Naming the Winery
May. 10th, 2005 09:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
horseboykarlBy the time the sun gets fully up and warms the chill air, I’ve ditched my shoes, enjoying the feel of the rich dirt of the farm between my toes. Eric just shakes his head, having gotten used to my aversion to shoes. We’re tying vines to the their trellises, an extremely boring job, but by the time the morning is half over, we’ve fallen into a rhythm with it. He stretches the vine along the wire, I wrap the twine, tie it off and cut the ends.
“Told you she’d make you work.”
He snickers. “I was scared to say no.”
“Right, mate, totally understand. She’s scary, all right.”
“What’s she calling her wines anyway?”
“Fuck, I almost forgot, she’s got some idea of a name in Maori. Thinks it will sucker the gullible Americans into believing it’s more authentic Kiwi stuff.”
He looks appalled. “Good thing she’s not planning world domination, I think we’d all be bowing to her.”
I’m not sure whether he’s kidding or not until I see the hint of a twinkle in his eyes. I snigger and reach across the vines to kiss him. We break apart, and stare at each other for a minute. He has a warm light in his eyes and I wonder what he sees in mine, for his smile grows wider. We go back to work, but there is something new between us now, and I don’t want to question it, just accept it and be grateful for it.
After a while, I remember his original question. “Actually, she wants us to come up with something clever, then get it translated.”
“Do you know Maori?”
“No more than the few odd phrases we all pick up, but I’ve got a friend down at Houghton Bay Beach. He’s a surfer and a layabout, but pure Maori, scars and all. He’ll do it if I asked.”
“Right then . . . did this farm ever have a name?”
“Red Hill Farm it was, but June never liked it. They sold their wool under the name of the cooperative.”
“Yeah, sounds a little pretentious for her. Might be different in Maori. This used to be a sheep farm, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“What about ‘Sheep Winery’?”
“No thanks, sheep suck. How about ‘sheep shit wine’?”
He snickers. “What is ‘shit’ in Maori?”
“Tiko, everybody knows that.”
“Yeah, that could be a problem though, somebody might translate it.” He turns the problem over, and I want to lick that little line on his forehead that he gets when he’s concentrating.
“Could call it sheep fucker wine, rest of the world thinks we do anyway.”
He chuckles and swats at me. “We don’t have to go proving it to them though.”
Laughing, I duck. “Good point, besides I don’t fuck sheep, I fuck Eric.”
“Mm, so you do, and quite well.”
I look up at that, and the mischief fades out of his eyes, and is replaced with something else that sends me under the wire to his side of the vines before I can think about it. He bites his lip, looking up at me, and I reach out and cup his groin. He is hard already and he moans as I squeeze him, and I echo it, hardening myself when I realize how ready he is for me. I pull on the pony tail that he is wearing, drawing him closer.
“Are you wanting to get fucked right now?” My voice has gone low and husky, as tendrils of desire wind their way through me.
“Yeah.”
One simple syllable and I’m undoing his jeans, sliding them down his legs and off. His breath is coming faster and he’s trembling, and my lust flares in reaction to his. I pull my own jeans off and hesitate.
“I’ve got no lube out here.”
He says nothing, but drops to his knees, his mouth closing over me, his tongue working to coat every part of my cock. He looks up at me, his eyes going wild. “Now.”
I fall down with him, pressing him back into the dark dirt. He writhes against me as I try to get a finger into him.
“Karl . . . please . . . I want you . . . need you inside me.”
I give up on preparation, my own control gone to hell at the pleading, and lining myself up, push into him. He relaxes and I sink in balls deep all at once. He wraps his legs around me, his cock brushing my belly, and I rest my hands beside his head. Our eyes lock and I watch the steady rise of passion in his with my strokes. He is fisting himself in time with our rhythm and the look in his eyes when he loses it drives me to my own orgasm. His warm green eyes hold me as I ride out the spasms and the new feeling that was there before comes back. I think that was the best orgasm of my life and I don’t know why. We didn’t have much foreplay, no fancy tricks, just honest lust.
When I finally get my breath back, I help him to his feet, and we dress silently.
