Warning: there's quite a bit of swearing in this

There are a lot of things I hate: speed limits, ice cream sandwiches, the color yellow, tuna, the list goes on. But even CSI: Miami paled in comparison the amount of hatred I had for not being able to curse at children— and who the fuck likes CSI: Miami?

Okay, admittedly, wanting to curse out a seven year old makes me sound a bit horrible, but A) it's eight in the fucking morning, B) You haven't met my sister, and C) it is eight in the fucking morning. Plus, they're going to be hearing and saying it in a few years anyway, so like, what the fuck, right? If anything, they should be required, because kids are shitheads about ninety percent of the time and will purposely continue to be a shithead until they see that you're three seconds away from strangling them to death.

But hell if I was allowed to tell my sister to "get her bitchass downstairs right the fuck now or I am dragging my ass right back to sleep," because apparently, all of society would rather goad the little fuckers for ten minutes rather than shout profanities for all of three seconds.

"Celia could you please hurry up?" I shouted up the staircase for the eight-thousandth time. See, so much less authoritative and intimidating.

"We have like ten minutes!" she said, perching a hand on her hip.

I rolled my eyes. "We had ten minutes about fifteen minutes ago."

"Well if we have fifteen minutes why are you so angry?"

"We don't have fifteen minutes," I explained slowly. "We're five minutes late. Do you really want to be late for your first horse-riding lesson? All of the pretty horses will be taken."

"No wait!" she whined, starting to run around upstairs. Okay, I'll admit: if horses are involved in the situation, it's almost as effective as a goddammit!, but not quite. "I'm ready, I'm ready!"

Celia raced down the stairs and past me to the garage. I stared at her outfit with distaste. Honestly, who bought her plaid and gave her cowboy boots? She even had a hat and pigtails to go along with it. Retch. When she realized that I was dragging myself toward the same place instead of running as she was, she hurried back and yanked my wrist to get me to move faster.

"Rosa come on I want the pretty horseie!" Because god forbid she get an average looking horse.

We got into the car I took my time picking out a good CD, disregarding Celia's whining about me not leaving fast enough. If she was going to be the reason I would be waking up at eight o'clock on a fucking Saturday, I was going to take as much goddamn time as I needed to choose the best music I possibly could. After throwing in one of my old mixes, I backed out of the driveway and started driving towards Hell.

I'm sorry, I meant into the fiery depths of hell, because just normal hell wouldn't be as bad as watching a little girl sit on a horse and walk around in circles for an entire hour and a half. It wouldn't even be half as bad.

Twenty minutes later I pulled up to Camp Piccu, already hating the place. First of all, the parking lot was literally just dirt and it didn't help that it rained yesterday morning. Second of all, what the fuck was up with that name? Camp Piccu? Really? Fuck me.

Groaning excessively, I turned off the ignition and heaved myself out of the car. I walked around to where Celia had exited the back seat, and she grabbed my hand immediately, enthusiastically dragging me toward the stables.

Okay, take it from someone who knows: horses smell like shit. Worse, even. It was like decaying shit or something. Whatever sort of shit it was, however, it was N-A-S-T-Y nasty.

"Ooh, look at that one, Rosa!" Celia shouted, pointing at a light brown horse. Eh, I guess you could say it was pretty, but it probably smelled like some booty.

"Cool," I drawled. "Real cool, Celia." I looked around the stables, scowling as I saw the line of horses on each side of us. No wonder the smell was so grody. "Come on, let's go find your teacher. What's his name again?"

"Jason!" Still attached by the hand, which I so wasn't thrilled about, I walked Celia through the stables until we happened upon what looked like an office. I stepped up to the door and knocked on it. Not even three seconds later, the door opened to reveal the most redneck man I had ever seen in my life. Seriously, he had the red plaid shirt tucked into jeans, the larger-than-life belt buckle, the suspenders (why this man needed both a belt and suspenders was a mystery to me), the beard, the beer gut, and even the ratty ball cap. Well, I guess the stereotype had to come from somewhere.

"Uh, hi. My sister here has a lesson, are you Jason?"

"Nuh," the guy replied, the one word drenched in a southern drawl. "Jasun's out in the back, I can take y'all to 'im, if ya'd like."

"Okay!" Celia squeaked.

