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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

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VI ║ Mustang

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 5: Appaloosa | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: On the fifth day, you leave the Halfway House behind, and the conversation turns homeward.

Warnings: Angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, sexual innuendoes, oral sex (m and f receiving), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: I toyed with the idea of shortening the series by one part, but then - why would I? I want to give these two as much time as they deserve on this trip, so we have three more chapters after this. Enjoy my darlin's!

Mustang: An American feral horse which is typically small and lightly built.

It hits you a bit belatedly the next morning over breakfast - wholewheat toast with Poppy’s own churned butter and homemade jam - that it’s your fifth day on the trail.

You dread to wrap your head around what that means. Today is the penultimate full day on the road. On the seventh, you head back to the ranch for your final night, and the next day, you fly home.

The realisation steals your breath for a second, and you sip pensively on the fresh orange juice that Jack squeezed by hand.

You know he senses there’s something on your mind. You feel his eyes on you as you wash up the dishes while he does a final sweep of the house to make sure everything is in order, pausing every time he passes through the kitchen to press sweet kisses to the side of your neck.

Running out of excuses to linger, you make your way to the front door, the sound of your boots echoing hollowly in the living room, as empty as it was when you stepped into it two days ago.

Except - it’s not really empty, is it? When so much has happened since?

You trace a finger on the kitchen counter where Jack made you dinner, drag your feet past the fireplace where you shared cake and confessions, and now you stand on the porch where he made you cry out his name into the dark of night.

The door shuts behind you with a heavy finality that physically weighs down your feet as you trudge towards the horses.

Does any of this mean as much to him as it does to you?

Can it mean anything? You have three days left before you’re thousands of miles away, back to a crowded downtown studio apartment that barely has space for just you, let alone a cowboy, and a life that has no time for horses.

And here? There will be another rider in Scotch’s saddle next week, someone else taking your place by the evening fire and the bed you slept in - you bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from extrapolating any further than that.

Jack looks up at you. ‘Got everythin’, darlin’?’

You put on a brave smile. ‘Got everything, cowboy.’

Scotch nuzzles you affectionately on the shoulder as you watch Jack finish up securing the last of the bags on Bourbon. Frowning at your forlorn expression, Jack He chucks you under the chin and reassures you, ‘The house will be here when you come back, darlin’.’

When.

Not if, but when.

It makes you smile.

While the shortcut is a less spectacular route as Jack forewarned, it’s still beautiful. Alternately cutting through swathes of flat land and dense forest, it’s certainly a less travelled path. There are parts of the track where Jack has to dismount to clear the overgrown vegetation, hacking away at wayward branches, so that you can go through.

After a whole day in the house - albeit a very good day - you’re happy to be in the open country again. You revel in the sun, your body loose and relaxed in the warmth, filling your lungs with the fresh scent of grass, trees and wildflowers.

Jack watches you from under the brim of his hat with a smile as you reach up while passing by a low-hanging tree, picking a bunch of flowers to tuck behind Scotch’s ears under the browband.

As much as he wants to push it out of his mind, his body is precisely finetuned to the schedule on the trail. Day five is when guests start to look back and reminisce, and he usually leads the charge with questions such as, do you remember what we saw on day three? Wasn’t that a treat?

Except this time, he doesn’t.

Instead, he holds his tongue, and the two of you ride quietly, side by side, letting the gentle rippling of grass in the wind and chipper birdsong do the talking.

And he watches you. No more furtive glances and stolen moments. He watches you openly and freely, catching your eye with a grin.

He wants to remember you in the sun. Your back straight, but hips swaying to the rhythm of the horse. How gently your hands hold the reins, softly attuned to the horse’s mouth. The way you chatter to Scotch, and the punch he feels in his gut when you turn over your shoulder to smile at him.

He’ll make damn sure he remembers all that.

Over a simple lunch - a much needed respite after the relentless feasting at the Halfway House - Jack mentions that the two of you will have to keep up the pace in the afternoon to get to the next camp by sundown.

A bit fresh from the unexpected lieu day, Whiskey and Scotch keep trying to one up each other, nipping competitively for the lead. Bourbon, laid back as ever, is content to trail behind.

On a particularly flat stretch of land, you turn to Jack and ask, ‘Since we’re on the clock, how about a little race?’

He arches an eyebrow at your suggestion. ‘A race? So I get something if I win?’

