Set in the mid-late 19th century this AU fic includes: (Offscreen) Minor Character Death; Intercurual Sex; Period-typical Homophobia; Farmers, yeehaw bitch!
Awsten's feet ache in a way he is entirely unused to. It's not the kind of ache from walking or running or even the kind of ache from biking. It's not so much his muscles as everything else.
The awn of the rye is digging into the balls of his feet with every step he takes. It's not horribly painful by itself, but he's been threshing for hours now and the constant rub of the short, pointy spikes makes his feet feel almost raw.
Needless to say, it's not particularly enjoyable.
It makes him miss the city, it makes him miss buying his flour in canvas sacks and not having to process it himself. Seriously, fuck this.
He hears the squeaking of the wheelbarrow from plenty far away and stops his consistent back-and-forth motion over the grain. He can just see Otto pushing up over the hill off to the side of the porch. They still don't have any proper threshing floor, so Awsten is doing his job on a canvas tarp spread out on the rickety wooden deck.
"Hey, how's this round coming along?" Otto asked, stepping up to the edge of the tarp and pausing.
"It's going," Awsten answers tiredly. Otto nods grimly, wiping his brow with his forearm. It comes away glistening, shining in the late afternoon sun. Awsten pretends his eyes don't follow the way it moves, almost hairless and horribly soft looking despite the scratches and scars etched into his skin.
Otto brings in another armful of rye from the wheelbarrow, dumping it at the edge of the tarp. He unties it from the bundle it was drying in and begins to exchange the new stalks for the straw that had been separated from the seed already.
"We'll finish this bushel and call it there. I'm gonna put the straw up in the barn 'nd then I can take over if you wanted to get started makin' supper." Awsten nods in agreement to the direction and continues his work while Otto once again disappears into the fields.
It's only a few minutes until he's back though and they switch out jobs. Otto isn't great at cooking and his father is still in town for the weekend, visiting the general store and stocking up on more seed for the second growing season. He wouldn't be back until Tuesday since he wanted to stay in town on Sunday for church and it's such a long way, even by wagon.
That meant it was Awsten's job to cook supper, and he was glad for it. It was something he was taught how to do a long time ago, unlike most of the other things he's expected to do on the farm.
It makes him feel smart when Otto doesn't have to explain things to him for once. Especially things Otto really shouldn't have to explain. Or, at least, shouldn't have to explain to the person Awsten pretends he is.
He never really lied to them exactly but he never told them the reason he left home, either. He just said he was from an orchard town back east and he was willing to work and that was good enough for them. He appreciated that simplicity, that kind of trust.
He heats up some cornbread and retrieves the last of the mutton stew from the cook-pot on the wood stove. He'll have to make potato stew tomorrow to last them until Otto's father gets back since he has the hunting rifle. It's all slap-dash but pouring a little molasses on it makes it seem a lot more hearty and a lot less rushed.
Otto comes inside just as Awsten is setting the table. The screen door squeaks horribly as it shuts, and Otto mentions needing to fix it up once his father gets back with more hinges. Most things in the house are like that now, from creaking old chairs to a roof that refuses to stop leaking.
Supper is eaten in a silent din of quick bites and tin silverware scraping on tin plates. Otto isn't good at initiating conversation like this, and Awsten is too tired and too hungry to even try.
After that, it's just a few chores around the house, and Awsten and Otto are going up the stairs to the bedroom. Technically Otto could sleep in his father's bedroom downstairs, but he never does. He swears up and down he just can't sleep if he isn't in the attic and Awsten doesn't feel like arguing about it.
He tumbles onto the straw mattress, groaning as his sore back hits the firmness of a thin layer of dry fucking grass over the floor. He doesn't even have a bed frame. Sometimes he wonders if coming out here was worth it. Otto isn't in a much better set-up, his mattress is also straw, but he at least has a frame for it to be set on.
Awsten reads for a little while by the light of the candle close to him, scanning the pages of the little bible he's had for as long as he can remember. There's not much else to read out here, no newspapers or libraries and no letters to read or reread because no one even knows where he is anymore.
Sometimes he really, really wonders if it was a good idea to come out here.
Otto blows out the candle right between them after a while and the small space goes dark. Awsten can hear his breathing just a couple feet away, nothing but a bit of height and one tiny bedside table between them.
It's been months since he's been hugged and moments like these make an ache form under his bones. He needs the touch more than he wants to admit.
