The Ballad of Starlight and Sunrise
Andy's Note: I played on the idea that both mine and Fin's generators like to make me older, and him younger than me.
Fin's Note: Skynet knows you're the Daddy 😈
Fin's Note: Skynet knows you're the Daddy 😈
The campfire hissed as another log cracked, spitting tiny embers that danced up into the wide, star-hung sky. The guitar thrummed low, steady as a heartbeat, the deeper cowboy strumming with the ease of a man who knew his audience was only one person.
His audience was grinning. Hat tipped back, silver hair glinting like starlight, his younger partner leaned in close, cradling a tin mug of coffee that neither of them pretended was the thing keeping him warm.
“Play me somethin’ sweet,” he teased, voice low and wicked as the shadows.
The older man’s smile curved slow, his fingers pausing on the strings. “Sugar, if I played you any sweeter, I reckon the coyotes would start blushin’.”
The younger cowboy laughed, that wild, free sound that made the horses shift in the distance like even they wanted in on the joke. His free hand slid across the blankets, finding the other’s knee, tapping in rhythm. Their wedding bands gleamed in the firelight, silver promises catching fire every time their hands brushed too long.
The guitar shifted aside, forgotten. The music was already there, in the lean of shoulders, in the warmth of gazes, in the teasing hush of breath shared across the flames.
---
Dawn spilled over the prairie in molten gold, painting everything in soft light, everything, including two tangled cowboys sitting closer than necessary by the rekindled fire.
The younger one, hair mussed, scarf loose, cradled his tin mug like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Coffee’s strong enough to wake the dead,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “Or maybe it’s just reminding me I was up late.”
The older cowboy smirked, pouring himself another cup. “Late? Sugar, we saw half the constellations before you even let me sleep.”
That earned him a playful shove, which he caught, turning the shove into a handhold, then into a kiss pressed against knuckles. Their wedding bands glinted, smug little circles that said: yes, they’re trouble, and yes, they’re each other’s.
“Tell you what,” the younger one said, leaning in with a grin that was all teeth and promise. “Next time, we skip the guitar, skip the coyotes, and go straight to the part where you’re under me.”
The coffee went forgotten. The firewood hissed in protest. And the morning rolled on with laughter, touches, and a prairie sky that held two men wrapped up in their own wild, unstoppable kind of love.
His audience was grinning. Hat tipped back, silver hair glinting like starlight, his younger partner leaned in close, cradling a tin mug of coffee that neither of them pretended was the thing keeping him warm.
“Play me somethin’ sweet,” he teased, voice low and wicked as the shadows.
The older man’s smile curved slow, his fingers pausing on the strings. “Sugar, if I played you any sweeter, I reckon the coyotes would start blushin’.”
The younger cowboy laughed, that wild, free sound that made the horses shift in the distance like even they wanted in on the joke. His free hand slid across the blankets, finding the other’s knee, tapping in rhythm. Their wedding bands gleamed in the firelight, silver promises catching fire every time their hands brushed too long.
The guitar shifted aside, forgotten. The music was already there, in the lean of shoulders, in the warmth of gazes, in the teasing hush of breath shared across the flames.
---
Dawn spilled over the prairie in molten gold, painting everything in soft light, everything, including two tangled cowboys sitting closer than necessary by the rekindled fire.
The younger one, hair mussed, scarf loose, cradled his tin mug like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Coffee’s strong enough to wake the dead,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “Or maybe it’s just reminding me I was up late.”
The older cowboy smirked, pouring himself another cup. “Late? Sugar, we saw half the constellations before you even let me sleep.”
That earned him a playful shove, which he caught, turning the shove into a handhold, then into a kiss pressed against knuckles. Their wedding bands glinted, smug little circles that said: yes, they’re trouble, and yes, they’re each other’s.
“Tell you what,” the younger one said, leaning in with a grin that was all teeth and promise. “Next time, we skip the guitar, skip the coyotes, and go straight to the part where you’re under me.”
The coffee went forgotten. The firewood hissed in protest. And the morning rolled on with laughter, touches, and a prairie sky that held two men wrapped up in their own wild, unstoppable kind of love.