You put on a coy smile and drag out the syllables teasingly. ‘Maybe.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

With a lopsided grin, you lean towards him and answer, ‘If you win, I’ll suck your cock, cowboy.’

His mouth parts at your unexpected proposal, his grip on the reins tightening, but he otherwise keeps his composure. Running the pink tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, he rasps, ‘And what do you want if you win, darlin’?’

‘What’s your best offer?’

Nudging Whiskey straight into Scotch’s side so that he can hook an arm around your waist, he purrs in your ear. ‘If you beat me, I’ll eat your sweet pussy.’

Turning to press your lips to his in a messy kiss, you grin. ‘You’re on, cowboy.’

There’s something magical - almost sacred - about galloping at full speed on the open prairie.

Born and bred in the city, you’ve only done this maybe once or twice when you were younger, on family holidays in the rural backwaters. But damn, it never gets old.

The wind whistles in your ears as Scotch zooms across the plain. Despite the adrenaline of the competition, you are mindful to keep your contact on the bit soft, following the movement of his head so that he can move comfortably at full stretch. As it turns out, it’s surprisingly easy to sit in the Western saddle in the gallop, and you let your hips sway to the smooth gait.

Ever the gentleman, Jack does give you a headstart, but not by much. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him level with you already. Catching your gaze, he gives you a cheeky wink before yelling yeehaw - at the command, Whiskey switches gear and starts to effortlessly overtake you.

Jack ends up beating you by a few comfortable horse lengths. Miffed as you are, you appreciate the fact that he doesn’t condescend you by letting you win.

He’s jumped off by the time you arrive at the designated finish line, the beginnings of the forest that you’ll be crossing through to get to tonight’s campsite. Both man and horse are panting from the effort, and Jack doesn’t bother hiding his smugness when he flashes you a grin.

‘Good try, darlin’,’ he winks, passing you a water bottle when you dismount.

You snatch it from him and take a big gulp, before tossing it onto the grass and grabbing him by the deep, open V of his plaid shirt.

‘Shut up, cowboy,’ you gripe and yank him in for a frantic kiss.

He groans, clearly taken aback when you reach decisively for his flask-shaped belt buckle, opening it with a clink, no hesitation in the way you unzip the front of his jeans and snake your fingers beneath his boxers. Pulling back, he hesitates, ‘Wait, darlin’ - now?’

‘Yeah, now,’ you insist breathlessly, feeling him harden in your grasp.

‘I should probably clean up first,’ he protests weakly, but lets you back him up against a tree a safe distance away from the horses.

‘Uh-uh,’ you tut with a shake of your head and sink to your knees, the leather of your boots creaking as you settle onto your haunches. ‘Want you like this, cowboy.’

He hisses at the drag of your nails against his skin as you pull his jeans down, his cock bobbing heavily when released from the confines of his boxers. You breathe him in - leather and sweat - and his eyes smoulder at the sight of your fingers wrapping around his length, something feral in the snarl on his lips.

‘Fuck, darlin’, so desperate for my cock, aren’t you?’

You nod and a shiver chases down your spine. ‘Want you in my mouth so badly.’

Sliding his grip into your hair, he instructs, ‘Open those pretty lips for me. Wide.’

You do as you’re told, your pussy clenching at the tone of his voice that veers on dominant. Gripping the base of his cock, Jack guides the swollen, leaking tip between your lips, letting out an unsteady exhale. The sound swerves into a whine when he meets resistance halfway in.

‘That’s it, darlin’, feels so good,’ he praises you, a deep furrow on his brow as he draws back slowly. ‘Will you let me fuck your mouth? Hmm?’

You hum in acqueise, digging your nails into his naked thighs and hoping he gets the message.

‘So good for me,’ he growls as he pushes back in, inch by torturous inch. He fills you so completely that tears begin to sting the seam of your lashes, and with each smooth roll of his hips, one deeper than the last, you choke as you try to breathe around his girth.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ croons Jack above you, stroking the hinge of your jaw with a tender thumb, groaning when it unlocks and he slips in unexpectedly deeply. ‘Oh fuck, that’s it, beautiful. So gorgeous with my cock in your mouth. Look at me, darlin’.’

Peering up at him through your lashes, you decide that you like this view - a lot.

He’s still wearing his cowboy hat, which casts half of his face in shadow, but there’s no missing the flush on his cheeks, his jaw hanging open in panting breaths. Sweat has soaked through the front of his shirt, gaping open down to the middle of his sternum. Dappled shadows filtered through the treetops dance across his tanned skin, his chest rising and falling quickly.

