forum place i belong // oxo // closed

Started June 13, 2023 by @larcenistarsonist group

tune

This is dangerous, his mind struggles. Dane tries to shut it down, but the poison thought still mills through his mind. Dane is dangerous, dangerous, dangerous– And Kit's just a farm boy. A beautiful, angel farm boy that is far too good for this cruel world. Dane's smile wavers just a little bit, but he determinately replaces it with a slightly brighter one. No need to make Kit nervous with Dane's own intrusive thoughts. "I'd love to go with ya' to town. Know any good saloons? I love potato wedges if that helps your decision at all." 

Being so incredibly close, it would be so easy for Dane to just lean forward and connect their lips. But Dane is at least somewhat of a gentleman, and he knows when to take things slow. Dane doesn't know Kit's last name. Maybe it could be his–What is he thinking? This is hour eight of knowing Kit and he's already planning a whole damn future with a dog and a house and plenty of pine trees and no law to catch up to him. He doesn't want to dare start a potential, beautiful relationship with a massive lie separating them. Dane quietly makes a promise to himself. He'll have to tell Kit who he really is before he can kiss him. Maybe Kit will forgive him for the blood in his ledger. Maybe Kit will see that he did it to survive, not for a murderous urge. 

Dane's been with a fair handful of men in his past. Most of them relationships were over in weeks, usually even less. They're quick and raging and desperate and Dane's gone before it could become too important. Sometimes the guys figure out who he is. Some think it's attractive, others find him repulsive, one even got his own gun and Dane ended that with a shot from his own pistol and tears in his eyes. That had been kill number fourteen out of the twenty-five in Dane's history. There's only ever been twenty-six shots ever fired from his gun. "Whadya say about lunch? My treat?" Just so Kit doesn't have to worry about spending money he doesn't have. Dane should have plenty in his bag, right in the pouch beside his gun.

(https://open.spotify.com/playlist/27JJblkgy805h2eT9KlgxB?si=ireJvAtHSu6L5Z3TqH4mWA gay cowboys playlist!! still in the works lol i will be adding more to it)

“I don’t go into town much.” Kit admitted with a small shrug. Not when everyone knows him, his last name, and the man that raised him. Not when they all hate his family, even if Kit himself didn’t do anything to deserve their wrath. It was all aimed at his father. The bastard who had stolen and cheated one person too many in his life to make a name for himself as a dickhead and someone to steer clear of. The whole reason as to why Kit stayed away from town. But maybe with Dane people would leave him alone. Maybe he would be able to go into town, have a drink and something to eat with the handsome man beside him and not have to worry about being berated for who he was all the time.

He was more than aware that it was wishful thinking, really. Especially if he rocked up with a stranger, of all people, from out of town. As much as the towns folk were welcoming enough to strangers Kit didn’t know if his name would cause Dane any issues. He didn’t know. Didn’t know if he wanted to find out, really, but he wasn’t going to say no, even if it felt wrong, “You don’ gotta do that,” He said, trying to see if maybe Dane was just playing with him, “You shouldn’t gotta spend your money on me, I ain’t worth it, really.” Even if it would be nice to go out and leave the farm for a while.

Kit couldn’t remember the last time he had left the premises of his life and headed into town. The next town over, sure, but his own? He wouldn’t lie when he said he was a little nervous about it all. Anything involving the town had him scared. He didn’t want to bring attention to his family more so than he might already, and as such he stayed away. The farm was peaceful. Away from drama. That was the best part.

"Well, that's alright, angel," Dane reassures with a gentle smile. "I'm always in different towns. They're all really not so different when you've seen enough of 'em." There's a main saloon off the main street, maybe a few smaller ones hidden in the backroads depending on how big the town is. There's a small inn with only a handful of rooms with a standoffish teenager at the front desk with a handful of jumbled keys to pass out to paying patrons. People rock on chairs outside their homes. Kids chase tumbleweeds in the dusty streets. Sometimes a pair will square off in front of the town hall belltower ten paces apart. A crowd will gather and a shot later, the issue will be resolved and another occupant will be dragged to the town cemetery just down the way. If Dane's lucky, the town will have trees with good shade, but Dane's quickly discovering that the southwest doesn't host much promise for an orchard. 

He could almost laugh at Kit's insistence. "Stop that, angel. You're plenty worth any money I got in my pocket." Hell, even worth more than the money he steals from time to time. All the banks he robs in broad daylight ain't worth nothin' compared to the lovely man laying just an inch from his face. "Darlin', I got plenty o' pocket change to get us something nice to eat. You save what money you have for a dog. We can name her Dally or somethin'. A mix between Ellie and Darla, right?" He smiles as the picturesque future in his mind adds a name tag to his dog. They'd call her inside from the porch with a bowl full of raw meat for her to gnaw on while they dine on their own dishes of potato wedges and… other food. "Do you like potato wedges? How bout baked potatoes? Chips?" Dane, well, certainly has a favorite food group. Who needs fruit when he has spuds?