"Firs' lemme get ya a helmet," he said before going back into the office and bringing out a dirty off-white horse helmet. I thought it was disgusting, and most likely had some sort of flea in it, but before I could express that, Celia graciously accepted the ratty thing and stuffed it right onto her head. Ew.

After that, the guy led us out of the stables to wherever this Jason guy was and Celia— who pointed and "ooh"ed at every single horse we passed— was rapidly surpassing the normal amount of annoying. Once we got out of the stables and onto the mud path toward the little wood circle we were walking to, I finally understood why people wore cowboy boots. Not only were my sneakers now completely covered in thick brown ick, but thanks to the hole on my right shoe, so were one of my socks. Fucking fantastic, now I have to burn my sock because who knows if it was just mud.

It was a relatively short trek, but since it steadily sloped upward, there was a lot of effort on my part that I would like to be reimbursed for, especially since I had to listen to Mr. Hillbilly over there gab on with my sister about the horses they kept. If that wasn't boring, I'd rather shoot myself in the shit soaked foot than experience what was.

Inside the little wood thing stood a horse— admittedly cute and kind of majestic, but whatever— and some guy with his back towards us patting its beak (snout?). I do have to admit that I'm kind of ashamed that I was gawking at his ass— I mean he was wearing sleeveless flannel with frayed arm holes for heaven's sake— but wow, those jeans were doing everything for him, even if they did show evidence of muddied up cowboy boots underneath them. And his arms! I could only see the back of them, but I could already tell he would have the biceps of a sex god.

"Rose, Rose! Look at the horsie it's so pretty!" No, Celia, you go ahead, I've got much more important things to look at.

"Jasun," Mr. Hillbilly grunted. The man in question turned around and it was all I could do to not yell something insane like "Wow, you're pretty!"

But seriously, he was so hot he could probably make the sun look like an iceberg. If I knew they made 'em like that, I would have moved to whatever hillbilly farmhouse he came from in half a heartbeat. Who would have thought that someone with dirty blond hair so dark it almost looked brown, sea-blue eyes so entrancing their color could still be distinguished from 30 feet away, and arms so chiseledthat he must have been sculpted out of clay, could come from a little hillbilly homestead where people chased around pigs for fun?

I thought I saw his gaze drop and then snap back to my face, but if he did, it was so fast I didn't know what was reality and what was wishful thinking. "Good mornin', ma'am," he greeted, giving me a slight nod, then turning to my sister and giving her the same nod, "little miss. Which one of y'all is Celia?"

"Me, me!" Celia exclaimed, raising her hand and jumping up and down.

Jason chuckled, "Well, aren't you excited? Come on then, let me introduce you to Nightingale."

"Why is it called Nightingale if it's white?" I asked as Celia tore her hand out of mine, running into the circle towards the horse.

"Nightingale is just a type of bird, ma'am." I didn't miss the amused, crooked smile he gave me, nor did I appreciate it. It was a bit too crooked, if you ask me. You know what they say about guys with crooked smiled… or what they should start saying. Plus, what the hell are you doing naming a horse after a bird anyway! Still didn't make any fucking sense to me.

Celia said something, which caused Jason to laugh. Okay, better than the goddamn smile, but definitely not as good as the view I got when he turned his back toward me to say, "Of course you can pet him." After about a minute or so of Celia petting the horse— and she was definitely disinfecting before she got into my car—Jason lifted her up onto it. She looked quite ridiculous sitting on the horse, being about three feet tall when it was about thrice that.

After giving me a grin that made me wonder how we could possibly be related, Celia paid no attention to me whatsoever. Which was fine with me, because I was paying more attention to her instructor anyway. They stood still for the first few minutes, with just him talking to her and her nodding along. Since I was about twenty feet away from them on the outside of the wooden fence, I couldn't really hear them, but I was kind of jealous that this Jason guy could keep my sister's mouth shut for so long. After he was done talking, however, things got quite interesting… they started walking around in circles!

No but seriously, he held a little leather string thing from the horse and slowly walked her around the circumference of the circle they were in. To make matters worse, whenever they would pass me, I'd get a "Look at me! This is so fun!" from Celia, and those damn crooked smiles from Jason. Up close, his eyes seemed even more blue than I initially thought them to be. They were dark, and I could just picture them becoming black with lust as I let my fingers dig into his cut biceps.