His narrow hips buck as he slips in deeper, almost too deep, and you start to really feel the burn on your jaw as his cock stretches your mouth again and again, hitting the back of your throat. Drool begins to leak from the corner of your lips as you try to take all of him, struggling for air when it gets too much.

Tears blur your vision and you gag, retreating with a wet pop, whining at the loss of his weight on your tongue.

Seemingly jolted back to himself, Jack thumbs your cheek apologetically, shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry, darlin’. I got carried away -’

‘Don’t, I liked it,’ you smile up at him almost drunkenly, pumping his length in languid strokes, so soaked in your spit that your grip nearly skids off him. ‘But now, I want to suck your cock.’

Basking in the sight of him biting his bottom lip and nodding frantically, the dynamics swing right around the very moment you slot your mouth over his length, and you swallow him whole.

Jack’s body language changes immediately, slumping against the tree behind him, choking out a low groan as you simply hold him there for a long beat. ‘Fuck, darlin’. Yes. Please.’

If you’re not already wet, you definitely are now from the muttered words of desperation that fall from his lips as you bob your head up and down his cock. You pace yourself, keeping a steady rhythm while Jack stammers incoherently above you, knowing that it will keep him on edge but not enough for him to finish. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re enjoying the way he’s begging you to take him harder, deeper, far too much.

‘Darlin’, need to cum. Fuck, need it,’ pants Jack, shoulders almost hunched over, as if in pain. ‘Just a bit harder, please, suck me harder, oh god -’

When his knees start to shake under your fingertips, and when his begging tapers off to disjointed whimpers, you finally look up at him.

Oh, but he is wrecked. Your cunt leaks as you take in his flared nostrils, lips pulled back into a pained snarl, pupils blown beyond recognition. Cupping your jaw in one big hand, he slurs, ‘Please darlin’, can I cum? Let me fill your mouth?’

A shudder runs through you and, holding his gaze, you hollow out your cheeks and suck, drawing a shout from Jack as he scrabbles for purchase, his fingers twisting into your hair almost painfully. Tightening your grip around the base of his cock, you fist him firmly while swallowing as much of him as you can, up and down, until you feel him swell on your tongue, just as he starts to tremble above you.

‘Oh god, oh fuck that’s it, I’m gonna cum, darlin’,’ he rambles brokenly, head falling backwards and opening up his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he babbles. ‘I’m gonna cum for you, I’m gonna - fuck, fuck, fuuuck -’

The first spurt almost takes you by surprise, hitting the back of your throat thick and salty. You moan around him at the taste, chasing him when his hips jerk and writhe as he empties himself on your tongue, until he has nothing left - your name on his lips as he catches his breath.

Jack stares down at you with dazed eyes, a groan deep in his chest when he spots the cum that pools white and sticky between your swollen lips.

His voice is surprisingly steady when he orders, ‘Swallow, darlin’.’

You do, before he hauls you up onto your feet to kiss you.

The stars look different from where you sit nestled between his legs, head tucked under his chin, leaning back against the steady beat of his heart.

Jack’s zipped the two sleeping bags together to make a double, a log behind him to prop himself up. One blanket he wraps around his shoulders with the ends draped over you, and the other you’re tucked under cosily.

Having done this job for nine years, he knows there’s a natural rhythm to the pack trips. On the fifth night, inevitable as gravity, the fireside conversation turns to home. But with you ensconced snugly where you are, like the space was made for you, Jack can’t bring himself to ask you that.

Turns out you’d ask him first.

‘So, do you get time off after working a whole week?’

‘Yeah, I get three days off after each pack trip.’

‘What do you do?’

He rattles off his usual to-do list. ‘Catch up on sleep, go into town for a haircut, fix my bike -’

With a bark of laughter, you sit up and toss him a look of incredulity over your shoulder. ‘Your what?’

‘My bike. My motorcycle - Silver Pony.’

‘You have a motorcycle? And you named it Silver Pony?’

With a playful growl, he tightens his grip around your waist, making you squeal. ‘Why are you laughin’?’

‘It’s just such a cutesy name.’

‘It’s a very sexy bike, I’ll have you know.’

‘Do all the ladies swoon when you roar into town on it?’ you quip dryly.

He chuckles. ‘You bet they do.’

Shifting in your seat, you probe, ‘So - what’s in town?

‘Not much. Even less for a city girl like you.’