(Dane is me honestly stan potatoes)

God this man. Kit had never met anyone like him before. The way he so effortlessly threw those names around, those names of affection, as if Kit meant something to him was unreal. How he was willing to spend money on him after only knowing him for less than twenty four hours. Quite frankly he couldn’t quite believe it. No one had ever called him those names apart from his Mama. No one had wanted to spend money on him the way Dane was saying he would, even if it was just a bowl of wedges. Maybe he could write it down to it being a repayment for Kit saving his life, but God did he hope that it wasn’t just that.

Helpless romantic. The two prefect words that described the farm boy. He was already hoping that it was something more than just Dane being nice. He was hoping he would stay for longer. The man had been insistent on leaving before. Kit had been happy just getting the man to stay for a day, and now he couldn’t help but hope for more. Hope for longer. Hope for, just maybe, a forever. Impossible, really. Kit was getting his hopes up and ready to be crushed by hoping for that. But he couldn’t help it, didn’t want to fight it, not when he found the man in front of him endearing and handsome as hell.

“Fine,” He relented, letting a smile settle over his features, “We can go for wedges. Since you’re so instant on ‘avin’ some ‘taters.” And then, in a move that was more than a little bold, even for Kit, he was rolling from where he was lying next to Dane to on top of him, in his lap and leaning over him with their faces only inches apart.

(he's so real for that,, truly channeling my Idahoan Swag when writing Dane ladkjf)

"I do love my potatoes. But lemme tell ya' this, angel, I do not like tomatoes or strawberries. They're too sweet. They have too much juice–" And then Kit rolls and Dane makes a funny little sound he can't even bring himself to be embarrassed of. If Dane thought their noses had been close before, he clearly hadn't anticipated this. Dane tries a shy smile, but it ends up blossoming into something much bigger as he marvels at the absurdity of their position. "Yer all warm, angel," Dane says, relishing in the comfortable weight of the other man on top of him. "You should be my blanket e'rey cold night we got out here in the desert."

Lazily, Dane loops his arms around Kit's neck, his fingers gently stroking the curls at his nape. His head lolls to the side, eyes still fixated right on the angel's pretty green ones. He breathes carefully. As much as he loves Kit's weight atop of him, it's not quite the best remedy for his stitching. Oh well, it's better than his skin bein' pulled, and Dane isn't about to complain with Kit in kissing distance. No. Stop– Dane has to cut his own thoughts off with a sharp sigh through his nose. Dane isn't about to break the promise he made to himself not even five minutes ago. He'll wait. He'll see if he's really the damn cowboy the angel wants to pursue. If so, Dane might as well confess his whole life story like the angel is a priest and Dane's about to get his sentence to hell.

There's also somethin' about Kit that has Dane suddenly breaking out religious metaphors. Odd, considering, well, he's never been a religious man. He only knows what his mother wanted him to know and they never went. She was always working Sunday shifts at the hospital and Dane's father is a demon in itself. 

Instead of trying to psychoanalyze himself, Dane moves the subject yet again to something far less problematic. "What's yer favorite food? You like potatoes as much as me, or are ya' more of a bread n' rice type of fella?"

Kit couldn't help his soft chuckle, cheeks still burning as bright as those tomatoes and strawberries that Dane claims he hates, "Strawberries are a Godsend, I dunno what types you've been 'avin' but they're so damn good round 'ere." Especially his Mama's home-grown ones. Clara was a witch when it came to anything garden-related. Her vegetable garden was marvellous and filled with only the best foods in the whole damn county. An amazing cook and with fresh, homegrown produce, Kit could hardly complain about staying at home when the dishes he was served every night were delicious.

Something about this position felt right. With Kit holding a little of his weight off of the man below him to not press too harshly into the fresh stitches he had given Dane the other night. Hovering, just a little, but enough so that the other could feel most of his weight and his heat on top of him. He couldn't help but wish to be the man's blanket. A foolish, stupid thought but God was it a nice one. Thinking about them cuddling under the stars, out by a fire in the middle of nowhere but a fire and each other to keep warm. A dream that would never happen, it was impossible. Kit hadn't gone further than the next town over and was unlikely to survive a life out there in the open but being with Dane… maybe he could.

And with those arms around his neck… Kit felt as if he had died and gone to Heaven. Being held all soft and gentle, with Dane's fingers in the curls on his neck. If only they could stay like that forever, "'Taters are far better than rice," He replied eventually once he had gotten his thoughts in order, "Though, a good 'ol loaf of crunchy bread fresh outta the oven is hard to beat." And definitely better than any potato he might find.

