To Ramble in the New Mowed Hay
Summary: While helping Abraham with his chores, he falls in love.
Couple: Abraham/You
Category: Hurt/comfort, smut
Content warnings: One negative reference to Romani people
Word count: 2.7k
Also on my Ao3
A/N: 😮💨
Many called it ridiculous, falling in love with the first woman he’d spoken to since settling in the English countryside. Maybe they were right. But the moment Abraham saw you in a pair of Wellingtons and that white dress with the ends trimmed with lace and dirt, he knew he’d be your husband.
It was the neighbor’s boys scurrying past the barn door that shocked him back to the present — late afternoon. The sun had shifted, stabbing hot, thin needles of light through the cracks of the western wall, highlighting his sweaty skin.
He should have completed the task hours ago, but he needed another break.
The barn was an oven. The aluminum roof was only so useful with the record heat, and the summer breeze was too gentle to circulate any fresh air. Sweat droplets slid down his temple before diving into the hay pile.
“Workin’ ard, Abe?” one boy called. The short, blonde one. Abraham couldn’t remember his name. (Stew? Steven?) They were Sutton’s boys, the biggest farm in the county, that he knewonly dust .
“Course he is,” the other jeered. A ginger with freckles splattered all over his face. Abraham almost confused them for drying mud. “Old Connors can’t afford better. Especially for hay day.”
Abraham stabbed the hay with his pitchfork. He hesitated to wipe his forehead, but caved anyway. The gritty dirt from his arm dragged dry along his skin.
“S’alright, mate,” the first one continued. “Not your fault. At least you’ve got a roof over your head, even when you slack.” He pointed up to the barn roof. It was no secret that Abraham slept in the loft. Connors barely had room for his son when he still lived on the property.
“He’s a good man,” said Abraham. “I’m grateful to him. And I wouldn’t slack.” His body shook with the pitchfork. The hay was stubborn and clung to the tines.
“Yeah? Grateful’s all you can be. Not that anyone would take in a traveler anyway.”
“That’s what we heard you called yourself. Do travelers get redder than tomatoes, or is that just you?”
His next thrust missed the mound entirely. The tines pierced the hard earth with a thwack. Not from anger — though that boiled in his belly — but because the world suddenly narrowed. The thin sunbeams blurred into a haze as a ringing swelled in his ears. The boys’ mouths moved, but there was no sound. Abraham clung to the pitchfork’s handle, his only anchor. He could not fall. He could not make an idiot of himself. Not here.
“Sam! Andy!”
Somehow, your voice cut through the ringing, clear and bright. And your entrance was just as bold. Your skin was pink from the sun’s touch, and those Wellingtons were too big for your feet. Still you stood strong, arms crossed as the boys’ smirks — Sam and Andy — vanished in that order.
“Papa’s been looking for you two. Thunder bolted again.”
“That was Mary,” Sam retorted.
“Was it?” You tilted your head.
“Well… well…” Andy stuttered with his words suddenly. His mess of freckles hid among the burning scarlet spreading across his face. “Mary was on gardening duty.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Thunder’s fine though, alright? Papa handled it.”
“Yeah, because Papa always handles your messes.”
“That’s not what I —”
“While you two stand about harassing a working man. Don’t think I didn’t hear you.”
“Andy swallowed. “Come on, Sam.” He reached for his arm.
“No! I’m not —”
You jerked forward; stomping one boot into the ground and fists clenched at your sides. Sam would’ve slipped if Andy wasn’t already holding him. Abraham blinked, and they were gone. Only dust clouds remained. Meanwhile, you stood there, hands on hips. “I’m sorry,” you said with a sigh. “They should leave you alone now.”
Abraham tried to play it cool. He might’ve smiled. Responding with a thank you was the barest minimum. Having the sense to respond would’ve helped. Maybe even an apology for the scene, for not handling this like a man should. But his tongue was a weight in his mouth and as useful as a dry sponge. Then, the world tilted. Hay was suddenly on the walls.
“Whoa — hey, hey. You need to sit down.” Suddenly your face was inches from him. Your brown eyes sparkled like dappled sunlight on bog water, and Abraham figured if he could take a swim in them, he’d be fine again. Instead, his head swam and the barn ceiling tumbled above him, left and right. Your image was just to the side, holding him somehow, until his back felt the ground. “Just stay here. And stay awake, alright?” You stood up. “I’ll be back.”
Oh, he hoped you’d be back. Just you.
When Abraham woke up, the barn’s interior was dark with a warm glow thanks to the lantern in the center of the room. It was when the pebbles in his back fell out that he realized he was shirtless. He didn’t even feel the damp rag on his forehead until it fell onto his chest with a light slap. Still, he pushed himself up.
