Date: Sun, 4 Jul 2004 12:40:19 -0300
From: Ruthless <ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca>
Subject: "Farmer (6/6)"

The Neighbour   Part 6 of 6   by Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca   MM/m rape

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of gay fiction. In this story a man is
raped by other men. If you are underage or if you are offended by material
of this nature, please do not read this story. But if you like this story
or have any comments, criticism or questions, I would love to hear from
you. I would even love to hear from you if you don't like this story, if
you would like to tell me why. If you have anything to say or would like to
ask for other stories or missing instalments of this one, you can contact
me (the author) at Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca


	I started to break the shotgun apart. It turned out to have the
other load in it, so it was still lethal until I let the shell drop out at
my feet. "Why should you do hard time?" I demanded. "You killed him to keep
him from cutting me. He was going to cut me to ribbons. He said so."

	"When you tell 'em, we all three fucked you at shotgun point, you
think they're going to believe that? I got a record, Ian. When you say I
shot him, they won't care why we had the falling out."

	My asshole was hurting so bad I could hardly stand. Peter kept on
gaping at the guy he had killed. I couldn't argue with him. I could hear
the pigs. They were complaining too, and fourteen pigs screeching is an
ugly noise. The shotgun was harmless now. I left him there.

	I did the pigs. I did a couple more things, turned on taps that
needed turning on, and opened a couple of doors, before I went into the
house. I expected to find it completely trashed but it wasn't. It had just
been turned over. There were drawers left open and dirty dishes on the
floor in the kitchen. I ignored all that and climbed into the shower.

	The water ran pink. I looked up at the jet above me so I wouldn't
see that colour, with my eyes clenched shut. I let the water clean me. I
scrubbed blindly without looking. Harry dead. Nick gone. Peter in my
barn. If Peter takes off while I'm in the shower, I thought, I won't hear
it with the water running. Gritting my teeth, I cleaned my asshole, where I
couldn't bear to touch it. I knew that wasn't right. The RCMP would want to
look at me soiled, to get evidence what they did. But I wasn't going to
leave it the way it was.

	I was feeling more tired than anything else when I came out of the
house again. I was so tired that I felt like I was walking on insubstantial
ground. But I knew I had to get on with everything else that needed to be
done. I still had to unhook the cows and deal with the body of the man who
had raped me.

	Peter's truck was still in the yard. So were both my trucks. I
looked up and down. Had Peter gone on foot? I went into the barn. The sight
of Harry, so obviously limp and stiff at once, didn't get any better. He
was an obscenity to my eyes. The dirty colour of the red made something
catch in my throat. Peter was still there. Now he was sitting beside the
partition, hunched up and looking at the wall. I knew what he was doing,
was not looking at Harry.

	"Okay," I said. "I didn't think you'd be here still. Are you
planning on staying?" I touched him lightly to bring him out of his trance.

	Peter jerked up to his feet. He looked a question at me blankly.

	"Why did you stay?" I asked. "I could have called the RCMP. The
phone's working in the house." I touched him again, on his sleeve trying to
wake him up.

	He folded his arms around me. He grabbed me by the shoulders and
clung. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, Ian. I'm real sorry." He spoke
into my neck, gripping me with all the power of his massive arms. "I'm
sorry."

	I stood there and let him cling. He was very warm but his hands
were cold and it was like I was holding him up. He didn't get tired of
hanging onto me and I didn't get tired of letting him hang on. I had my
arms linked around his back too. He was almost crushing the breath out of
me. It seemed to me that it had taken him an awfully long time to get back
to my farm.

	When Peter let go of me his face was back to human again. He wasn't
looking like a madman. His eyes had gone back nearly to a normal shape. He
said. "It's okay now, Ian. I guess you'd better call the RCMP."

	"What are you going to do?" I said.

	"I dunno. Run, I guess." He managed a weak smile. "I don't suppose
you'd be willing to let me have an hour's start, would you?"

	"Yeah." I said.

	"Would you?"

	I turned around deliberately and looked at Harry. I stared
hard. "Don't run." I said.