Dane laughs softly. "Agree to disagree, angel. Somethin' about 'em are just too sweet for me. 'owever, it's kinda funny how much I like apples too. The granny smith ones." They're obviously more tart and sour than sweet, a good snack for Dane to go at if he gets the chances. Plus, they're far too easy to just pluck right off of trees if he's riding past. No farmer really notices a missing apple when there's hundreds of them in the trees. 

"I gotta agree with you there, though," Dane scratches gently at Kit's hair. "Rice is alrigh' n' all, but it don't compare to a good baked potato. One with butter n' salt n' bacon n' sour cream–" Is his mouth really watering just thinking about potatoes of all things? Damn. How long has Dane been starvin' himself like this? The last time he had a proper meal was… far too long ago. He knows he won't be able to eat a lot. Never again will he be able to eat an entire lumberjack breakfast without feeling nauseous. Never again will he be able to eat some fancy feast for a wedding. The thought is frighteningly sad. Well, this is what he gets for taking food for granted. He thanked Clara for breakfast, right? Staring up at Kit, Dane can feel a tug at his stupid, bleeding heart. "I told yer mama thank you for breakfast, right?" he asks. "Don' want her to think I'm takin' any of this for granted."

Dane pulls gently at Kit's curls. For such a dusty, rugged environment, it's shockingly soft. He smiles, pushing any sort of remotely negative thoughts out of his mind. "I like bread too. What kind of monster don't like bread?" There could be some real good one in town. Town. Damn, could that even count as a date?

Kit knew that he should sit up, take more of his weight off of Dane so he wasn't squishing him under his weight and hurting his stitches. But it felt too good to be where they were, close together, sharing breath and soft gazes and Dane's hand tangled in his hair. Far too good. Especially when the other man began to play with his hair, the younger man had to bite his lip to prevent himself from groaning at how good it felt. A damned weakness if he ever knew one. A big one. And Dane's hand was right there and Kit was practically cat-like in the way he leaned into each touch with a soft hum as he listened to Dane speak of potatoes and apples.

Oh if only they could stay like that forever. The whole world seemed to disappear around them leaving the two cowboys basking in each other's touches like teenagers hiding away from their parents on a first date. Kit certainly felt as if he were a teenager with a crush again. With the way his heart seemed to flutter when Dane smiled at him or looked at him a certain way, how his hand had felt awfully right in his own, it was like a dream. A dream that couldn't, shouldn't happen, because he was more than aware that Kit wanted to leave at the earliest opportunity possible, yet for the time being, with Dane's arms around his neck, the young cowboy wished that it would be able to become a reality.

"Yes, you thanked her for the meal," Kit finally said, huffing a light laugh, "Multiple times." And even if he hadn't Clara wouldn't have minded all too much, he had been shot, after all. Kit was surprised that Dane had even remembered manners to begin with, but maybe that was because he was too wrapped up in worrying about whether he was going to pop another stitch or not to focus too deeply on formalities.

Dane laughs gently. "Good. Just hadta make sure I didn't forget. Would hate for her–for anyone to think I'm ungrateful." He pauses as he stares deep, deep into Kit's pretty, pretty green eyes. "I'm not ungrateful." Even though his own death would be a favor to the whole world, Dane can't help but be selfish and thankful that he hadn't died yesterday evening. Would be a borin' way to go out–bleeding out alone in a dusty desert without anyone around to save him or even watch. They wouldn't even get his time of death on his obituary right. They hadn't gotten his mother or baby sister's right. They were four minutes off on both of them. Dane's father had taken five minutes to even bother getting out of his damned rocking chair. 

Sighing gently, Dane locks his arms around Kit's neck and rolls them over, now the taller yet smaller man on top of the handsome, burly mass that is the angel. Dane laughs in a way that can only be described as a giggle when their noses accidentally touch from the movement. This way, Dane can put all of his weight on Kit. The man should be more than strong enough to take it. "I wanted my turn to be the blanket, angel," Dane explains semi-sheepishly. "I hope ya' don't mind." Because Dane certainly doesn't mind this new position. Hell, both had been plenty favorable, this one just happens to be much kinder on his very fresh wounds.

Laying like this, they could spend the entire day just tangled up together and staring into each other's eyes. They could waste all the daylight the sun has to offer, but Kit has his responsibilities to tend to. Dane can't possibly hold him up from his farm. Dane sits up carefully, knees positioned on both sides of Kit's hips as he straddles him. "You got some work to do, angel. Would love to snuggle up with ya' all day, but I'm afraid I simply cannot keep you from yer honest ol' work." He cracks a smile, just to ensure Kit knows that Dane isn't angry, isn't irritated, isn't sad or any of the other negative feelin's.  