‘Where would you take me? Give me the whistle-stop tour.’

‘Well,’ he pauses and considers. ‘I’ll take you to the diner for dinner. Then we can go catch a movie at the cinema. We can make out in the back row, ‘cause no one is ever there.’

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘Done it before, cowboy?’

He grins. ‘Jealous?’

To his surprise, you answer evenly, ‘Not particularly - I don’t think anyone’s ever had you to themselves like I have these few days.’

His chest swells at the easy surety of your tone. Where has that confidence come from? Sure, there’s always been flashes of that boldness under the tentative surface, even from day one. But this is something else. Now that the shyness has lifted, a knowing assurance has taken its place - one that’s making his jeans uncomfortably tight.

He nuzzles the column of your neck, making you squirm as his moustache tickles your sensitive skin. ‘That’s right, darlin’, ain’t you a lucky girl.’

You pause. ‘And - do you ever go on vacation?’

‘I take Whiskey out to the mountains every year in the fall. Sometimes Teak tags along with Jameson.’

‘But what about a city escape?’

He hums noncommittally, but a smile tugs at his lips as he rests his chin on your shoulder. ‘Can’t say I have, darlin’.’

‘Would you like to?’

‘Depends,’ he teases. ‘What is there for a country boy like me to do in the big, scary city?’

You tick off each option on your fingers. ‘Museums, galleries, shopping, music -’

‘Don’t know. Sounds loud and crowded,’ he grunts.

You roll your eyes. ‘Fine. We could just stay in and order takeaway. There’s the best Thai takeaway round the corner from my apartment.’

‘Alright. Keep going.’

Peering at him from the corner of your eye, you add, ‘We can have lots of sex.’

At that, he perks up. ‘Really?’

You smirk, winding one arm around his neck and brushing your nose against his. ‘So much sex, cowboy. I probably won’t let you leave the bed -’

Your squeal trails off into a bark of laughter when Jack flips you onto your back, but your breath is quickly knocked out of you when his soft lips latch onto the spot behind your ear, the one that he’s noticed you always tremble at. His blunt nails scrape their way up your inner thighs, and he senses the tremble rippling under your skin.

What he says next catches you off guard.

‘That night on your birthday, you hesitated when I asked to taste you. Why?’

Jack smiles when you don’t stiffen like you did that night at his question, but still, you dither, teeth worrying your bottom lip.

Freeing it with a swipe of his thumb, he smiles down at you reassuringly. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me, but I gotta tell you - fuck, I want to eat your gorgeous pussy.’ He pauses and smirks when he feels you shudder at his words, your eyes darkening. ‘I want to know what you taste like, want to slip my tongue deep into your cunt when you cum -’

‘Jack,’ you whine, hitching your knees around his hips in search of friction.

‘You’ll like that, won’t you?’ he teases, tonguing your earlobe. ‘God, I want to suck on your clit, see how wet I can make you with just my mouth.’

‘Touch me, cowboy,’ you plead, shoving your sleep pants and underwear down to your knees. ‘Please.’

He rips the bottoms off impatiently and opens you wide with hands on your ankles, groaning at the wetness he sees between your legs. He doesn’t want to push you, but he has to know. ‘Gotta tell me darlin’ - you want me to use my mouth?’

Vulnerability lurks beneath the frenetic glassiness in your eyes, and you swallow thickly in a confession. ‘I - it’s hard for me to cum from oral sex. My ex - he always got frustrated when he tried and well, it was just easier to not do it.’

You jump when Jack’s rough palms smooth over the outside of your thighs, a question in his soft eyes. ‘Would you like me to try, darlin’?’

You shift. ‘But - what if I can’t cum?’

‘Well, luckily, I seem to be able to make you cum in other ways,’ he replies with an easy wink to diffuse the tension in your body. ‘You don’t have to cum from oral sex, darlin’, and I won’t get frustrated if you don’t.’

You blink up at him. ‘Promise?’

‘I promise,’ he says, leaning his forehead into yours. ‘And I promise, it will feel good even if you don’t cum from just my mouth.’

Running your nails through the dark strands of his hair that brush his eyes, you take a deep breath and nod. ‘Okay, Jack.’

Catching your hand and pressing a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm, he says, ‘You can tell me to stop anytime, okay?’

You can’t help adding with a quirk of your lips, ‘Yes, sir.’