“You shouldn’t sit up yet.”
He looked up to see you holding his pitchfork, laying down hay with a quick flick, repeating the pattern with ease. “You need more water first.” You stuck it into the ground, using your foot for good measure. Your boots hid beneath your dress as you crouched to sit next to him. You took the rag from his chest and dunked it into the bucket. “Not the cleanest option.” The excess poured back into the bucket. “Open your mouth.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re not the first man I’ve treated for heatstroke.”
“Wasn’t it heat exhaustion?”
You shook your head. “Nope. You stopped sweating.”
“Maybe because you saved me, love.” He couldn’t help smirking.
You leaned close, matching the expression. “Because you ran out of water, love. Now drink.”
Abraham opened his mouth and let you squeeze. It was cold, refreshing as drops grazed his heated skin. He let out a soft ahh. “Do you take care of any stranger you find and do their job for free?”
“No. I was trying to right a wrong.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is. My brothers should know better.”
“They’re just boys.” You squeezed the rag again, and Abraham drank, secretly hoping that would be the end of that conversation. They were just boys. And they were still pushing him around. Blokes his age picked on him all the time at his last camp. Some even made sure Luella was around to really let the humiliation sink in and linger. He’d only been out here for a few months, but he’d hope he’d have grown something spine-like by now. Something stronger than some teenage japes. “You could’ve left me shirtless on the ground, and I would’ve thought you took advantage of me while I slept.”
You scoffed. “I couldn’t have done that.”
Of course. But Abraham shrugged. “It’s been a while.”
“No wonder, with how hard you work.”
He resisted rolling his eyes. “Well, I’ve been spoiled enough.”
“You shouldn’t —”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t. Not at all. The moment Abraham steadied himself on both feet, his head was as heavy as a stone. Falling would’ve been easy. The damn hay pile was still there for him, taunting him. He couldn’t feel the ground anymore, but when his vision sharpened, it was you standing above him. Your hair fell over your face, hiding your features from the lantern light. “Told ya.”
“Did you push me down?”
“The fact that you don’t know is why you need to stay down.”
As if he wouldn’t know. The push was light, but he still felt it; the impact at both his shoulders. You turned around with the pitchfork, taking the plunge at the bottom of the pile. Abraham considered himself brave for leaving his smirk for you to see.
“How do you feel?”
“Like a woman pushed me.”
“You would’ve fallen, anyway.”
“So you admit it.”
“I just picked where you landed.” You picked up the water bucket and set it beside him — cool water sloshing with a soft thud. “Drink. Properly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He grabbed the bucket one-handed. He strained from the weight, but drowned the sound in water and drank. It spilled past his lips, soaking his chest and trousers. It all sounded intentional. (Years later, he would say it was.) Hot, in an ironic sense, because the water was fucking freezing.
Abraham set the bucket down and came up for air, willing his face to compose itself. When he looked up, you were spreading the hay flat. You caught each other’s eye until you focused on the ground. “What’s on the docket for you tomorrow?”
Abraham shrugged. “Horses are still in the north field. They’ll be fine ‘til morning. Then… potatoes need hilling. Sugar beets need weeding. Wheat’s not ready yet.”
“What time do you start?”
“You are not helping me.”
“You think I can’t?” You hung the pitchfork on the wall.
“You can. But that’s not the point. It’s not your job.”
“I do this at home all the time.”
“Mr. Connors didn’t hire you. You can’t work for free.”
“I can.” You gestured to the floor.
Abraham sighed. Pointing that out didn’t make him feel much better. “You really don’t like being told what to do.”
“Depends who’s talking.”
He blushed (of course). But he didn’t look away. The way your lips parted into that soft smile confirmed everything he was too afraid to name.
You turned your body toward him. “Do you think I’d distract you?”
“No.” Not entirely.
Then you walked over — slow, deliberate steps. As if you hadn’t been the only thing on his mind since you walked into that barn. Somehow heatstroke and his own stupidity didn’t keep you away. You lowered yourself beside him, sinking into the hay, descending to his level like a godsend.
He saw the peely sunburn first, and beneath it, the fresh milky skin between your breasts. Inches from his mouth. Easy.
Instead, he reached for the lace just above it, holding it between finger and thumb. He said nothing, though plenty was rolling through his mind. He simply felt the delicacy, and how it moved to and fro with your breath. Your dark eyes were just visible beneath your lashes.
“Are you going to kiss me?” You whispered. “Or not.”
And he did.