Kit could already tell that Dane wasn't ungrateful. He didn't give off that aura. Considering he had thanked him before he passed out yesterday when Kit had first picked him up to tend to his wounds, and then repeatedly thanked him for all the help, the food, his mama. Yeah, Dane was far from ungrateful, and he could only smile at the man in response. Thank God he didn't die on him, otherwise they wouldn't have been like this now. He wouldn't even have gotten his name if he had bled out on the dusty country dirty, maybe wouldn't even have been identified at all considering he wasn't from around these parts. And he knew the townsfolk. Knew they wouldn't have given two shits about the dead man, especially since he would have ended up dead on Kit's property and they all were aware of how they felt about him and his family.

He let himself be rolled over, smile only widening at the bumping of noses and the giggle that came from the older man. A strange sound, but it fit well with Dane, for some reason. The farmboy wouldn't lie and say he wouldn't want to hear it again because he certainly would, he liked hearing the cowboy laugh, in any way, especially if it was because he had caused him to do so. It made Kit's heart flutter with just a little bit of pride that he had been able to draw such a sound from him. And it was wonderful having Dane on top of him. He liked this more than the other way around, for many reasons. Right now it was more the fact that he was no longer worrying about squishing his injuries and hurting him. Like this, he could stare up at Dane as if he was the angel, and wishing he was running his hands through those strawberry blonde locks of his that framed his face like a damned waterfall.

But then he was reminded of work and Kit groaned, rolling his eyes as his hands came to settle on Dane's thighs like they were meant to belong there, "Why you gotta remind me of that?" He teased, sighing and sticking his bottom lip out in a pout, "I don't wanna go ta work, I wanna stay 'ere." With him, where it was comfortable, where he didn't have responsibility, "You ain't gonna run off on me, are you? You're more than welcome to come with me… or hang out 'ere, if ya want. Ya don't gotta if you're tired, I get it."

(sorry if my responses feel so few and far!!! i have about a million things on my plate right now,,, alsdkjf)

"You got plenty'a work to do round here, sir," Dane says, a little (just a little) teasing at the end. "Someone's gotta tend to the fields and critters." He smiles, settling his weight back atop of Kit's thighs–massive ones, Dane feels to add. The detail is important. "And, darlin', I'd love to just follow you around the farm all day, but I'll be real honest with you right now when I say I doubt I'll be of much help. Even before I went an' got myself shot, I couldn't lift much." A little laugh at that. He's weak, especially for a man his height. Maybe if he spent more time gettin' meals like the ones Clara fascens for her family instead of runnin' all over the western frontier, Dane could be just as broad-shouldered and muscled as Kit. Oh well, now he can't even eat more than a few bites without feelin' sick to his stomach. Just another one of the many pains of being a rogue outlaw runnin' from every sheriff and officer in sight.

"If ya' don't mind my dead weight trailin' mindlessly behind ya', I wouldn't mind bein' out in the heat with ya." The heat's never bothered Dane, not when he's spent nearly every day for the past–god, how many years has it been–seven years in it. Nothing a wide-brimmed hat and a good handkerchief won't protect him from. Hell, Dane wouldn't even be surprised if he has that melanoma thing by now. His mother was always sunburned. His father never went outside long enough to get it. 

Dane's hands find Kit's, placed firmly on his thighs. "I won't run out on ya' just yet, angel. I still gotta get better, don't I?" In the span of less than a day, Dane's already made far more promises than he's made in the past decade. He won't leave Kit just yet, he'll wait until their date in town to reveal his identity, he'll then maybe kiss Kit in some darkened bar if he's not too repulsed by the horrid, gruesome truth. Promises, promises, promises–and God, Dane prays he won't break them. "Yer mama's cookin' is also far too good to leave just after one meal." His nose scrunches as he leans back down to knock their noses together playfully.

(All good bestie! same here don't worry - also gotta love dane lowkey loving how big kit is alsnda)

Kit couldn't help but feel more than a little happy when Dane's hands settled upon his own. They almost felt soft, especially in comparison to his own. His were covered in scars and callouses, there was dirt under his nails already despite having washed before breakfast and only being outside for less than an hour this morning, and they were far from soft. But the way that the farm boy intertwined their hands together, even with the difference in the two of them, it was definitely something that seemed right. No matter how vastly different they seemed to be Kit couldn't shake the feeling as if something had drawn them together, whether it be that damned bullet or what, but it felt right.

