh? What?" He says, keeping his eyes closed.

"Can I stay?"

"What?" He opens one eye.

"I think I want to start my internship here."

Pierre opens both eyes now. He is very confused. "Are you sleep-talking?"

"I said I wanted to be a farmer's wife. I'm ready to start training today, if you'll have me."

It takes a moment for Pierre to understand. He chuckles and then pulls you back to bed, snuggled close to him. He brings up the covers and wraps his arms around you.

you would have been happy to never speak of it, let alone think of it. it seems, however, your happiness is irrelevant when it comes to circumstance.

fabrice was hosting a small, informal get together for the community. well technically another of his friends put it all together, fabrice simply agreed to host it at his house. and just about everyone in town was invited; including, of course, pierre chavanges.

initially, you were going to decline the invitation, but it was rare to see anyone else these days, and rarer still to be able to talk to them for more than a fleeting passing-by. so you agreed and gave fabrice a kind thanks before hanging up the phone. and now you stand in his yard, mentally kicking yourself to be so naive to think this was a good idea.

all was well for the first half hour or so. you made amiable conversation with some people you knew, some you didn’t, and the plastic cup in your hand was a comforting weight of liquid courage. yes, all was well—until you heard a loud chorus of cheers come from near the house. instantly, you smile fell when you saw whose presence was the cause for the ruckus.

you secretly had hoped he would decline the invitation, much like you almost had. but, also like yourself, he must have felt a keen obligation to his friends to at least make an appearance.

and almost immediately, your eyes met. his eyes narrowed in on you, like a predator singling out the weakest of the herd. you finish your drink and slide into a thicker part of the crowd, hoping to get the pair of lingering eyes off of you.

for nearly an hour you succeeded in avoiding one another. but then, as the party gradually began to taper off and more people began to head for their respective homes, you were drug into fabrice’s kitchen for a ‘final round’ before officially calling it a night.

and to everyone’s surprise, and your dismay, pierre had managed to stick it out too.

everyone was in boisterous conversation while you studied the contents of the cup in your hand, the earthy beer a little musty to your tastes.

“say, y/n-“ you’re pulled from your thoughts by one of the guys, “you’ve been awfully quiet tonight. don’t tell me we’re boring you.”

you force a small laugh at the jest, your eyes briefly glancing around the small room, unsurprised to find pierre looking straight at you. “no, no,” you shake your head, reclining your hips against the counter. “just been a long day.”

“the queen probably finds our conversations below herself.” the guys laugh heartily at pierre’s cheap jab. you just roll your eyes, you and pierre are easily the most sober in the room, so you excuse the others. but your glare finds pierre’s easily.

his tall friend picks up on the animosity quickly despite his inebriation, his eyes glimmering with drunken glee as he points, “ooh c’mon guys. let’s not fight, you’re both equally insufferable when you get like this.”

“i’m perfectly fine. i’m afraid it’s your friend who can’t get off his high horse.”

pierre doesn’t break eye contact as he tilts his head slightly, “she’s right. we should be nice to her majesty. we all know she’s had a rough season, after all.”

“the hell is that supposed to mean, chavanges?” your grip tightens around your cup enough to make the thin material crackle.

everyone else seems to catch the tension in the atmosphere shift from friendly pestering to something more hostile. everyone but pierre, whose lips ever so slightly twitch into a shit eating grin.

“what do you think it sounds like?”

you hold his hard stare for a long moment. ‘it’s not worth it’ you decide. you turn slightly to pour the remnants of your drink into the sink. “it sounds like it’s time for me to excuse myself.”

the boys make sounds of disapproval, some of them throwing their arms up at pierre in a silent complaint of ‘what the hell man?’, but pierre only kept his steely eyes on you, an air of indisputable satisfaction behind his expression.

you’re walking along the dirt road that’ll take you home when a set of yellow headlights illuminate your shadow. you shuffle to the side of the path, nearly standing in the shallow ditch when the vehicle slows to a stop just behind you.

“get in, princess.”

you roll your eyes when the distinct tone of pierre’s voice hits your ears. you ignore him and begin walking in the direction of your house again. a strong gust of wind wips past you. instinctively, your arms wrap around your midsection as you grumble under your breath.

pierre merely inches his truck forward, it’s muddied wheels creeping alongside you. “c’mon, get in the truck. it’s freezing.”

you grit your teeth. “i’d rather take my chances freezing then, thanks”

he chuckles and the sound nearly has you seeing red. “go the fuck home, chavanges.”

it didn’t matter how cold you were, or how nice a ride in the warm truck cab sounded. you were not so desperate to grant him the gratification of doing you a favor, no matter how minuscule.

