This is your NSFW Shane warmup thing warning
Farm work was hard, but having Shane at home made it so much easier. It wasn’t just that he managed to take care of household tasks with an surprising level of efficiency, it that he had a way of wanting to be with you that gave more than it took.
Like on a Thursday night in spring. Your body ached from planting, and even after an extended shower you still felt like there was dirt engrained in your pores. Your nails were broken, lips chapped, skin covered in seven different levels of farmers tan, but still Shane looked at you like you were the hottest thing alive.
Before Shane, sex could often feel like a chore, an obligation, something that had to happen to avoid pouting or a fight. It was energy you had to spend at the end of an already exhausting day. But Shane would just pat his lap as he sat on the couch after dinner and let you collapse into his arms.
There’d always be something playing on the TV, some gridball game or a movie that came out a decade ago. It never mattered. What mattered was how it felt to sink into Shane’s hold. You’d straddle him, lay your face in the crook of his neck, feel his heart beating beneath his stubble and skin. You’d melt by degrees, his hand wandering up under the back of your shirt, his thighs shifting to help you fall deeper in.
And sometimes that’d be it. No sex, very little talking, just Shane holding you while you let your body recover from what you put it through day after day. It was safe, comfortable, undemanding: just you and the person you loved, together in a way that made sense.
But sometimes the shifting of Shane’s thighs would grow a little more pointed, and you’d lift your hips up so he could pull your clothes down your thighs. He’d use his fingers first - teasing, readying you - and then he’d help you lower yourself onto him. He’d hold your hips as you sank down, encouraging you as you stretched around him (that’s it baby, just like that, fuck, you feel so good, just go slow, you got it, feel so fucking good for me…)
And then…
Nothing.
Just you. Just Shane. Just the two of you connected. He’d wrap his arms back around your waist, let his lips rest on the side of your neck, and go back to watching his show. As the minutes passed you’d feel yourself sinking even further into relaxation: hips loose, eyes closed, hands resting on Shane’s sides. There was nothing you needed to do, no work to be done, just rest and connection.
The two of you could stay like that for long enough that you’d lose track of where you were. It’d have to end sometime, though. Sometimes, if you were up for it, Shane would help you move, pulling your hips back and forth as you’d grind on top of him. Sometimes he’d roll you over on your back and do the work himself.
Just as often, though, you’d find yourself drifting off with him inside of you. On nights like that, you’d blink your eyes open to find yourself being carried to bed. Shane would always laugh off your apologies, brush away any attempt to open yourself back up to him. (You couldn’t even stay awake long enough to get to bed - you think you got enough left in the tank to handle me?) Instead, you’d find yourself pulled into his arms, spooned up close as sleep found you again.
It’s why you had the energy for the work you chose to do, you figured. It didn’t matter how much effort poured out of you and into the fields. When the day was over, Shane would always be waiting for you, and the time you stole to spend with him never felt like labor.