He held the lace the whole time, as if you might disappear if he let go. The kiss was light — barely there — and it still had the power to undo him. Because he had forgotten what it was like to be touched. He never even kissed Luella.
You didn’t disappear. You didn’t leave. Your hand found his bicep and gripped like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away. That was what made his heart slam against his ribs. It didn’t give out, but feeling your weight on him as you swung your leg over to rest on his lap did not help. The sharp bones in your knees locked to his hips while your hands spread across his bare chest and shoulders. He could just see how your dress bunched up at your thighs, and the heat beneath burning through his trousers.
“You’re cold now,” you said.
He didn’t notice. “Is this your way of warming me up?” His fingers treaded just below the hem and felt the warmth of your naked thigh, the contrast in temperature.
“I can try my best.” You sank lower, closer to his body, and Abraham tried not to arch desperately into the touch. He felt what he wanted. One hand found your waist as the other delved into the heat tent. He moved up your leg, a light trail to your hip that made your skin twitch. A little laugh escaped your lips before you kissed him again. And as his tongue slipped against yours, his hand slipped down the waistband of your underwear, soaked. He moaned into your mouth as he glided across your wet cunt, and again when your hips rolled with his fingers.
Nothing mattered beyond the barn; not his chores, Mr. Connors, tomorrow morning. If that lantern’s light couldn’t reach it, it didn’t exist. What it did reach was your body. It left a halo as you gasped, your deliberate movements becoming more of a grind against his hand, telling him you were just as desperate for friction as he was.
When you moved his hand further back, with the heel at your clit and his fingers free to explore inside, Abraham was tempted to sit back and let you take the reins, enjoy the show, and observe your slow unraveling.
He didn’t lean back. He couldn’t, because you held him by the neck as your movements became sloppier. You kissed him again and bit his lip hard before taking your teeth to his neck. The tang of sweat was already radiating off your body, adding a sheen to your skin, and it was just as delicious as it looked. The everyday confidence you exuded that day and long after fizzled to carnal desire right before his very eyes. He sucked in his teeth hard when you finally came: your knees pinned sharply into his waist as your teeth clamped down on his clavicle. He didn’t know how he didn’t scream from such a rush.
“God,” you huffed against his chest. You lifted yourself up, and the glaze of pleasure had already vanished. And Abraham recognized the familiar shade: embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to bite you.”
“It’s alright.”
You shook your head, grazing over the indentations. “No, it’s going to bruise.”
“But I liked it.”
“Still, I —”
“It doesn’t matter. I liked it.” And it was his turn to pull you down for a kiss, the stamp of reassurance that he wasn’t just saying what you wanted to hear. He knew what that felt like, and he wasn’t going to let you feel that around him.
“Are you alright, though?”
“Yeah. You?”
You nodded, and your noses bumped against each other.
Abraham navigated out of your dress. Not to get you off him, just to hold you there. Your high was still lingering with your deep breaths and lazy blinking. Your ribs inflated and deflated under his touch. “What are you thinking?” He asked.
“That you… haven’t.”
“Right.”
“Do you want me to…”
“No,” he quickly said. “I’d rather wait.”
“Wait for what?”
Marriage would’ve been a romantic thing to say, at least according to some of the novels he read. But it also would’ve been bloody stupid. And weird. Regardless of it being on his mind. “Another time. Somewhere more… secluded, I think.”
“More secluded than here?”
“Barn door’s open, love. Boss man’s house is walking distance.”
You looked around the barn, scaling from floor to ceiling. “It’s nice here. Quieter than what we have at home.”
Abraham bit his lip and swallowed his pride. “You can come by and enjoy the quiet tomorrow. If you want.”
“Tomorrow?” Your lips lifted with one eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
Your hands were still on each other. Not exploring or teasing for more, just taking in what you could before inevitably separating. “What time?”
“Whenever you want.”
You leaned down again and kissed him once, then twice more before slowly (painfully) untangling yourself from him. The night air filled the space you left behind, cool and humid. You straightened your dress and combed out your hair with your fingers. Abraham watched you leave, your hand brushing the barn door. He felt himself dozing off.
“Abraham?”
He perked back up. “Yeah?” You still held onto the barn door.
“Don’t start working until I get here.”
He laughed — actually laughed. “I’ll try my best.”
The lantern light just caught your smile before you were gone, swallowed by the summer dark. And Abraham lay alone in the hay as his body remembered the ghost of yours from moments ago. He lay a long time, staring up at the rafters, the loft where he slept and thought it was too much work to climb all the way up there. He felt his chest, where you pushed him and then bit him.
He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