“christ y/n,” he practically growled in nothing short of annoyance, “get in the fucking truck.”

you stop walking, a huff of warm breath dissipating into the cold air. you stand against the cold wind for a moment longer, feeling his eyes rake over you from behind. then with a resigned sigh, you wordlessly stalk to the passenger side of the truck and pull open the door.

neither of you say a word as you slip into the seat, but you can feel his eyes boring a hole in the side of your head.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you finally say.

you catch the way his tongue prods the inside of his cheek before he starts driving along the quickly darkening road.

“you’re really pissed?” he asks after a long stretch of silence.

you’re looking out the window, forehead resting against the cool glass. “you’re really an asshole?”

“come on now, don’t be like that.”

you chuckle at the audacity of this man, though it comes out more like a scoff. “i take it back. you’re a piece of shit.”

“mm, that’s not what it sounded like when you were moaning my name,” he says flatly. “though, it has been a bit so maybe my memory is getting foggy.” and the pointed look he gave you left you with no need to discern what meaning lurked under the surface.

you held your breath as you leveled his gaze. the tension in the cab was oppressive. it took a good moment for you to realize he had parked his truck in one of the pull-offs. your mouth suddenly felt dry.

“tell me, princess,” you hated how your stomach fluttered at the way he said the nickname you hated so much, “does it make you angry when i do that?”

“you’re going to have to be more specific,” you breathe out. “you do a lot of things that piss me off.” you mentally curse when you catch yourself glimpsing to his lips.

he grins. “do you hate when i call you out, give you a hard time? does it make your blood boil?” he doesn’t give you a chance to answer before he’s leaning closer, his eyes sharp as they scan your face. “and does it make you angrier knowing that the guy who gets you so riled up is the same guy you let fuck you in a field a couple weeks ago?”

you swallow, jaw clenching as you turn to look out your window again. then in a moment of stupid courage, likely fueled by the traces of alcohol still running in your veins, you ask the first question that flashed in your mind.

“is this your way of saying once wasn’t enough for you?”

“yes.”

his reply was quick and void of any hints of deception. your lips parted when his answer shocked your system, instantaneously leaving you at a loss for words.

he gauged your reaction, eyes searching yours. when you say nothing, he sighs, though it’s more blasé than irritated. “you know, you’re real annoying when you go quiet like that. for all the complaining and whining you do, i know you have something in that little head of yours you want to say.” he reaches across the console of the truck to gently grab your chin. “yes or no?”

you didn’t need any further context to know what he was asking. you chew on the inside of your lip, chin titled ever so slightly by his thumb, and nod once.

“that won’t do.” he clicks his tongue and murmurs lowly, “use your words, princess.”

you lean in close, eyes steady on his as you whisper, “you can fuck me, chavanges, but i won’t beg.”

his eyes glinted with an unsaid challenge. the thumb holding your chin brushed over your bottom lip, the featherlight touch submerging your stomach in water. “we’ll see about that.”

when he pressed his lips to yours, you swear your senses completely shut everything else out. his movements were slow, languid, as his lips moved in time with yours. his tongue gently nudged past your lips.

even now, you can tell there’s been a shift since the time in the pasture. pierre was much more deliberate and subdued.

you could feel yourself leaning more into his touch, the top half of your body nearly laying on the center console. his rough hand found your jaw and pulled you even closer with a muffled groan.

you straddled his lap in the cramped truck, your ass threatening to bump against the horn until two hands pulled your hips securely on top of his. “fuck, you’re pretty like this.” the combination of his throaty compliment and his fingers digging into your hips had your breath hitching.

eyes half lidded, you peer down at him. your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you keep your face hovering over his. “what would you do if i just up and left? just got out of this truck of yours and left you here like this.”

pierre have you a cheeky grin, unadulterated confidence gleaming in his eyes. “we both know you wouldn’t.” he leaned close so his lips tickled your ear, “i fuck you too good for you to even consider it.”

“then you better not disappoint, chavanges.”

his grin only grew, grip on your hips moving to cup your ass. “don’t you worry, princess. just let me take care of ya.”

