#rodeos

olson negatives box 008, image 0050: woman at a california rodeo, richard olson, c. 1920

pixels by @vamprequiem 🏇

It sucks to see rodeos be glorified by so many people without anyone acknowledging how inhumane they are and I’m saying this as someone who grew up around that kind of culture

“How difficult is it to ride a bull? Can’t be much different than a bronc?” Sirius is coming around the back of the truck again, hovering around it, watching Remus do the same. Remus snorts, “Shoot it’s way more difficult than a bronc, you kidding me?” Remus hasn’t been this animated since the previous day.  “What do ya mean?” Sirius is coaxing him, trying to get more words out of him. “I mean with a bronc, you’re connected to their face, you’ve got a rope tied to a halter and that’s a direct connection to them, you can feel them.” He’s getting a little more animated as he speaks, punctuating his words with a stiff hand. “Horses put their heads down when they buck, they move with their shoulders, there’s tells. They’re hard and you gotta be able to read ‘em but every bronc’s got a tell or a trick. Now with a bull, you don’t have that connection with your hands. It’s all in your hips, in your legs and your sit bones.” Remus puts his hands on his hips, tilting his pelvis forward as he talks.   Sirius waves him off, “That sounds like bronc riding to me—”  “Alright then get into position,” Remus gestures with a hand in front of him before crossing his arms.  “What?” Sirius stares at him for a minute, feeling his face drain of colour.  “Come on cowboy, show me how you ride a bronc.” Remus is deadlocked on him, green eyes unwavering in the darkness and he motions for Sirius to get into position. He does, hesitating, bending his knees and hinging at the waist, tipping forward only slightly.  “Alright come now, pretend with me—” Sirius can feel Remus’s hands on his hips, testing his balance. “There ya go, let that free hand fly.” Remus moves behind him now, close, his cheek brushing between Sirius’s shoulder blades as he reaches between his legs and Sirius stiffens.  “Gimme your rope hand.” Remus’s voice is soft, coaxing.  Sirius hesitates, swallowing before taking Remus’s hand, the weight of it like a punch to the gut but he follows orders. His left in Remus’s right he’s suddenly all the more conscious of his missing digit, wishing there was just that little bit more contact. He’s grasping Remus’s hand as best he can, holding it tight and they’re stock still, palm to palm.  “Now draw.”  Faltering, Sirius holds his breath, biting his lip before Remus tugs, a quick sharp motion and Sirius almost loses balance, toppling forward before remembering himself. He sits deep, leaning back and into Remus’s touch, tucking his pelvis and feeling Remus’s hand between his legs.  “Push your sit bones down more, if this were a real bull you’d be flat on your hind end looking up at the stars—there ya go, use your arm for balance like I know you know how.” Remus isn’t commanding as he talks, he isn’t demanding obedient but Sirius gives it, pushing down any embarrassment he feels at their closeness. The way Remus’s hand fits in his, how it moves against the seam of his jeans and how a little bit of Sirius wants the closeness, finds he craves it—wishes they were even closer.  Firm grip on his hip, Remus pushes Sirius down against his hand, rubbing against him and Sirius bites back the groan that threatens to surface at the added pressure on his groin.  He doesn’t know what he’s doing…there’s no way… Remus tugs on the hand between Sirius’s leg causing him to lose his balance, tipping forward, pulling them together so they’re flush against one another. They’ve stopped moving now, no more pushing and pulling just holding and in the quiet of the night, Sirius can hear nothing but Remus’s breathing, can feel it against his back as Remus lets go of his hand.  All the pressure, leaves at once, Remus letting go and taking a big step back and in the cool air of the night it’s all that more noticeable. 

“Fiction is an urgent business. It is the Dying Us telling stories to the Dying Us, trying to crack the nonsense in our heads open with a big hammer pronto, before Death arrives.” ― George Saunders