Oh for fuck sake, the last person I should be fantasizing about was my sister's country bumpkin instructor, who probably knew his way around a cow more than a woman. However, the voice of reason didn't stop me from doing so, but in my defense, what the hell else was I supposed to do to pass the time?

When their lesson was finally over, Jason lifted my sister off the horse— and no, I wasn't jealous that he was touching her, but yes, I was checking out his tanned forearms and flexing muscles. As they walked toward me, Celia was saying god-knows-what to him and he was actually paying attention to her, even laughing at one point.

The three of us walked down the hill together, along with Nightingale, who was being led by the leather thing by Jason. Celia wouldn't shut up about how excited she was for next week and how much she loved riding horses and how jealous all of her friends were going to be and other things I really didn't give a shit about, so I couldn't get in an edgewise word out to Jason. But it's okay, since the whole way down we kept glancing at each other and our eyes met more often than not.

"Well I will see you next week, miss Celia," he told her once we got back to the stables, giving her a high five that she readily accepted. He looked at me and added, "Ma'am."

Ma'am? Did I look forty, or?

Instead of voicing my thoughts, I let the corner of my mouth lift into a polite (and hopefully cute) smile. "See ya."

For the next two weeks, it was no different. I dragged my sorry ass out of bed, I took Celia to class, and during the hour the two spent walking in circles, I mentally praised every single part of his body and came up with enough fantasies to write my own porn anthology, maybe even two. The man could literally sit and watch paint dry and I would still think it's hot as shit. I don't know, even with him being a complete farm boy, I was still irrevocably attracted to him. Thank god he wasn't one of those guys with the chipped teeth and a strand of wheat hanging out of their mouth. That would have been a no-go. His accent wasn't all too bad either; hell, it just sounded low and seducing, which probably wasn't cool considering the fact that most of his conversation was directed at my seven year old sister, who probably couldn't appreciate his glory like I could.

On her fourth lesson, however, he did something incredibly weird: he asked if I wanted to ride as well. At first, I highly considered replying with something like "Are you talking about you or a horse, because there are different answers to each," but since my sister was right there, even though she wouldn't know what it meant, I just went with:

"Now why the hell would I want to do that?" It had the same amount of charm, I thought.

Celia gasped. "You said the H-word!"

As I did whenever she called me out for swearing, I ignored her, instead focusing my attention on Jason's face, most specifically, his jaw. I wondered if he was as strong as his jaw was, because damn, his jawline was perfection.

"I jus' thought you were bored standin' there every week while we're in here."

"Well, I am," I admitted. "But I've got better things to ride than horses."

By the way his eyebrow quirked and his expression turned sly, I knew he caught my innuendo. It was a lot more subtle than what I was thinking before, so I would have been surprised if Celia even noticed I said anything at all. "Really?"

"Yeah, I could give you a few examples, if you'd like."

He mumbled something that I couldn't hear, and then said, "Well, why don't we add horse to that list?"


"All right," he said with a shrug. "Suit yourself, but if you change your mind just give me a holler."

I snorted. Who would ever say 'just give me a holler?' "Will do."

Just for the record, no, I did not give him any hollers. I just stayed in my spot outside of the wood circle thing with my foot on the middle part and my arm leaning on the top part making up weird scenarios that I knew would never happen, but couldn't help but want them to. Let's be honest though, even though the stables smell disgusting, I wouldn't mind getting fucked against the wall right outside the building by the most attractive piece of ass I've ever seen in my life, you know?

Anyway, said piece of ass let my sister walk Nightingale the horse—not bird— back to the stables, which she was ecstatic about. Why she was so thrilled to hold a piece of leather and lead a horse down to a stable, I will never know. But Jason walked next to me a couple of feet behind her, so that was a plus.

"You never told me your name," he said, after falling in step with me.

"Rosalind. But everyone just calls me Rose."



Shrugging, he said. "Nothin', just not what I expected, is all."

"Well what the hell did you think it'd be?"

A beat, and then, "My first guess would have been Lucy."


"Short for Lucifer," he clarified matter-of-factly.

"Oh, hillbilly's got jokes," I drawled.

"I'm not a hillbilly."

"But you have this southern accent and—"

Of course he defended himself, even though I was right. "I'm from Wyoming; that's west."

"Did you make cheese all day, then?"

"That's Wisconsin," he pointed out.

