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He laughs, and I watch the laughter transform his face, almost in awe at the quirk of his lips.

I kiss him again, and we sink into the kiss, the taste of his laughter sweet on my tongue as I press him back into the pillows.

Then we’re fumbling with the condom and lube, any competence deserting us as we try to coordinate limbs that seem to have multiplied since we hit the bed.

“I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing,” I admit, staring at the bottle of lube like it’s a piece of farm equipment with missing assembly instructions.

Benji’s eyes soften. “It’s okay, I’m pretty sure you’ll be a quick study with the proper motivation.”

And he kisses me deeply, grinding his hard cock against mine, which definitely provides me with the right motivation.

He guides my hand back. “Just go slow. Think of it like... checking a ewe for lambing complications, except with more finesse and significantly less wool.”

“Jesus, Benji. That’s the least sexy comparison you could have made.”

His laugh is warm against my neck. “Sorry. How about, it’s like testing soil, but instead of checking for nutrients, you’re looking for?—”

“If you finish that sentence with any kind of agricultural metaphor, I might reconsider this whole thing,” I say.

Benji places his hand on my cock and strokes me, making me shudder as pleasure rocks through me.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not reconsidering anything,” he says with absolute certainty, and he’s right.

I’m not quite sure what I’m doing as I press a slick finger inside him, my weathered farmer’s hands feeling too rough and clumsy for something this delicate.

“Am I hurting you?” I ask, freezing at the sharp intake of his breath.

“God, no. Just…curve your finger a bit.”

I follow his instructions, and suddenly he arches into my touch, gasping my name in a way that makes every hair on my body stand at attention.

The only thing that stops me from feeling embarrassed by my obvious lack of experience is the look in Benji’s eyes. I’m pretty sure no one has ever looked at me like this.

“Another finger,” he instructs, his voice strangled.

I work a second finger alongside the first, the tight heat making my breath stutter. My hands, usually so confident with machinery and livestock, feel clumsy and uncertain.

“Like this?” I ask, and I barely recognize my own voice, it’s so husky.

“Perfect,” he breathes.

Benji’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back against the pillows, exposing the line of his throat. Seeing him like this, him trusting me to take care of him, feels like a gift.

When I twist my wrist slightly, he makes a strangled noise that sounds nothing like his usual articulate banter. His knees fall wider apart, an invitation I can’t misinterpret even with my limited experience. His skin is flushed all the way down his chest, and I press gentle kisses along his collarbone as my fingers establish a tentative rhythm.

“Deeper,” he gasps. “And angle up a bit.”

When my fingers brush against a spot inside him, his whole body jolts like he’s been struck by summer lightning.

“Fuck, David,” he breathes, voice cracking on my name. His tone is raw, stripped of his usual composure.

“Yeah,” I manage to grunt. I can’t take my eyes off his face, the way his lips part slightly and his pupils have all but swallowed the green.

“I’m ready,” he says breathlessly.

I’m happy for Benji to take the lead, and when he pushes me on my back, I follow without hesitation, grateful for his guidance.

He trails open-mouthed kisses along my neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot that makes me curse under my breath. His chuckle against my skin tells me he’s filing that information away for future torture.