"You're not a dead weight," Kit said with a soft chuckle, "You jus' 'aven' spen' enough time on a farm." Maybe he could be the one to change that for him. God, Kit's mind was going crazy with possibilities and all of them were definitely never going to happen. Kit could hope, fuck, he could pray that maybe Dane stuck around for longer than a few days, maybe he stayed around longer for after his wound was healed, maybe he could stay with him, on the farm, together, with Kit helping Dane build up that muscle, learn how to lift and talk to animals like he did. Maybe they could have a life together. The thought struck Kit like one of those trains in a movie. Fast and sudden that it nearly made him blush. A life together? They had just met? He was a dreamer if he ever knew one.

Kit's smile grew into a grin when Dane bumped their noses together again. In a swift move, he sat himself up, and Kit's hands moved from where they were laced with Dane's and on his thighs, round to the back of them to brace the man as he stood from the bed and took Dane with him, hoisting the man up till he was holding him in his arms, "I would love to have ya' follow me round the farm today. Better than bein' on me own all day and bored outta ma mind."

(aklsdjf Dane is like "i am looking respectfully at your massive thighs and honkers good sir")

Dane squeezes at Kit's hands, relishing in the difference between them. Dane's are bloodied and cleaned and bloodied and cleaned–all to the point where there's blood soaked into every crease of his skin, invisible to everyone except Dane. Kit's are gentle and rugged and made from days and days of tending to creatures, of caring for crops. Kit's hands were made rough and careful by his honest work, by the legacy of his father he had promised to uphold. Dane's hands are soft because he don't work hard, because he runs the second trouble seems to surface. His hands are soft because the only tool he could use is a pistol, only shot twenty-five times and resulted in twenty-four corpses. 

"You'd be surprised at how much dead weight I can actually be." He says it with a smile, but his words are nothin' but truth. He drags others down and down until they can't help but be drowned or buried. He brings down the value of every small town he ventures through. He fills empty graves with people who don't deserve to be dead just yet. His dead weight results in other dead people. Yet somehow God thinks that he's still worth livin' and breathin'. There has to be some damn reason why he's still here, and God, he prays that it isn't to just cause the trials all worthy souls must go through. 

But that is not what Dane wants to think about now, not when Kit's moving them and how he's being held in the air by strong arms. Dane laughs, his arms quickly going to loop around the angel's neck to steady himself. "Careful now, don't wanna drop me and redo all the damage you worked so hard to heal." He tightens his arms a little more, somehow bringing himself closer to Kit's pretty face. Is this why I'm here? Part of him, the hopeful, romantic, dreaming part of him wonders. Is he here for Kit? If he is…. Well, Dane's stomach sours at the possibilities. It means he could either be here to make both of 'em better, or he's here to bring those terrifying trials for Kit to go through. Maybe he should get outta here. Maybe he should leave the next morning or maybe the morning after that–After all, they still hafta go to town. 

(Kit would be more than happy if he wasn't looking respectfully)

The farm boy was ready to argue against Dane's words of being a deadweight. He had a pass for the time being considering the man had been shot and had nearly died in his barn, so even if he did know how to tend to a farm in any capacity he would have had a free ticket out of helping. That, and the fact that he was a guest in Kit's home. He really didn't want Dane to be helping out because he was supposed to be resting, visiting. Helping tending to a farm and doing manual labour wasn't exactly something that guests did. Clara would have had a fit if anyone had come to her home and offered to do chores or help around the home, just as Kit didn't expect Dane to help him with all the jobs that he had to do around the farm.

Those thoughts were distracted by the fact that his and Dane's faces were so close to each other's again. Kit could easily lean in and press a kiss to those enticing lips. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked, if they tasted like the whisky and alcohol that Dane seemed so fond of. Or would they taste sweet? Would he like kissing him back? Would he even want to kiss him back? Fuck, the thoughts very nearly had him blushing again. At this point, he would be constantly red and blushing whenever Dane was near if his thoughts always turned to kissing the man. But he couldn't help it. He was handsome and rugged and currently wearing his clothes and they looked better on him than they did on Kit. He was hopelessly fucked. Kit only prayed that the man kept to his word and didn't run off at the first opportunity he had.

Reluctantly, he placed Dane back on the floor, "I would never drop ya," He said, tilting his head up slightly to continue to make eye contact with the man, "You're way too light, by the way. You need some more food in ya system." And if he stuck around Clara would be more than happy to add some meat to his too skinny bones. But, Kit finally pulled out of Dane's space, holding back a sigh, as he made his way to the door, holding it open for Dane like a gentleman.

(alkdsfj omg "angel would you be interested in making out sloppy style in the barn" "ive been waiting fourteen hours for you to ask me that")

For the brief, wonderful moment Dane's being held up in Kit's arms, Dane's convinced this is exactly how he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life. Kit's so strong and could probably throw Dane's paper weight across the room if he wanted to. Not that Dane's a masochist or anything, but the idea doesn't seem too terrible. Dane's just mighty upset that he was unconscious and bleeding out the first time he was carried by Kit. 