"What's the difference?"

"Wyoming is farther west."

"That doesn't answer my question."

And it didn't, but seeing as we got back into the stable and Celia was just standing with the horse blocking the goddamn way, he went to assist her, and the conversation was over. But, as a first real conversation without Celia chirping here and there, I thought it went pretty damn well, and for the first and only time, I was kind of sort of anticipating the next lesson with a feeling that wasn't in the "please-kill-me" family.

Once he was done putting Nightingale back in its stall, Jason came back with my sister in tow.

"Bye, Jason!" Celia said, waving one hand at him while grabbing mine with her other.

"Until next week then," he replied, looking straight at me.

"I'll be counting the minutes."

The next week, I got the same proposition. But this time, Jason met us in the stables, rather than up in the riding area.

"I'm not getting on a horse," I told him adamantly.

"You'd rather just stand for an hour and a half?"

"Without a doubt."

"But you look so bored all the time."

I looked at him with wide, sarcastic eyes. "I wonder why."

"Come on, Rosa!" Celia said. "It's fun."


"Are you afraid or something?"

If he was teasing, I probably would have smacked him upside the head, but he didn't look like he was, which made me angry. Did I look like some sort of pussy to him? "I'm not afraid. Why would I ever want to ride a horse when I could just not ride a horse?"

"That makes no sense."

"I'm not getting on a fucking horse."

Celia gasped at my language, and I rolled my eyes, as I usually did.

"If you're sure," Jason replied.

Since I was relatively certain that I didn't make it seem like I had any doubts, instead of just replying, I gave him a look that clearly said are you fucking kidding me.

"Well," he said with a shrug, "I tried."

The next week, I got the same proposition. And the same argument. Same as the next week. He seemed to make it his personal mission to get me to get on a horse, even going as far as to offering me the mini horse to ride (which Celia fell in love with and rode instead) and making remarks about how lonely and bored I was. I didn't understand how he tried to make it seem like he was doing me a favor, but it didn't work, seeing as I didn't bother to acknowledge him whenever he did that.

But when he wasn't convincing me to get on a horse, however, he was unknowingly convincing me to get on him. Three guesses as to which of the two was actually working. I mean, if it wasn't enough that he was hot, he was also quite funny, which mixed well with his devastatingly good looks, slight sarcasm, and easygoing flirtation and it made me want to jump him that much more.

My infatuation with him by then, after only seven of Calia's lessons, had festered into something that I wanted to push forward. After class, I was feeling a bit thirsty, and sensing the opportunity, I asked, "Do hillbillies drink coffee?"

"I wouldn't know, because I'm not a hillbilly."

"You've worn some sort of flannel shirt every time I've seen you, and you always tuck it into your jeans," I pointed out. "But surely you must if you have to get up at 5 am every morning to ranch the farm."

"Ranchin' and farmin' are different," he informed me.

"Different names for the same thing, my friend."

He laughed slightly and shook his head. "Whatever you say."

"So, coffee," I reiterated. Hopefully he'd just say yes already so I didn't sound like some desperate whore. When he did the awkward head scratch, though, I had a feeling I knew what sort of answer was coming.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he started. "I mean I'm teachin' your sister and—"

I cut him off, not wanting to hear his excuses. If he didn't want to grab a cuppa, fine, but dumb excuses weren't cool. "Right."

"No, Rose—"

"I get it, it's fine."

"But that's not what I—"

"It's fine," I snapped.

He dropped it after that.

Jason was such a girl. Instead of trying to talk to me after class like he usually did, or trying to talk to me before as he started to do, he was very distant, staying in the ring at all times and hardly glancing at me. If I wanted to give him credit, I would have said he did it because he knew he didn't want to lead me on anymore, but in all honesty, he probably just wanted to avoid an awkward situation. Pussy.

Celia, of course, didn't notice anything. She was far too busy learning how to make her horse power walk, which by the way included a lot of bouncing that I found quite amusing to watch. Jason focused most of his attention on that, teaching her how to sit on the horse when it was going faster than a walk, but I did catch many a wayward glance from him, which I pointedly ignored or rolled my eyes at.