	"Okay." said Peter dully.

	"We gotta bury him." I said. My words came out in a rush.

	"Ian?" said Peter.

	If we haul him outside, I thought. There's the ditch just ready to
back fill. We sling him in there and he could be hidden within another
twenty minutes. Have him buried in dirt under my road...

	"But you don't got nothing to do with this." Peter said. "I mean,
we came and invaded on you. I was the one pulled the trigger. You don't
have anything to hide. There ain't no way you'd get in trouble for this."

	"Look," My voice was sharp. "If I call the RCMP you're going to
jail, for this and for the other thing. That's what you said, right?"

	"Yeah."

	"Nick and you and me, we're the only people know he's here, who
know that he came here.  He can disappear. There isn't anything we can do
for him now. I don't know if I would want to do anything for him if he was
alive even. But like this we can put him in a fucking hole, stomp dirt over
top of him and nobody's going to ever know he came here. Then we don't talk
to the RCMP, we don't talk to anybody about it. No RCMP. And you can take
all the time in the world you want getting away."

	"You wanna cover this up?" Peter sounded like his nose was
blocked. "Then how're you going to get help? You need to go to the
hospital."

	"No, I don't." I contradicted. My voice was coming out hard. I
turned back to Peter. "Are you going to help me?" I said.

	Peter nodded. His eyes were wet, red and swimming but the tears
didn't leak. I'd never seen anything like it, a great big guy like him so
close to crying. He kept swallowing but his mouth was set grim and he was
steady enough that he held the tears back. "I'll help," he said. "You just
tell me what to do."

	"Okay" I said. "First we get him off the floor."

	Peter did what I told him to. I had black plastic that I'd used in
the spring to cover seedlings.  We laid it out on the floor near Harry and
then we picked him up. Peter took Harry's feet. I took Harry's arm. We
scraped him up onto the plastic. Harry's face had gone pale and blue. The
dark blood formed the pattern of a tree on the concrete floor. I was
hyperventilating with disgust as I folded the plastic over Harry's body.

	"Listen, we got to spray out my gutters, use the hose and get rid
of the blood. And we got to go dig a hole. We can't bury him in that ditch
out front. I'm only going to have to dig it up in a year or two."

	"Where we going to dig the hole?" Peter asked me.

	"Up by the edge of my East field, I guess. Beside my carrot field."

	"No." said Peter. That was where Peter balked.

	"We got to." I said.

	"No." said Peter. "He goes on my land. He has to go on my land, so
if ever they come looking for him, you won't be in it."

	I thought. "He should go on my land. Only Nick knows about me. But
the police might connect him with you."

	"I want it to be my land." Peter forced his voice up.

	"Okay." I said.

	We didn't manage to get Harry buried until one o'clock the next
day. We were way up at the edge of Peter's top field with the green woods
dark around us and a hole five feet deep. We were on the wrong side of the
fence and there were deer castings about. After we had gone the deer would
come out and eat the browse at the trees' edge. He'd gone stiff but the
plastic covered what we were burying. We eased him down between the walls
of brown dirt and laid the plastic straight.

	I looked about. The only other person who might come up there were
hunters. The spot would be most likely deserted for a year or two. After
that it wouldn't show that something was buried anymore.

	I wiped my hands on my jeans and took up a Bible. I read a passage
of it. Peter stood silent, looking uncomfortable. I didn't know what to
say. It should have been a prayer book, but I didn't have one of those and
I couldn't say anything of a eulogy, because all that I knew about Harry
was bad. Still, I wanted to bury him as properly as I could so I did that
and Peter went along with it. I laid the shotgun in beside him. I never
wanted that fucking thing on my farm again.

	"Ian?" When I was filling the sod back on top, Peter came beside
me.

	"You figure it's okay now?" he asked me.

	"I think the milk yield will be down." I said. "I don't know. After
missing milkings like that, their yield will be down some. Maybe it'll come
back again. Have to see."

	"I didn't mean the milk."