“We’d better get back to work so your aunt won’t know what we’ve been up to.”
I shake my head. “She’s gonna know, she always knows what I’ve been doing, sometimes before I do.”
He mutters, “World domination,” under his breath as we start tying up vines again.
NC-17
“Told you she’d make you work.”
He snickers. “I was scared to say no.”
“Right, mate, totally understand. She’s scary, all right.”
“What’s she calling her wines anyway?”
“Fuck, I almost forgot, she’s got some idea of a name in Maori. Thinks it will sucker the gullible Americans into believing it’s more authentic Kiwi stuff.”
He looks appalled. “Good thing she’s not planning world domination, I think we’d all be bowing to her.”
I’m not sure whether he’s kidding or not until I see the hint of a twinkle in his eyes. I snigger and reach across the vines to kiss him. We break apart, and stare at each other for a minute. He has a warm light in his eyes and I wonder what he sees in mine, for his smile grows wider. We go back to work, but there is something new between us now, and I don’t want to question it, just accept it and be grateful for it.
After a while, I remember his original question. “Actually, she wants us to come up with something clever, then get it translated.”
“Do you know Maori?”
“No more than the few odd phrases we all pick up, but I’ve got a friend down at Houghton Bay Beach. He’s a surfer and a layabout, but pure Maori, scars and all. He’ll do it if I asked.”
“Right then . . . did this farm ever have a name?”
“Red Hill Farm it was, but June never liked it. They sold their wool under the name of the cooperative.”
“Yeah, sounds a little pretentious for her. Might be different in Maori. This used to be a sheep farm, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“What about ‘Sheep Winery’?”
“No thanks, sheep suck. How about ‘sheep shit wine’?”
He snickers. “What is ‘shit’ in Maori?”
“Tiko, everybody knows that.”
“Yeah, that could be a problem though, somebody might translate it.” He turns the problem over, and I want to lick that little line on his forehead that he gets when he’s concentrating.
“Could call it sheep fucker wine, rest of the world thinks we do anyway.”
He chuckles and swats at me. “We don’t have to go proving it to them though.”
Laughing, I duck. “Good point, besides I don’t fuck sheep, I fuck Eric.”
“Mm, so you do, and quite well.”
I look up at that, and the mischief fades out of his eyes, and is replaced with something else that sends me under the wire to his side of the vines before I can think about it. He bites his lip, looking up at me, and I reach out and cup his groin. He is hard already and he moans as I squeeze him, and I echo it, hardening myself when I realize how ready he is for me. I pull on the pony tail that he is wearing, drawing him closer.
“Are you wanting to get fucked right now?” My voice has gone low and husky, as tendrils of desire wind their way through me.
“Yeah.”
One simple syllable and I’m undoing his jeans, sliding them down his legs and off. His breath is coming faster and he’s trembling, and my lust flares in reaction to his. I pull my own jeans off and hesitate.
“I’ve got no lube out here.”
He says nothing, but drops to his knees, his mouth closing over me, his tongue working to coat every part of my cock. He looks up at me, his eyes going wild. “Now.”
I fall down with him, pressing him back into the dark dirt. He writhes against me as I try to get a finger into him.
“Karl . . . please . . . I want you . . . need you inside me.”
I give up on preparation, my own control gone to hell at the pleading, and lining myself up, push into him. He relaxes and I sink in balls deep all at once. He wraps his legs around me, his cock brushing my belly, and I rest my hands beside his head. Our eyes lock and I watch the steady rise of passion in his with my strokes. He is fisting himself in time with our rhythm and the look in his eyes when he loses it drives me to my own orgasm. His warm green eyes hold me as I ride out the spasms and the new feeling that was there before comes back. I think that was the best orgasm of my life and I don’t know why. We didn’t have much foreplay, no fancy tricks, just honest lust.
When I finally get my breath back, I help him to his feet, and we dress silently.
“We’d better get back to work so your aunt won’t know what we’ve been up to.”
I shake my head. “She’s gonna know, she always knows what I’ve been doing, sometimes before I do.”
He mutters, “World domination,” under his breath as we start tying up vines again.
NC-17