I mean come on, he rejected me, and yet he was the one looking at me still? It had been a week, and while rejection wasn't exactly fun, it wasn't bone-jarring either. I was over it, and after these last three or four lessons, I wouldn't even have to see him ever again in my life, unless my parents signed her up for another set of classes and bribed me with gas money if I drove her again. See, no big drama, just a bit of discomfort that would eventually pass— kind of like a burp.

But goddammit, I highly enjoyed the collective five to tenish minutes we talked per week, and had even grown to like his little accent with his "y'all"s and "ma'am"s. And then he had to go ruin everything and act like a twelve year old social reject playing spin the bottle for the first time. Fan-fucking-tastic.

By the second to last class, Celia was complaining about how she didn't get to walk Nightingale back to the stables anymore. So of course Jason, being the newfound pussy that he was, let her have her way. Which, unfortunately meant that he walked back with us. Funnily enough, she led the horse back to the stables, and I followed a safe distance behind her, and Jason a safe distance behind me. I could practically feel his eyes on the back of my head, but I didn't turn around to acknowledge it. If you asked me, this was probably more uncomfortable that just telling someone that no, I don't want to grab a some coffee with you. Whatever floats his boat. Though preferably, next time he should have his boat flow ahead of me so at least I'd have something to look at as well; it was common courtesy, and it ended up with two semi-content people, rather than one.

We parted at the stables, and Celia ran up to give him a hug for some odd reason. He gave me a polite adieu, and I just nodded, and then we were off.

The next Sunday, the last lesson, I was elated. The last morning I'd have to wake up at ungodly hours, the last morning I'd have to walk up the always muddy slope, and the last morning I'd have to deal with Jason.

Okay, maybe that last part wasn't as great as the rest, but with the way he was acting, it was pretty damn close.

Celia, as always being the complete opposite, was almost in tears as we drove down to Camp Piccu. It was her last class, she was sad, yadda yadda yadda, she didn't know what she was going to do without Nightingale, she was going to miss her best friend Jason, and even Mr. Hillbilly, who gave her the helmet and a piece of candy every lesson. And while I was sympathetic toward her (not really), I was already counting down the seconds to freedom.

The last lesson was boring, as usual. The two walked in endless circles, I thought of ways to drown myself on dry land since the whole porn anthology had taken a turn for the worse, and time ticked on as though it had nowhere to be.

Finally, they called it a day, and Celia got to walk Nightingale down to the stables again, which she didn't even have the heart to be excited about. Probably would have felt bad for her if I didn't know she'd bounce back by tomorrow.

As I pondered what Celia's next interest would be, Jason fell into step with me.

"So I was thinkin' that maybe we could grab lunch sometime," he said casually, even having the nerve to give me a hopeful smile.

I laughed, a bitter edge taking over. "Hilarious."

"I'm bein' serious."

"Me too." He put his hand on my arm, effectively stopping me. Turning to him with a glare, I snapped, "I don't know if you remember, but a few weeks ago I asked you virtually the same thing and you said no."

"If you would let me finish—"

"I would have gotten some cock-and-bull excuse."

"Actually, I would've told ya that I didn't wanna do anything when I was teachin' your sister, but that's done now."


"I'm bein' serious," he insisted, frowning.

I was highly unconvinced. "And that's why you acted as though I had the plague."

"Because I didn't think you wanted me around."

"But you ask me out anyway."

He shrugged. "It was either now, or never see ya again."

"Yeah, and I'm supposed to just—" If if wasn't his lips that cut me off, I probably would have been hella pissed. But it was, so I went along for the ride. I moved my lips against his, and he pulled me toward his solid, muscular body. It felt even better than I thought it would, and no force on earth could have stopped me from dragging my hands down his torso, into his hair, around his arms, and everywhere in-between. He groaned as I did this, and took my bottom lip into his mouth, sucking it gently in retaliation.

It wasn't having sex on the wall outside of the stable, but it was still pretty damn amazing. Even when I knew I needed air, I balled the sides of his shirt and held him closer to me. One of his hands was toying with the bottom of my shirt, cheekily touching the skin he exposed and chuckling when I gasped at the cold touch of his fingers.

He pulled away, something I could easily kill him for, and grinned. "So, lunch?"

A/N: This was written for Amy (castiel89) for A Drop of Romeo's Secret Santa back in Dacember-January. Here was the prompt:
You guys can actually have free reign concerning cliches for me. Just make the guy a smokin' hot country man! :) You know I like my sexy cowboys!