Sleep never comes easy for him but he is thankful for it taking him away from everything, at the very least. It does an amazing job at that. He very rarely dreams of much anymore, but that's better than the dreams he used to get.
He wakes to Otto's hand on his shoulder, warm and solid and so very there that it makes his brain stutter.
"Hey, Awsten, come on, get up." Otto's voice is a rushed whisper, barely audible over the harsh wind and rain pelting the house. The... harsh wind and rain... pelting the house... oh.
The storm is so strong that even just in the few feet between the house and the cellar Awsten and Otto are both drenched with rain and they have to hold each other close as to not get lost in the dark downpour and wind nearly blowing them over.
It's a fight to get the cellar door closed behind them and it takes both of their strengths to get it shut and latched. Otto lets out a sigh once they're both inside and slumps down to the ground. Even the storm lantern he has was fighting to live out there.
As soon as Awsten has lit one of the emergency candles, he extinguishes the lantern to save the precious oil for when they really need it. The darkness of the cellar creeps around them, staved off only by the flickering, weak spot of light set between them.
Awsten can feel his heartbeat harsh and slightly irregular with fear. He stretches his arms above his head and counts his breaths in an attempt to calm down, but it doesn't really work. Despite the late (early?) hour, his thoughts are louder than the storm. There's no way he'll be getting even a few minutes of shut-eye.
It's a long storm, not dying out until late the next day when afternoon orange skies are bathing the world. Everything is dripping wet and glistening but with the wind gone, it's just beautiful. It almost lets him forgive the interruption to his sleep. Almost.
He shields his eyes from the sun as he holds the door open behind him for Otto to climb up the steps. The air smells fresh, all the pollen washed out of the air to leave only the sweet scent of summer rain. Awsten stretches wide and his joints crack loudly.
The house is thankfully intact but a few parts of the fence lay broken on the ground and the chicken coop looks a little worse for the wear. It only takes Otto a few minutes to fix it and about an hour to have the fence back to doing its job though.
Awsten has a rushed, late dinner on the table by the time he's done, just some slices of rough rye bread spread with jelly and butter. It's not great, but it's food and after having missed breakfast it tastes better than it ever would have otherwise.
He stays up making stew and Otto helps him, cutting vegetables in near silence. Awsten tries not to let it get to him and reminds himself that Otto is just like that. That it isn't his fault.
Otto's father does not come home. He isn't home by Wednesday evening and Otto is stretched thin and angry. He snaps at Awsten every time he opens his mouth and Awsten catches him up late at night standing watch by the porch, candle held out high.
By Friday Otto has packed a satchel of food and is getting ready to ride into town to figure out what he can.
"You know how to take care of the place while I'm gone. Just do the basic chores, take care of the place." He's firm with his words, there's no room for argument, and Awssten is okay with that for once. "Oh, and Awsten? If I'm not back in five days, the farm is yours."
"What?" Awsten asks, taken by surprise.
"You've been helping here for a few months now and, well, there's not anyone else we could give it to. Or, I guess you could leave, too. There's nothing keeping you here, but there's nothing makin' you leave either. Just wanted you to know," He answers, voice a little softer now, almost apologetic.
His eyes stay fixated on Awsten and it feels like a vow when Awsten replies, "Of course I'll stay. You'll come back, though. I know you will."
Otto nods, mouth set into a grim line. He hugs Awsten tight for a minute and then he mounts his horse and rides her off into the dry grasses along the path to town.
Awsten watches him go until he's just an outline, then just a dot, then nothing. He watches a little afterward too. It takes more self-control than he'd like to admit to tear himself away from the edge of the porch. He can't help but hope that Otto would just reappear, duck back and not leave him behind.
But that doesn't happen and he knows it won't, so instead he forces himself to leave and do what he knows he should. He goes through the motions of sweeping the house and feeding the chickens. He puts fresh straw in the barn and milks the cows. He doesn't bother cooking dinner, though. He just stares at the pantry for a few minutes but he doesn't see the point in trying to eat when he knows all he'll feel is even more sick after.
He hates being alone like this. It drives him insane to have no one.
The next few days are a struggle of keeping himself together. They're weeding in the vegetable garden until his fingers are caked with soft brown dirt and his brain has gone numb. They're forcing himself to eat a few bites of food a day, as much as he can stomach. They're pretending that talking to himself is anywhere near making him feel better, that it's any kind of substitute for another person.