Dane uses Kit as he carefully balances his weight on the floor yet again. He's almost sad to remove his arms from Kit's strong neck, but he isn't going to be danglin' off the angel unless Kit asks him to. Dane smiles his sheepish, lazy smile as he takes one small step away from the farm boy. "Trust me, angel, I know I'm far too light. If I could help it, I definitely would be much heavier, but don't that also make me slower?" His eyes gleam a little bit. From his limited knowledge of science, even he knows that lighter objects are harder to hit and harder to outrun. The slight margin where a majority of his abdominal muscle should be has been the target for plentya bullets. As unhealthy as it is to say it, his skinniness has saved him in a pinch quite a few times. "I'm sure if yer mama keeps feeding me, I'll grow used to food eventually." 

Dane's smile only grows as he steps through the opened door. "Thank ya' kindly," he tips his head, half tempted to draw his dark hat out of his knapsack just to tip it in the angel's direction. However, Dane does pause in the hallway, sparing a slightly suspicious glance at the closed door to his left. It's the only closed door in the entire hall, leaving Dane to only assume that it's Clara and Kit's father's room. For a moment, Dane wonders what type of man could've raised someone as good as Kit, but knowing Dane's experience with fathers, he isn't quite sure if he wants to know all that much. "Where to now, angel?" he asks in a whisper. They'll probably make it to the farm, to the fields, to the barn or whatever other shacks the property holds. 

(LITERALLY)

Kit's father, for some reason or another, was still on this earth even though the man never left the bed. He couldn't leave the bed. He was frail and weak. The man was sick. Really sick. But almost refused to die. For a man who never left the bed unless he was going for a piss, Kit almost wanted him to die to save him from the suffering he was enduring. He hated it. He hated seeing his old man so weak. Kit wished he could do more. Make more for the family so they could afford better medicine to try and fix him up, but they never did. It was why he was so reluctant to buy anything that they didn't need. Any spare penny went to his father or his siblings and their education. Not to him. Never to him. And he was okay with that. They needed it more. But it still wasn't enough.

No matter how hard he worked, how long he spent tending to the farm, selling produce, and trying his hardest to maintain everything so his father didn't have to worry when he eventually met God, it wasn't enough. There would always be the pressure to perform more. To work harder. Smarter. Care for the farm in different ways so that everything went smoothly. With no helping hand, it was more than just a challenge and Kit was starting to believe that he would never be up to the task.

Gently, he moved out his room, not closing the door completely behind him as if afraid the click of the lock would alert his father to the people standing by his door and was quick to usher Dane down the hall and out the way. They didn't need to speak of his father. Let him rest, "Think you're up for helpin' me collect some eggs?" He said once they were out of earshot of his parents room, and Kit moved to grab at his hat that was hanging by the front door.

(they're so stupid i cannot wait for them to finally kiss but it is far too soon right now alskdfals

)With a large smile, Dane follows Kit through the house and back to the back door, the real door pushed back and the mesh screen in place to keep bugs from flying in. The farm stretches out in beautiful rolling fields and pastures where the animals let out that morning happily graze amongst each other. For a brief, wild moment, Dane pretends he's just a simple cow mowing about in the tall grass, munching lazily and resting in the sun. Wouldn't that just be insane? Unfortunately for Dane he is a human with real human emotions and forced to live a terrible human life with only a recent highlight to give him hope for a future. 

He looks to said highlight, absolutely unable to hide his smile. "Am I ready to get some eggs, please angel, I can at least handle that much." He pauses. "Well, if the chickens won't attack me at least. I don't think I could survive against them talons." He grimaces and makes claw-shapes with his fingers. "They'd destroy my eyes, and I do think that's my best feature." Also, it would be a shame to go blind. He kind of needs his eyes to see. And shoot. And, well, see where he's trying to run off to. Plus, how else would he bask in the angel's beauty?

After watching Kit's strong arm pluck his hat from a hook, Dane gently turns the handle to the door and opens it wide, pausing on the porch to adjust to the light of the sun. It smells nice. A little like animal shit, but nice once Dane gets past that. He reaches into his own bag at his side, careful to not knock anything particularly damning from its pocket. His hat is black and wide rimmed, perfect for hiding the top part of his face and protecting his delicate skin from the harsh sun. With narrowed eyes, he studies the farm, unsure of exactly where to go to collect eggs, so he's happy to wait for Kit to lead. Wherever the angel goes, Dane's sure to follow. 