“oh? is the prince feeling chivalrous?”

a hand on your neck has your eyes fluttering as he whispers against your warm skin, “i suggest you be nice.” then his lips were on your throat, tongue teasing the sensitive flesh while his teeth nipped little red marks across your chest.

you fingers are in his hair as he undoubtedly leaves marks that won’t fade for a couple days over your skin. you’ll be irritated tomorrow, but for now you allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of his fleeting touch.

his large hands gave your ass another squeeze, grinding you against his jean-covered, half hard cock. you always hated how your body betrayed you, the way you can feel your pussy practically soaking through your panties and onto his lap.

pierre groans underneath you, his fingers pulling your shirt over your head, his other hand unclasping your bra with a fumbling grasp that only added to the heat of the truck. his lips abandon your neck in favor of your tits. his eyes watched you as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling the sensitive nub under his tongue. his palm groped at your other breast, fingers teasingly pulling at your skin as you whine.

his mouth pulls off you with a minute wet ‘pop’. he grinned up at you, eyes no doubt studying the growing blush on your cheeks. “y’know, you sound prettier like this than when you’re bitchin’.”

you tugged his hair, a warning.

he ignores it. “fuck.. i can’t wait anymore.” it’s embarrassing, how your pussy clenched around nothing at his words. your chest shone with the warmth of his spit as his breath fans across your skin. you shudder as his fingernails skim up your arm and down the front of your collarbone. “gotta feel that little pussy of yours, been too long.”

the transition to you shimmying your worn jeans down your legs was anything but graceful, but pierre didn’t seem to mind as his own hips raised to deftly push his own pants to his thighs. the windows were already beginning to fog over with a sheen of warmth. you both took a moment, chests softly heaving in unison before pierre’s hands rubbed along your ribs and waist, wordlessly soothing the nerves crawling over your skin.

he brought his face closer to yours again, his nose nudging the column of your neck before inhaling. “been thinking about this since that day.”

you’d sooner take yourself out to pasture than admit you’d been the same. you could practically feel his sick twitch beneath the thin material of his boxers, the heat emanating from his body making your mind hazy. you whine despite yourself, pussy clenching around nothing when his finger traces over the elastic band of your panties.

“pierre, don’t tease.” it’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out breathier than needier than you anticipated.

his touch becomes more assertive, borderline experimental, as his thumb dips to the front of your crotch, easily ghosting over your clit while his eyes watch you with a glimmer of piqued enthusiasm. “are you in a rush?”

his warm breath paired with the tentative touches makes your eyes flutter. “i wanna take my time with you, this time.” finally, his long fingers tug the slick material covering your heat to the side. the calloused pads of his fingers tease your wet folds. you flush with a bright heat when the only sound in the truck is the audible wet clicking coming from pierre shamelessly playing with your soaked pussy.

your head falls to pierre’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as your hips twitch to meet his hand. there’s no doubt your bottom lip is gonna be bruised with how you’re biting into it, but it does little to stop the pathetic sounds from reaching his ears.

“fuck..” his low groan sends sparks down your spine. “you’re so fucking wet, i love it…”

as if to emphasize his words, he slips two long fingers into your dripping hole. your hands clutch onto his shoulders, nails pricking through his shirt but god- you were both so pent up at this point, any humiliation only added to the desperation.

pierre’s lips pressed a wet kiss onto your shoulder. the feeling of his fingers slowly dragging in and out of your cunt doubled with the material of your soft panties catching your clit with each shift of his palm, you were made pliant in a matter of minutes.

“god… missed this,” pierre stifles a groan when you clench around his fingers embarrassingly tight, “so much.”

a hand on your throat drags your face to his and his mouth is on you before you fully register his fingers leaving your heat. you’re holding back a whine when he finally frees his dick, blushed an angry red and leaking pre, from his boxers. your eyes are fixated on his cock and it only strokes his ego.

pierre’s breath warms the shell of your ear as he whispers, “you can deny it until you’re blue in the face, but i know you’ve been thinking about how i fuck you everyday since the field.”

you drag your gaze to meet his and even in the darkness of the truck cab, you can see the hunger in his eyes.

his thumb smears the precum from his tip down his shaft as he gives his cock a pump before you lift your hips. your head falls back slightly as you sink down onto his length. you both breathe softly when you finally bottom out, and it takes everything in you not to start bouncing on his lap.

instead, you bite back a small moan and give the man beneath you a heady glare, “you better not fall for me, chavanges.”