By the time a week has gone by and Otto should be due back Awsten spends 90% of his day just staring out at the path he should be travelling back along. The sun is hot and high in the sky and the dust is burning his lungs that day, but he wants to know just as soon as Otto is back.
He's starting to really, really worry by the time the sun is setting and he still can't see him in the distance. Just as the twilight is dipping into true darkness, he catches sight of a small speck of light out in the grasses.
He lights a lantern as soon as he can, holding it high above his head and starting off towards the light. It doesn't even cross his mind that it might not be him, he's just lonely enough that all that matters to him is seeing another person.
He meets Otto a short walk away from the barn. He's squinting into the falling gloom, lantern held high to see his way. He walks his horse back into the barn but he doesn't say hi to Awsten. He doesn't even acknowledge him.
"Otto? Hey, come on, what's up?" He asks hurrying after him into the barn. Awsten hangs his lantern on the hook by the door so it casts its soft warm light around more evenly. Otto faces away from him, ignoring him completely.
He ties the horse up by its halter, removes the cinch, and carefully pulls takes the saddle off of her. The saddle pads go next and he takes the opportunity to carefully look at her hooves, brushing away the pebbles that got stuck. She isn't too sweaty so he just begins with the curry comb, brushing her clean. He takes his time with caring for her and Awsten can feel annoyance bubble up inside him and threaten to burst. He wants to scream.
He's always like that, sometimes Awsten thinks that Otto sees his horse as more important than any human being. He somehow feels even more alone, now. Eventually, he gives up, just sitting down by the door and staring at his back as he works. It's not until he turns around and Awsten catches his eye that he feels his anger dissolve.
Otto's face is dripping with tears. Wet streaks are running down his face, dripping off of his chin. Awsten's heart stutters over itself and he pushes himself to his feet in a split second.
He pulls Otto into his arms. He doesn't let go when Otto tries to push him away, just tightens his grip and holds him close. After a moment Otto falls into it, burying his head into Awsten's shoulder and hooking his arms around his waist.
They stay like that for a long while, rocking back and forth in soothing patterns until Awsten's feet ache and he tugs himself away out of necessity so he doesn't fall over. Otto has cried himself out. He holds onto Awsten the entire way back to the house and Awsten lets him even though it's more than a little awkward.
As soon as they're through the door, Otto is falling onto the chair by the table. Awsten pulls away and heats up the food he had made earlier, a pot pie filled with a hearty stew. He pours some molasses over it and puts the plate in front of Otto. He just stares at it for a moment.
Otto's breathing is still shaky. Awsten pulls his chair right up next to him and slings an arm over his shoulder.
"You should try to eat. It'll help, at least a little," He chides softly. Otto nods, slowly pulling himself together enough to nibble on it.
It takes a while for him to get through it but he does. Awsten pulls him into the bedroom and grabs the wash tub. The water he left heating over the fire is still warm, luckily, and he fills the tub. He leaves a bar of soap and is about to leave when he hears Otto's voice for the first time in a week.
"Don't leave." He's not even looking at Awsten, his eyes are cast down. He pauses in the doorway. He steps back in and pulls the door shut behind him.
Otto strips down slowly. Not trying to put on a show but still, it takes all of Awsten's willpower to tear his eyes away. Awsten just sits on the bed in silence, but after a few minutes of Otto just staring at the water he takes that as a cue to move.
Otto startles when his hand lands softly on the small of his back, but with a little pressure, he folds. He slips into the tub quietly, and Awsten carefully rinses him down with the washcloth. He feels like he's doing something unholy, something horribly wrong. He sinks into the feeling instead of fighting and lets the guilt wash off of him the same as the dust off of Otto.
He bends into every touch, from Awsten working soap through his hair to him rinsing suds off his chest and his back, down his shoulder blades to chase the insistent grime that comes with living out here off of his skin. Awsten fights the urge to run his fingers down Otto's torso, to feel the corded muscle of his body.
When he's done Otto wraps himself in a towel but doesn't bother with anything more. His hand is wrapped around Awsten's wrist, pulling him onto Otto's bed. They wrap around each other and Awsten ignores the nerves as much as he can.
Sleep comes surprisingly easy. He's exhausted and the warmth of a body next to his is like a trigger of safety in the back of his mind, letting his muscles go loose and relaxed.