	I pushed my spade into the tailboard of his truck. "What did you
mean?"

	"What I meant was, can you forget what happened now?" said
Peter. "Is it over?"

	"I'll never forget what happened." I said.

	"Then I'm sorry I came home." His shoulders were hunched.

	"Don't be. It's your home. You got a right to come home. I didn't
know you still thought of the farm that way. I figured you just saw it as
an inheritance, maybe."

	"No." He looked down his fields. "I wanted to get back, a lot of
years. After I was old enough to come back, on my own, you know, my Dad
said I wasn't welcome."

	"Crazy." I said mechanically. "He needed a man here to help him."

	"The way we left, he said I had no right to come back. He was
bitter."

	"He was bitter alright. He used to swear at me when I came over." I
agreed. "I wondered a lot of years if I'd ever see you come home again."

	"That's still what I want," said Peter. "All I want to do is stay."

	"Can't you?"

	Peter turned to look at me squarely. "Do you mind now if I stay?"

	"Isn't that what we're doing here, up in this field?" I
returned. "Making it so that you can stay?"


	We went down to my house and we washed the dirt off in the
kitchen. While Peter was washing, I picked up the dishes that Nick and
Harry had left on the floor. They had cracked a few plates walking on
them. I saw Peter looked at that. When he was drying his hands, I took the
towel away from him to hang it and my fingers touched his.

	His hand followed mine and touched it again. I stood still. He took
me by the arm.

	He didn't know quite what to do with me, so he stood and held my
arm and I realised he was waiting for a cue.

	"You fuck a lot of guys in prison, Peter?" I asked.

	He shook his head.

	"You fuck any guys outside of prison?" My voice had gotten a
scratch in it.

	"Some."

	"That's what you like, same as when we were kids, messing around
with another guy?"

	He looked down at his big brown hand with the fingers wrapped
around forearm. He looked up at me and met my eyes. He was frozen again,
waiting for me to tell him what to do.

	"Let go of me so I can hang the towel up." I said.

	He let go. I hung it and turned back to face him. "I don't know if
I want to mess around with you." I said. "I don't think I could get a hard
on. My nuts are too sore yet."

	He followed me onto the stairs. "You didn't say you wouldn't..." he
said hesitantly.

	"I said I was too sore yet."

	He caught me at the top of the stairs. "Jesus! Ian!" He wrapped his
arms around me so tight that the pain lanced through my bruised ribs. I
sucked air and he squeezed me. I didn't tell him to let go. In another
minute we were in the bedroom. He slid his hands over me, staring into my
face.

	"Ian, what do you want? What can I do?"

	I didn't tell him because I didn't know what I wanted, but I undid
his zipper. When his cock stood up under my hand, I didn't know what I
thought of it. I could remember what one of them felt like in my mouth. I
knew what they tasted like. I knew what they felt like in my ass. I pulled
back.

	"Ian?"

	I took his hand by the wrist and placed it on his cock. "You play
with it." I said.

	He stroked it but then he stopped. I was still leaning away from
him. "But what do you want?" he asked me helplessly. "What can I do?"

	"Fuck, I don't know." I said. When I looked at Peter's cock, what I
saw was Nick's Etruscan smirk. It was too soon for me yet.

	Peter sat there cradling his hard on in his palm and looking
dismayed at me for a few moments.

	"You go ahead and do that." I said. "Jerk yourself off and I'll
help or something..."

	He moved over and took me again and held me with his arm around
me. He rubbed his hand around my shoulders. He just did that slow for a
while, then unbuttoned my shirt and I didn't mind how that felt, the feel
of his hand moving on my skin above the waist.

	"Foreplay." I said awkwardly. "Just like I was a girl."

	"Don't let me fuck up here," he said and his voice was steady. "I
want to stay more than anything. So don't let me fuck up and do anything
you don't like or go too fast. You set the limits here. You tell me if this
is not okay."

	"This is okay." I said.