Kit couldn't help his snort, followed by a chuckle at Dane's comments and actions, and the farmboy couldn't help but bump him with his hip, "You're ridiculous," He said, stepping down off the steps of the worn wrap-around porch. It needed another coat of white paint on the railings and the support beams. He made a mental note to add it to his growing list of jobs and things to do maintenance-wise. God, he should really start keeping a proper list with all these things. Often he forgot half of them and needed to be reminded by his mother but, generally, she forgot, too. They were all busy with the other various and tedious jobs keeping the farm in order, "They ain't gonna attack you if you're not an ass to them."

He deliberately left out the bit about his one particular chicken that liked to chase newcomers around the field when they got in her space, but Kit figured that he would let Dane work that one out for himself. Besides, he needed some entertainment. It wasn't like she would do him any harm - she was all bark and no bite if given the right look. Kit had learned that the hard way. But she did produce the best eggs out of the lot. Big and juicy and earned the best coin at the markets. And Kit got along with his chickens well enough for him to not be worried. Either way, it would definitely be interesting to see what Dane would do if she decided to go off her rocker at the stranger.

Leading them across the rolling green fields of paddocks that surrounded the house Kit led them across to the barn where the chickens nested. It was small, surrounded by some barbed wire on one side to prevent any foxes from entering during the night and fucking up his girls - they couldn't afford any more if that happened - and had been made by Kit's dad years ago. Worn and weathered by the elements but now Kit kept it in good condition for it to be functioning. He hummed, sticking close to Dane as he led them to the coop with more of a spring in his step than he usually did. The chickens were ruffling their feathers in the space surrounding the coop, fluttering in the shallow pool of water and nibbling on the feed any specks of grain they could find.

Dane absently looks up at the support pillars, scratching off a chip of paint already only held on by a hair. It flutters to the ground, equally as worn, as the rest of the porch. Regardless of its paint job, Dane has to admit that it's one of the most homely places he's ever had the unlucky privilege of eating in. It has family photos and well-loved chairs and the smell of delightful food always wafting in the air. It also helps that the home is inhabited by angels. Maybe Dane could help paint the porch. That's at least one thing he'll be able to do. "Is there a paint store in town?" he asks as he plucks another paint chip from the wood. It doesn't even occur to him that it's destructive. When he looks for Kit, he finds that the man is already halfway towards the chicken coop.

With an undignified yelp, Dane quickly sprints to meet the angel's side. "So the chickens won't be attacking me?" He raises an eyebrow. "You sure about that?" Chickens have… dishonest eyes. And no brains. They're literally brainless creatures who only know screaming and violence and laying eggs. Dane may not have any experience with the creatures, but… but he's seen enough of them from a distance to know that no chicken is really worth going towards.

As Kit readily approaches the coop, Dane takes his time, trailing just behind the angel as he peers nervously over his shoulder. The birds within cluck loudly, squawking at each other and likely plotting Dane's murder. "And yer sure that they won't bite?" He nervously eyes the door to the coop.

"Yeah, but there's plen'y of paint in the shed," Kit said in response to Dane's first question. There was no need to go into town to get paint when there should be enough left over from the last time he repainted the porch to do one more coat and fix it up enough. He didn't care for the man picking flakes of it off when it was coming off to begin with, which made it all the more easier for when he did eventually repaint. It was a job he could do on a day when he was too tired to do much heavy lifting. Which, considering most of his job was heavy lifting half the time, it was a good way to unwind. Listen to some music and absently paint and forget about the rest of his responsibilities.

The farmboy tried his best to hide his cheeky growing smile when they neared the coop, "Don't look 'em dead in the eyes and don't scream Hail Mary and you'll be right, promise." He looked over his shoulder and sent Dane a wink, quickly turning back around to hide his grin. Once the coop was open and they were both inside, the chickens flocked to the men. Most of them were fine, simply weaving in between their feet and trying to trip them up as Kit wandered over to the pen and grabbed an old straw basket ready for the eggs. He crouched down and scratched a couple of the animals on the head, receiving some appreciative clucks from them before they wandered back to what they had been doing.

But the troublesome chook was eyeing Dane up like he was a full-course meal. If chickens could look evil, this one certainly did, with her narrowed eyes and careful feet wandering his way. The clicking from her, the tilting of her head, was the first sign that she might attempt to pounce. Once she had it out of her system and knew Dane wasn't a threat it would be fine, but for the most part, Kit had learned, you had to wait it out until she got over herself. And as she wandered slowly towards Dane, Kit couldn't suppress his giggles.

Dane takes one last look at the porch and homey house behind him. Maybe they can paint it soon. That'll be a nice excuse to spend a little more time with the angel. Well, that is if Kit's not entirely disgusted by Dane's questionable past. That's if Kit isn't repulsed by the blood on his hands and the deaths in his ledger. That's all if Kit doesn't push him away the moment he discovers that Dane is a bad man. That he's a man who has sent twenty-four people to their early graves, and all for what? To save himself? To prove a point? To get away? He has to physically pull his line of sight from the house and to the coop. Maybe a little fearing for his life will knock this poisonous thoughts from his brain.