Otto unpacks his satchel the next day and his father's hunting rifle goes back up on its spot by the door.
Summer goes by and before he knows it the cicada's cries are gone and the crickets are nearly silent. The sticky heat dissipates into comfortable, dry warmth and the trees all turn softer and softer shades until their leaves decorate every path.
They spend a long time storing their food for the winter, then. They burn candles until late at night so they can finish canning everything, they rise earlier than the sun so they can salt and smoke the meat and they work through the hottest hours of the day to lay out apple slices on sheet metal to dry out into sweet chips in the ever-fading heat.
As fall fades in and out of heat and cold the trees slowly turn bare and white. They get the first snow just as the meat is done preserving, finally dry and salty and safe. They spend the day bundled in layers and carefully packaging up the jerky and storing it in the basement.
Awsten gets inside and piles more wood into the fire, rubbing his cold hands together over it. Otto pulls his gloves off and his jacket and settles in close until their shoulders are brushing. It's not nearly enough snow to worry Awsten in the slightest, not this far South, but it's chilly nonetheless and he's never great with handling the cold.
Otto complains about the cold incessantly; he's lived out here all his life and the thin layer of snow on the ground is about as much as they tend to get. The only times he truly stops grumbling about it is when Awsten sits packed in next to him at the fire.
They eat hot stew and bread and jerky, and on Sundays, they eat dried apples as a treat. But with nothing growing in the garden, Otto is bored and it's obvious with everything he does. He's too active for winter, too used to spending all his energy until there's nothing left.
He fidgets and he can't focus and every time Awsten tries to suggest something they can do inside and sit down close to the warmth of the wood stove he shoots it down in annoyance. Everything from mending clothes to reading to carving wood to doing puzzles. Nothing satisfies his urge to move.
He gets cold easily when he's not close to the fire though, much more easily than Awsten does. So Awsten spends most of his time badgering Otto into staying warm even if it's "boring" and "a waste of time". They share a bed because otherwise, Otto wakes up with blue lips and a runny nose, and frozen cold eyelashes.
They also share a bed because ever since it's just been the two of them out there, Otto has barely been able to handle more than a few feet of space between them. But they don't talk about that. They don't talk about how if Awsten leaves for more than a few minutes at a time Otto gets scared and asks if he's ok a million times as soon as he's back. They just blame it on winter.
And they don't talk about the nights when the wind howls loud and scary outside and Otto holds Awsten so close to his chest it almost hurts. And they don't talk about how they hold each other tight and how Otto's lips find his in the dark.
And they blame it on the whisky on the fridge neither of them touched, they blame it on the way they have to be drunk even though neither of them are. There's no other explanation because if there was they would both be sinners but nothing they do feels like sin.
They ride into town after the first thaw of the year. Awsten curls up on Otto's shoulder and sleeps, bundled up in warm blankets and jackets. It's a long trip but they make it. Otto sells off the furs they caught from hunting trips and a basket of eggs they'd saved and tubs of soft butter. They sell the jams and jellies and pickles they have left over.
The return trip is packed even tighter, the wagon is full of supplies for the year. Flour and sugar and coffee and yeast, fabric, and thread, and a new set of cloth scissors, packs of seeds, and a new pitchfork. As soon as they're out of town Awsten gives up the pretense of it all.
Tin pots are digging into his hip on one side and there are no prying eyes once they're out into the wilderness of west Texas.
"Scooch. Lift up your arm," Awsten says, "Yeah, thanks." He squishes in underneath and shifts until he's fully in Otto's lap. Otto's legs fall open a little, leaving room for Awsten right between them. His chin rests on Awsten's shoulder, breathing warmth across his neck.
Awsten lets his eyes fall shut. They sting sharply from the cool spring wind, miniature icicles burning up in his tear ducts. He's cold to his core. His soul feels frostbitten despite the world thawing around him.
He misses home so badly his ribcage hurts and no matter how close Otto holds him he can't hold the part of him that belongs somewhere else.
His eyes are watering when he opens them again and he can only blame part of that on the weather.
He takes a deep breath of chilled air, holds it, and lets it out slowly. He forces it out between his teeth and does it again and again until the tightness in his bones releases its grip just enough for him to pull himself together.
"You alright?" Otto asks softly, holding the reins in one hand and snaking his other arm around Awsten's middle to hold him close.
"Yeah. I will be. I think."
"What were you thinking about?"