The fire paints the cowboy in orange and shadow as he makes himself comfortable in the cradle of your thighs. His hair glistens when it catches the light, still drying from his shower earlier. You watch the reflections of the flames flicker over his serious eyes, down his straight nose, past his tidy moustache and to his wickedly curled lips.

Your breath hitches of its own accord.

He really is beautiful. This is beautiful. Having this man all to yourself in the open wilderness, so eager to please you, under the blanket of inky darkness with only the milky way as witness - you’ve never known anything like this.

Jack starts slow. His breath skates over your sensitive skin as he presses leisurely kisses to your inner thighs, some with a scrape of teeth, some chaste, but with just enough heat behind them to draw you into rolling your hips in search of his lips.

‘Cowboy,’ you berate him half-heartedly, burying your hands into his brown locks and pulling.

‘Patience, darlin’,’ he murmurs, but he moves upwards so that his exhale brushes over your bare folds. Gently, he ghosts a finger over your slit, the almost contact making you cry out. ‘How much more soaked can this pussy get without me actually touching it, I wonder?’

‘Don’t tease, Jack,’ you seethe, fists hitting the sleeping bag underneath you in frustration.

He tuts, an insolent smile on his lips, before carefully pulling apart the outer creases of your folds with the tips of his index fingers, opening up your cunt to his gaze. He groans at the sopping squelch of the movement. ‘Fuckin’ drenched already for me already. How?’

‘Jack. Please.’

Slinking onto his front unhurriedly, as if he has all the time in the world, Jack hooks your knees over his strong shoulders, nudging his nose against your weeping seam and breathes in deep. He way he moans has you clenching around nothing in anticipation. ‘Fuck, you smell so sweet, darlin’.’

‘Jack!’ you can’t hold back the pathetic sob that bubbles up from your throat, trembling so hard you need his solid weight to anchor you to the ground. ‘Please, want your mouth, now -’

Your words morph into a mewl when Jack’s lips, wet and cool, finally make landing with a gratuitously loud suckle of your clit, which has your back arching clean off the pillowy sleeping bag underneath.

He takes it slow - so slow, almost too slow - his broad tongue (is there any part of him that isn’t?) questing deep into the pliant ridges of your cunt, tirelessly discovering nerve points that make you keen and wringing needy whimpers from you. His shoulders under your knees hold you open as you shudder and squirm beneath him.

‘Jack,’ you pant, the stars above you blurry one second and sharply focused the next as he laves your clit studiously.

‘Yes, darlin’?’ he slurs against your pussy, not really expecting an answer. Instead, he pushes up the sleep shirt you have on, baring your tits to the cool night air. He moans into you and reaches up to squeeze them before teasing the tips, which only makes you push your hips into his face harder, earning a satisfied grunt from him.

Fidgety fingers curl into the fabric of shirt on his back, the air wrangled clean out of you as you watch his eyes flutter shut, a deep frown of concentration creasing his brow when he drags the flat of his tongue over you again and again, patiently building a rhythm that has you writhing. The blankets twist into knots between the gaps in your fingers, patches damp with your wetness cold against your skin.

Slippery with Jack’s spit and what he coaxes from you, your thighs quake when he rubs his moustache on the soft flesh. You watch the sodden bottom of the dark hairs smear the slick over you, sticky and messy, and that’s when you feel it - a crest rearing its head deep within you. Slack-jawed, you hold on for dear life, clinging to it as it swells. Air leaves you in shallow pants as his palms tighten their grip on you, anchoring you to his mouth so he can lap at you with unwavering intensity, a solemn determination to chase that high that has long alluded you.

When you do break apart on his tongue, the first time in too many years to count, it’s with a spine-shattering scream of his name that rips apart the stillness of the night, your gasps and pleads riding the evening breeze.

The echoes of your voice sail across the empty grasslands, carrying in the thin night air, and ring into the open arms of the mountains, where Jack wishes - no, where he prays - he could keep you.

Notes: These two have earned this filth, haven't they? I'm having the best time just writing them being horny AF for each other on the open plains, while weaving in the angst as the clock ticks down. Thank you everyone for your patience, I hope you enjoyed this update, and as always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🧡

Horsey notes: I galloped for the first time just a couple of years ago (no such opportunity for a city girl), in the shadows of the magnificent Pyramids of Giza first thing in the morning on a gorgeous Arabian horse. It was a magical moment that has stayed with me, and truly one of my favourite memories ever. I have never been so grateful for our four-legged friends than I was in that moment, flying over the golden sands.

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