While Kit's advice is at least a little helpful (and the wink was more than nice), Dane doubts that it would save him from the wrath of a scorned hen. Those creatures likely came straight from hell. They're the devil's creatures. He ducks his head to enter the coop and immediately registers the singular chicken staring right into his soul. She marches carefully, stepping over straw or crushing it beneath her claws, and Dane suddenly begins to fear for his life. "Angel–" he says, blindly reaching for Kit's sleeve. Much to his chagrin, he can't find it. "Angel, I believe there's a hen there that wants to kill me."

His head shoots up when he hears the musical sounds of Kit's laugh. His eyes shoot from Kit to the chicken and then back to Kit. "Oh my God–you knew this chicken would try to kill me–I cannot believe you, angel." His jaw drops in betrayal, his eyes wide and vulnerable–His eyes shoot down to the hen, his heart catching with his breath in the ball of his throat. "She's gonna pounce–" and almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, the chicken flutters and flaps and leaps and Dane is at least man enough to admit that he screamed. Trying not to step on any other hens, he scrambles from the coop, eyes blown and feathers covering his borrowed t-shirt as he collapses on the ground. Anyone woulda thought he had just returned from the trenches with the haunted stare in his eye.

Kit couldn't keep his giggles to himself. He couldn't keep them quiet at Dane's words, "Oops?" He snorted and didn't move from where he was crouched on the ground as he watched her march towards Dane and then pounce on the poor man. The minute that she did, the second that he screamed, Kit didn't stop the loud laugh that left his mouth as she fluttered and flapped and then Dane fell over, only sending him even further into a laughing fit as he watched. God, if every day was like this then he would be more than okay with that. He wished it would be, because already he was beginning to like spending time with Dane more and more if his reactions to the little things were like his every single time. It was almost too perfect.

"Stay still you big baby, it's just a chicken." Kit shook his head in disbelief at the man on the ground. He left his basket on the floor as he stood and walked over to the chicken that had attempted to attack, picking her up with ease and tucking her under his arm. The moment that she was there she settled down, looking immediately less scary and becoming far less loud now that she was in the arms of the farmboy. But, it also helped that she had the attack out of her system, and it was clear that Dane was more than frightened of her not mess with the hen. She ruled the coop, and everyone else was just her bitch in there. Even Kit.

Kit, with his free hand, held it out for Dane and offered the man a helping hand to get him up from the ground, "Now that we have that sorted, are you gonna come help with the eggs or are ya too scared of a 'lil chook?" If he had to hold her the whole time then he would if it meant getting Dane into the coop once again. All the other chickens were fine and the so-called 'evil' chicken would be fine now she had marked her territory and made Dane shit scared. It was the laugh that Kit had needed, and he hoped there would only be more to come if Dane stuck around.

After he finally knocks himself out of his daze, Dane begins to laugh. He ends up covering his reddened face with his hands as Kit approaches to remove the vile chicken from his presence. "Oh my God, angel," Dane practically wheezes. Had he seriously allowed a chicken of all things to take advantage of him? To jump him and frighten him and cause him to stumble right over his feet like he never has before. He can face a man with a nine-cylinder revolver, face-to-face, without even flinching. Well, maybe Dane seriously needs to reevaluate his fear priorities. He makes a note to himself: move chicken down on the terrifying list and at least bring dangerous men at least a little up.

Finally taking his hands from his face, Dane looks up at the hand offered to him. He takes it without question, allowing the larger man to pull him back up to his feet. The force is a little stronger than he had expected, Dane stumbling just a little forward into Kit's broad chest. Luckily his face is already too red from his encounter with the hen to really get any redder from the close contact. He pulls away carefully, taking the straw basket with a smile. "I think I'll be alright, angel. I think you've got her all calmed down there." He pokes the hen's plush back with his index finger, quickly pulling it back when her head whips around to glare at him. Nope. Chickens are still much scarier than any man with any weapon.

Dane takes a few careful steps into the coop, watching his step as the chickens flutter about at his feet. Save for the one still tucked into Kit's arm, they all seem relatively calm. They hardly pay Dane even a second glance. Either there was something entirely wrong with just that one hen or the other chickens are just too scared to go after what she's already claimed as prey. He peers into the nests, spotting the eggs lining the row. They're all fairly large, all of them some different shade of white and some even speckled with some different colors. "Do I just take any of 'em?" he asks Kit. "I don' wanna upset any of the other hens." Because he might certainly die at the taloned hands of the birds if he makes one wrong move.