"Lots of stuff," Awsten considers lying for a moment before he lands on telling the truth, "My family, I guess. I don't know."
"Well no matter how long the story is, I think we have time for it," Otto says wryly. Awsten sighs, but he's started now and there's no use stopping.
"My sister is dead because of me. If I married the girl I was supposed to then my family would've had the money to get her a good doctor and she wouldn't've died from the fever." It all comes out in one quick sentence, strung together into a beaded necklace of meaningless words.
"Slow down, lovely. Start from the begining. I'm listening," Otto says calmly.
"Ok, fine. Fine. Well you know, like, my dad was the preacher you know? So we didn't have much money but we were, like, respected, I think. I don't know. I wasn't, not ever. They all knew there was something off about me, I think. That I wasn't so... right. That I wasn't so holy, not like they were. But my sister, she got...sick. Like, real, real sick. She was fine and then one day she wasn't, couldn't even get out of bed.
"The docters were all too expensive, so my parents wanted me to marry this girl. Her family had a ton of money, and they figured it would be helpful and then they could marry into a religious family, you know? Win-win, right?" Awsten pauses. He waits briefly for a response he doesn't get before he continues.
"Except I wouldn't marry her. I just couldn't. I've never been a good enough liar for that. So I ran away instead. The only one I told was my sister and she helped me pack even though she could hardly get out of bed. And I just ran, I went as far away as I could and, well, I landed out here. But I still miss them, sometimes. My mom especially, she was so nice. I just can't be the son they need."
Otto hums low in his throat. Awsten can feel it thrum against his back.
"So you feel guilty?" He finally asks, thumb rubbing slow circles into Awsten's arm.
"Yeah. I guess that's what it is."
"I think I know how you feel. But it ain't my fault and it ain't yours either. They wouldn't want us to hold onto it, I think," Otto says. It's a close to the conversation, a shut-down of the highest degree, and Awsten is alright with it.
The lotion smells sweet in the air and Awsten does his best to ignore it because it is decidedly unsexy. He feels a little awkward like this but there isn't much else they can do, not much else he feels... comfortable doing.
Otto is beside him in the same position they usually sleep in, arms around Awsten's chest and everything. Except for both of them being naked, of course. That one's new. That one is very, very new.
Otto is rutting up against him, experimenting, seeing what feels good. And Awsten is sinfully, sinfully into it. The feeling of him, rocking back and forth, slick and slow.
"Fuck, Awsten, that's good." He pushes into the space between Awsten's thighs, into the tight heat of it. He rocks back and forth and now Awsten can really feel it. It sends shockwaves up his spine, light tingles of sensation along his dick.
Otto's lips are tracing Awsten's neck, teeth grazing the junction of his shoulder. His hips move in time to an imaginary beat Awsten can't hear, consistent in a way he never could be. Even and steady and good.
He snakes one hand around Awsten's hips, and brushes along his thighs and his stomach. Teasingly close. Awsten rolls his hips into it and pushes himself closer to the light touches as they arrive. He's about to get his own hand in the mix when Otto pushes it away.
"Let me do this, sugar, let me make you feel good," He whispers, "Besides, you're doing enough, just being so pretty." Awsten swallows back a whimper. His breathing is uneven and his body is wound tight looking for release.
Otto's movements are going from slow to faster, less smooth, and more staccato. Awsten lets his eyes flutter shut, breathing in time with the man behind him. He doesn't mean to whine but then he is anyways, the sound building in his throat before he can stop it.
Finally, finally Otto's hand wraps around him instead of just teasing. His mouth falls open and he grinds into his hand, out of time with Otto's movements. It gets messy after that, with both of them moving.
Awsten's body goes fully tense, his thighs clamp shut even tighter and his hips stutter as the muscles along his pelvis convulse in waves. Otto follows right after, hand slowing with its movement as he gets distracted by his own release.
Their muscles go slack against each other, spent and empty and relaxed to their cores. Awsten feels whole, satisfied and warm, and happy. He twists around to face Otto, ignoring the cum on his thighs and the covers, and Otto's hand.
Awsten kisses him slow and deep and they just stay like that for a while. They stay like that until Otto pulls himself up and away and gets a damp washrag to clean with. It's not perfect but it's good enough, it's good enough. They are good enough.
Awsten is good enough for Otto. He's good enough, he's finally good enough. He finally belongs, he finally can love.