	There was one moment that was almost not okay. He started to turn
me over with my belly towards the bed and I couldn't do that. I couldn't
turn ass up under him. I tensed and braced back.  But as soon as he felt me
stiffen he stopped that and he slid his hands over the front of me instead.
He didn't try to get behind me or on top of me. He rubbed the front of my
body. He ran his hands up and down my thighs, fingers wide, thumb coaxing
at the bulge of material at my crotch.

	I got a hard on. He peeled my jeans down and found it, but he also
found the bruising I had there and then he kissed my balls. He licked them
and I lay with my legs wide. I nodded.

	"Take your shirt off." I said. "I want to see your shoulders."

	He stayed between my legs and pulled his shirt away. He kept his
mouth down on my crotch while he got his torso bare.

	"Fuck, Peter." I said. "How big you got!" I ran my hands over those
massive round muscles.  "I thought I'd grown up big enough but you are
still bigger than me. You are huge."

	He started sucking my dick, up and down. He did it slowly, not
urgently, because of how tender I was.

	I closed my eyes. No. That didn't work. The wrong images and
memories came back. I opened them quickly and looked at Peter's face, at
the grey eyes watching me intently as they went up and down above my
cock. He seemed to like sucking my cock. His hot slick lips slid smoothly
on my shaft. He began playing with own cock in earnest, down below his
belly.

	It felt good. I kept my eyes open. I kept looking at what he was
doing. He went harder and faster, but still very gently. He stopped to lap
on my balls.

	"Ian? You want to try fucking me?" he asked hoarsely.

	I shook my head. "Maybe another day."

	He went back to sucking my cock. Both his hands were down on his
crotch now. His hands were moving much faster than his gentle teasing
mouth. I could feel his breath sighing in and out.  His tongue played
inside his mouth, swirling on my prick. His eyes were almost closed. The
look on his face amazed me. His nose was in my crotch hair on the down
stroke. His hands seemed to be working harder and harder.

	His mouth moved suddenly. His head jerked as Peter came. His mouth
was motionless and firm for several seconds as I saw the shocks pass
through him. When he lifted his head up and got on his knees I smelt his
cum and I saw a long white string of it spanning his knuckles.

	"Come up here." I said.

	Peter came up.

	I wrapped an arm around him and held him. I dragged his head
towards me and put his mouth against mine. I kissed him. That was what I
did. I let my tongue slide into his mouth and I kissed him.

	I could do that either way, eyes closed or not. It was okay if I
was concentrating on the sensation and okay if I was looking at his
face. When we had been kissing for a while, he reached down to my crotch. I
brushed his hand back.

	"Don't you want to cum?" He asked.

	"I want to kiss."

	"Just kiss?" asked Peter.

	I pulled his face closer to mine. We went on kissing. The kissing
felt good, better in some ways than when he was sucking my prick, because
it didn't remind me of anything that was hurting and because I wasn't
ambivalent about it. Peter let me kiss him as long as I liked. Sometimes we
just lay with our bodies pressed close in the bed. We kissed a long time.

	It was past four when I broke it up. "I'd better get dressed and do
the milking." I said.

	"This time can I help?" Peter asked.

	"I guess so. You want to help me?" I asked.

	"Yes." he said.

	"You doing any work on your place?" I asked. I reached for my
shirt.

 	"Not much. I was getting the sheds fixed up, the old henhouse, you
know. I don't keep livestock, so it's mostly just the fields to tend to."
He explained.

	"I could help you with that." I said.

	Peter nodded seriously.

	"I'd like to have a neighbour to work with now." I said. "A guy to
work alongside of and have someone close, maybe to see him in the
evenings."

	"I'd like to be your neighbour." he said.

	Then I smiled. "You going to come running over here, every day like
you did when you were a boy?"

	"If you can find any kind of work for me to do with you." said
Peter.

	"There's always lots of work." I said. "You know that."

	"Can we work on getting you used to me again?" he asked. "So that
maybe someday you want to go farther than just kissing?" He laid his hand
lightly on my thigh. "I really want to do something more for you than just
kiss."

	"I don't know." I said. "But we can try."


        End of Story By Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca