The Author & The Rancher

[quinientos]

For the twentieth time today, Ale curses his agent for sending him out into the wilderness because he's got writer's block. He never should have said anything, he should have kept quiet about all of this. Instead, he was the idiot who decided that he would share his inability to get through the chapters of his western romance and now he was being punished.

Well, he was being sent into the West to a ranch with all-expenses paid, but to him, that meant punishment. Adjusting his suitcase, he waddles his way up the front porch after the taxi had dropped him off, staring at the estate he's been sent to.

The Faraday Ranch.

Sam, that damn agent of his, had insisted that Joshua Faraday would help to unstick some of the writer's block that was keeping the chapter from moving forward. He'd seemed so very convinced, too, and it's not like Vasquez can argue that. Besides, none of his old tricks have been working and maybe seeing a real live cowboy will actually do some help. He reserves the right to be wary about that, though.

Dropping his bags at the door, he leans on the bell, feeling disheveled and exhausted from the plane ride and the long cab in. He probably looks a mess, but he doesn't care, because right now, all he cares about is getting inside and trading on the rancher's hospitality so he can put his feet up and worry about writing later.

Besides, how handsome can this one man be? Sam is probably just exaggerating again.

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[quinientos]

Vasquez absently lets his fingers drift and touch small pieces of decoration as he stares at everything on display, genuinely impressed by the items that are here. It's a beautiful home and it feels rustic and charming in a way his loft back in the city can't.

He peeks inside the room, heart beating faster for how cozy it looks, settling his bag down. "I learned how when I was younger," he assures, "but it's been a while and I'm a little bit spooked. You might have to help me."

Vasquez realizes after how much of a come-on that could sound like and his nervous laugh doesn't really help. "Just until I get my riding feet back under me."

[onesyllable]

Joshua stays by the door, watching as this man, this romance writer, wanders around the room. He's not sure what to say, or even how to handle this. It's nothing like what he was expecting, and now that he's here, he's wishing he could throttle Sam. Or at least ask him if he's just trying to torture Joshua.

Some pretty petite thing in heels he could have handled. Tall, dark and handsome here, that's going to be another story all together.

"I'm sure it'll come back to you. It's one of those things that even without a lot of practice, your body remembers just what to do." Like sex. Or... "You know, like riding a bike," he says, realizing that it's really not right of him to have thoughts about it any other way. The man writes Hallmark romances, and Joshua needs to keep that in his head above all else.

"But we can get you back in the saddle, if nothing else. It'll give you a feel for the ranch and let you have a look around."

[quinientos]

He comes back to get his second bag, hauling it with some effort onto the bed, because his computer is there, his typewriter, and plenty of other items that he's been using to try and break through the writer's block. He sits on the end of the bed and bounces on it a little, his jeans pulling at the knees.

"Maybe you can tell me some tips about sexy things?" His face flushes hot when he remembers that English being his second language sometimes gets him in trouble. "I mean, I have a scene after riding a horse and I need to figure out a way to make it sexy. Maybe you could tell me some of the opportunities. I don't think mucking stalls would be, but maybe something to do with helping people into the saddle?"

Heart pounding, he thinks he recovered decently from it, but now he's not going to stop thinking about Faraday's hands on him.

Damn Sam for sending him here. Why couldn't it have been an old retired ranch hand?

"Can I help with the cooking? That, I'm very good at."

[onesyllable]

Oh but a brow jerks at that, more than curious than he really should be about that question. Though when he goes on, explaining what it is he meant by that question, Joshua can't help but to chuckle at the explanation.

"I see. I can come up with a few ideas. Obviously the stables. Large mounts, solid wood..." He pauses, watching Vasquez curiously with the darkness of that flush. "Lots of leather and crops around. Like that," he says, voice a bit of a rumble as he tests the waters. Even if he's not interested, he can't help but have a little fun with all of this, can he?

"Definitely into the saddle. Plenty of casual touching that can become more, lingering there with thighs right there to nuzzle and kiss," he adds, trying to sound so matter of fact about it all, even though he knows just what he's doing.

"Kitchen's aren't a bad place either," he adds, smirking. "But if you're good at cooking, I'm sure you know that, but the help is more than welcome. Do you need some time to settle in, or want the tour?"

[quinientos]

"My stories aren't very much about crops and whips," he confesses with a laugh, feeling a little embarrassed as he rubs a hand through his hair. "It's a bit more vanilla, where all the sexual tension has to do with the characters dancing around each other. Missed moments, almost connection, that sort of thing," he explains, his flush only growing worse for the rumble in Faraday's voice.

He's in so much trouble, honestly, he's either going to write more than ever before, or get nothing done because his hand will be occupied. "Do you mean riding together? Would that be possible?" He's already reaching for his small notebook to start taking little notes, wanting to get this down before he forgets.

"Maybe let me change? It's been a very long flight, I could use some more casual clothes." He's even embarrassed to realize he'd brought thematic clothes, with red checkered button downs and worn-in jeans, and even a cowboy hat.

[onesyllable]

"Want to know the truth? I have never read a romance novel in my life, so most I know is when they make social news." And that news is usually about books that do include such things. "I get your target audience isn't men like me though," he points out with a smirk, hiding the truth of that statement in that smile. "But I can show you around, show you places that might work and get your juices flowing. Creative juices," he adds, "correcting" himself.

"And we can definitely take a full tour, ride and all. I promise I've got horses that will do you just fine and give you time to get acclimated again. None of those things I think people imagine of setting you up to end up on your ass in the dirt," he teases, trying to make himself act casual and stop thinking about how pretty this man's smile is, or the brightest of his eyes making him want to move closer.

"Take your time. I'll be downstairs whenever you're ready. Probably in the kitchen seeing to a few things. Just you and me in the house, put I put up food this morning so there'll be dinner when the time comes."

[quinientos]

"Maybe I should have had Sam send some of my books ahead so you could figure out what you're getting into," Vasquez jokes. They're flowery things, for the most part. He doesn't really cater to people who want sexy, gritty stories with whips and kinks. He's more about people falling in love and then resolving the tension he'd built up over the whole book.

"If it were men like you, I'd sell more," he admits. "My bank account would appreciate it."

He presses his lips together to hide his smile at the 'juices' comment, because he wouldn't mind so much other juices, but he's not about to say. He starts to dig into the bag for a change of clothes, giving Faraday an appreciative nod. "I'll take a little nap and meet you for dinner in an hour? Maybe I can even see about calling Sam for some book copies."

[onesyllable]

"Maybe Sam should have told me you weren't five foot, blonde and female," he points out, giving him a look to make it clear how much Vasquez did not fit that look. "Not that I'm offended by you not looking like that."

He is actually happy about it, but that's a personal preference at who he'd rather look at.

"Wait? Men like me?" Oh but he can't help but grin at that, head canting slightly. "Oh do go on," he teases, folding his arms over his chest.

"Or you can tell me later. After your nap," he adds, more than amused by the conversation and nod hiding it. "But do call him. I'd love to read them."

[quinientos]

"Men in general," is Vasquez's snort, because he could use all the sales, but even as he's speaking, he's getting out his phone to text Sam the request to air-ship a bunch of books to arrive within the next little while, eager for Faraday to be reading them.

He salutes as he closes the door after Faraday goes, his exhaustion making him fall asleep easily, but his dreams being filled with his new acquaintance in cowboy gear? Well, that's a bit telling.

His alarm wakes him an hour later and he heads downstairs in new jeans, a white t-shirt, and a red checkered button down, his hair mussed and unable to be tamed as he follows the smell of dinner to the kitchen. Sleepily, he leans against the doorway. "I thought I said I could help with that."

[onesyllable]

Smirking at that as he turns away, leaving Vasquez to his nap. He's amused, he can admit that, even if he's not sure what he's going to do about this.

All of it is confusing, and it could be a lot of troubles, but none of it in his head is calling Sam and calling this off. That he's definitely not on the table.

At first he doesn't glance up, moving easily about the kitchen as if it were as much home as the barn is.

"I told you, I had started it this morning not knowing what the day would be like. Besides, I like cooking, and usually only have myself to cook for. You want to help?"

Even as he asks, he glances up. Pausing, staring at Vasquez for a long moment, forgetting what it is he's about to say.

"Uhmmm... right. There's things for a salad in the fridge if you want to get that out and start putting them together."

[quinientos]

Vasquez runs his fingers through his hair, even if it doesn't tame it so much as it makes it extend and fly out a little more, his sleepy expression not going away. He musters up a smile as he heads for the fridge, ducking in to grab a few ingredients.

"I told you, I'm not so good at the ranch stuff, but I can cook," he provides, trying to sound helpful and cheerful about it. "I'm here stealing all your good hospitality. I need to do something, since you won't let me pay for my stay."

[onesyllable]

Pausing in what he's doing, Joshua can't help but stare. He's a handsome man to begin with, but there's something about that boyish look of his hair a mess, still not quite awake, that's appealing. He yawns and Joshua knows he might just offer him a blowjob right then and there in the kitchen.

"Then have a look and come up with what you want. The steaks are cowboy cut, because it amuses me, and I put them in a marinade, seared them and now baking. Hadn't decided on a side, so whatever you want to make?"

He's curious to see what he can do, besides apparently write sexy books if the covers he found googling were any indication.

[quinientos]

Vasquez ducks his head into the fridge and pulls out the ingredients for a salad, but he goes back in when he sees some beans and butter, thinking that he could fry up the green beans. It's all very healthy, but then, he didn't get in his shape by eating junk all the time.

By the time he's working on the food, he's able to slick his hair down a bit, and become more of a human. "I called Sam," he tells Faraday as he starts to prepare the salad and fry up the beans. "He's going to send over some of the books, so you get a feel for my style."

The steaks smell heavenly and he finds himself drifting back to smell them again. "Am I going to eat this well every day here?"

[onesyllable]

Joshua moves easily about the kitchen, comfortable doing this kind of work, though he is constantly watching Alejandro from the corner of his eyes.

He chuckles though at that pronouncement. "I'll be glad to have a look at them. I guess I should have done that the moment Sam called, but I didn't really have an interest then," he admits, which maybe says a lot, but he's not hiding his words or thoughts. Subtle doesn't usually work for Joshua.

Turning, he leans back against the counter, giving Alejandro a long once over, lips pursing for a minute. "I guess you could. I mean, so long as you're working up an appetite."

[quinientos]

"Then?" he echoes, smiling to himself as he fries up the beans in a pan, feeling very good about his chances now that he's heard this. He doesn't want to see too forward or easy by pushing his luck just yet, also because he does have a job to do, but it's good to have in mind.

Maybe once he's finished a few chapters, it can even be his reward. "I think I could find some ways. You're offering horse-riding, no? I'm sure enough of that and I would be starving."

[onesyllable]

"Then I still thought you were some tiny blonde girl," he says, not having seen a reason to think that Alejandro is offended by his comments, that he might well be interested. Not offended is a good start, since most don't expect it from someone like Joshua and then get weird about it when they find out his preferences.

"Now I've seen you and I'm curious," he admits, offering him a bright smile and a slow look. He couldn't help himself. "About what it is you write," he adds, definitely smirking now.

"Oh I think riding could definitely work up an appetite. For both of us."

[quinientos]

He laughs as he pokes at the beans, glancing down at the floor from where he looms above it, six-foot-four that he is. "Not so tiny, no," he agrees, "though I was blond for one very unfortunate summer when I bleached it. It didn't last very long," he says, glancing over his shoulder and looking Faraday over very slowly, with great interest.

"I write romances for women and men to read. Hopefully, they're very hot, make people squirm and want to read more. If I can do that, I've done my job." Turning off the heat on the stove, he turns to pour the beans into a bowl, eyeing Faraday and wanting so badly for his books to turn him on.

"Maybe you can tell me if I did it right, when you read them?"

[onesyllable]

"Oh tell me there's pictures of this? Can I find them on the internet?" Because he knows he's already going to be looking later, doing what he hadn't done before Alejandro arrived. Maybe he should have, but people and television give you an idea of just what a romance writer looks like, even if those images are so wrong.

"So you make a living getting people turned on and then do nothing about solving that problem?"

Grinning to himself as he rinses off a pan and slides it into the dishwasher with easy movements that show he works in the kitchen quite a bit.

Which he asks just so he can say the next part

"And you want me to tell you if you've done a good job? I can do that."

[quinientos]

"I don't even use an author photo, what makes you think I would publish some of my worst memories," he quips, but he is amused and maybe if Faraday earns it, he'll dig out some of his old albums in order to show off how bad a decision it had been at the time.

"I have to hope they solve the problem of their arousal themselves," he points out. "I can't get to everyone's home and some might not even want me."

"I want you to say if you think it's good. Be honest. If there's something I can improve, I want to know. It will help me to sell more," he says. "It'd be nice to be able to afford a nicer house."

[onesyllable]

"What? None of your friends have facebook?" He's definitely teasing, and not even hiding how amusing he finds himself from the smirk on his face.

"I suppose they would have to, though seems kind of cruel to leave a person like that, on their own," he says, making the words so utterly casual. "Though I can't imagine who wouldn't," he notes, still trying to sound as easy going about it as he can.

"I can do that though. I can let you know if you get me hot and bothered, sure."

[quinientos]

"I don't really like to use it," Vasquez admits, which is a short way to say that his editor banned him from using it, seeing as he got too distracted all the time and as a result, he's not on the social networks anymore.

Not to mention, if his friends did post those photos, he's not so sure they'd be his friends anymore.

"Will you?" he asks, putting the beans in the bowl and leaning his hip up against the counter. "Don't forget to describe it in detail. Otherwise, how will I get inspiration for my next book?"

[onesyllable]

"And already you're making things hard for me," he says, shaking his head as he pulls the steaks out of the oven.

Setting them down to let them rest as he moves to lightly brush past Vasquez, encouraging contact that he doesn't have to have but upping the ante as he moves to get plates and take them to the table. Glancing back at him as he sets them on the table, moving to set things out on the small table in the fully windowed breakfast nook.

"I promise to tell you in full detail," he offers, knowing that this is madness. He doesn't know the man, he's there for work, and now he's baiting him to see if he's at all interested in more than work and banter.

Okay so it wasn't a one night stand, but was it a bad thing to have a fling like this? He couldn't see how it could be, and more than that, he didn't want to see how it could be bad. Not when he looks at that smile.

[quinientos]

Vasquez feels his breath catch in his throat and he's already chiding himself. He needs to work on the book first. If he doesn't do that, he's going to get in trouble from Sam, even if he's the one who sent him out here to the handsome cowboy world.

"The steaks, they look..." He's awkward now, his words barely coming out. "It looks delicious." He manages to get another smile out, but this one is more nervous, because he's not entirely sure what he wants to do here. He needs to write his book, not think about his personal life.

[onesyllable]

They're definitely flirting, and even as much time as he spends working and not dating, he even is certain of that. He also knows that he is meant to be helping this man, and not just seeing how nice it might be sharing a bed as well as his kitchen.

So when the subject gets quickly changed, he suspects he's gone a bit too far.

"Thanks. Like I said, I like cooking, but I may let you do some of it for me.' Changing his language, not commenting that he's taking advantage of him. "But we'll get you some knowledge for your book about the ranch, and once you get your writing done, I'll let you know what I think of the book."

Because he's certain he can control himself until then. Surely.

He hopes.

[quinientos]

"That's a fair trade," he allows, because if he's going to be here (and he suspects Sam probably didn't pay as much as he would have, if Alejandro had gone to a hotel), he should do his part and help out. "I don't know if you'll get the book immediately," he warns, taking a seat.

"My editor is brutal, slashes through it with a knife," he deadpans, even though it's not a literal knife. "The sad thing is, he really does make it better, so I can't even be that angry."