Chapter 8: Mechanical Bull Lessons
The hot Texas sun was a brutal spotlight on Noah’s shame the next afternoon. He’d worked it out on the ropes, his muscles screaming as he practiced his tie-down roping on the dusty dummy calves until his shirt was plastered to his back. Work was the only penance he knew.
He was coiling his lariat, the hemp rough and familiar in his palms, when a shadow fell across the dusty floor of the practice barn. He looked up, squinting against the sun slashing through the high windows.
Taichi stood there, soccer cleats dangling from one hand, a gym bag over his shoulder. He looked out of place amidst the tack and hay, like a sleek modern sculpture dropped in a museum of old tools.
“Hey,” Taichi said, his voice tentative.
“Hey.” Noah’s own voice came out gruffer than he intended. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, suddenly hyper-aware of his own grimy state. The ghost from the bar last night was now flesh and bone, standing ten feet away.“Sorry to just… I was cutting through from the field. Saw you working.” Taichi gestured vaguely.He shifted his weight. “You’re really good.”
Noah shrugged, the praise landing on him like a weight.“Just practice. What’s up?”
A long pause.The barn was quiet except for the lazy buzz of a fly. Taichi’s eyes, warm and dark, scanned the space—the saddles on their racks, the worn leather, the scent of animals and effort.“It’s different,” Taichi finally said. “From soccer.All this… equipment.The animals. I don’t know.” He let out a short, self-conscious laugh.“I guess I was just curious. Seems like a whole other world.”
Something in Noah loosened, just a fraction.Curiosity he understood.It was safe ground. “Ain’t that far from sports, really. Just you and a half-ton of attitude, tryin’ to stay on for eight seconds.”
Taichi smiled, a real one this time, that softened the careful neutrality of his face.“The staying-on part I get. The half-ton of attitude, not so much.”
Noah found himself returning the smile. It felt easier than the one he’d given Kelsey. “C’mon.” The word was out before he could think.He nodded toward the back of the barn, past the stalls. “Got a trainer over here. No attitude, I promise.”
He led the way, the silence between them now a comfortable, curious thing instead of a heavy one. In a dim, dusty storage room, beside a pile of old saddle pads, stood the mechanical bull. It was an older model, a hulking metal beast with a fake leather saddle, its painted hide chipped and faded.Taichi raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”
“Scared, Yagami?” Noah hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, falling into the easy, teasing tone he used with his rodeo buddies. It was a mask, but it fit better here.“Of that?Please. I’ve faced down defenders twice as ugly.” Taichi dropped his bag and stepped closer, eyeing the machine with a player’s assessment.“How does it work?”
Noah hit a switch on a greasy control box. The bull hummed to life, a low electric vibration that stirred the dust at their feet. “It’s on a low setting.Just sways. Try it.”
Taichi looked from the bull to Noah, a challenge in his eyes. He vaulted onto the saddle with an athlete’s easy grace, but his posture was all wrong—stiff, upright, like he was on a bicycle.Noah snorted.“You look like a statue gettin’ a piggyback ride. Loosen up. Gotta move with it, not against it.” He reached out without thinking, putting a hand on Taichi’s back to demonstrate a rocking motion. The heat of Taichi’s body, even through his thin practice shirt, seared Noah’s palm. He pulled his hand back as if shocked.
“I don’t think it’s working,” Taichi said, his voice tight with concentration as the bull began a slow, circular sway.
“Hold on.” Noah’s mouth was dry. The idea arrived fully formed, a dangerous, thrilling dare he made to himself.“Here. Lemme show you.”
Before his better sense could catch up, he stepped up onto the bull’s base, swung a leg over, and settled into the saddle behind Taichi.The space was immediately, profoundly intimate.His chest pressed against Taichi’s back. His thighs framed Taichi’s hips. He felt Taichi’s entire body go rigid, then exhale, a shaky breath that Noah felt more than heard.
“Noah, what—”
“Just hold on,” Noah murmured, his voice dropping.It wasn’t the teaching voice he’d planned. It was something lower, rougher. He reached around, his calloused hands covering Taichi’s where they gripped the fake rope.“Hands here.Not so tight. You’re strangleholdin’ it.”
Taichi’s fingers were long, finely boned. Under Noah’s, they relaxed minutely. The scent of clean sweat and grass from Taichi’s soccer practice cut through the barn’s dust. It was the ghost scent from the bar, made real.“Now,” Noah said, his lips close to Taichi’s ear. He could see the fine hairs at his temple, the curve of his ear.“You gotta move from your hips. Like this.”
He nudged the control box with his boot, upping the speed a notch. The bull jerked, then settled into a faster, deeper buck.
Taichi gasped, his body lurching backward flush against Noah. Noah’s arms tightened instinctively, bracing them both, becoming a solid band of muscle around Taichi’s torso. With every jolt, every twist of the machine, their bodies slid and pressed together.Noah’s chin brushed Taichi’s shoulder. The heat between them was immense, a living thing. Noah’s mind, so loud with guilt and want, went perfectly, blissfully blank. There was only this: the strain in his arms, the beat of his own heart against Taichi’s spine, the incredible feeling of another man’s body moving in sync with his own.
“I’m gonna fall,” Taichi breathed, but he didn’t sound afraid.
“No you ain’t,” Noah said, the words vibrating through his chest into Taichi’s back.“I got you.”
And he did. For three more escalating, rhythmic bucks, he held on. Taichi’s head tilted back, just slightly, coming to rest in the hollow of Noah’s shoulder. The world narrowed to the points of contact: chest to back, thighs against thighs, the grip of their intertwined hands on the rope.
Then the bull gave a violent, simulated twist.Taichi’s grip slipped. Noah’s own balance failed. They tumbled off together in a tangle of limbs, hitting the thick crash mat with a heavy thud.The machine whirred to a stop. In the sudden, ringing silence, they lay there, panting. Noah was half-sprawled on top of Taichi, one leg pinned between his, his face inches from Taichi’s. Taichi’s brown eyes were wide, dark pools reflecting the dim light and Noah’s own stunned expression. His lips were parted, his breath coming fast.A fine layer of dust clung to his cheekbone.
Noah saw the want there.Raw, unmasked, and mirroring everything churning inside his own gut. It was the most terrifying and beautiful thing he’d ever seen.He didn’t move. He couldn’t. The air crackled, thick with everything unsaid, every forbidden thought given form by the warmth of Taichi’s body beneath his.
Then, a loud clang echoed from the main barn—a stable hand dropping a bucket.The spell shattered.
Noah scrambled up like he’d been burned, his face hot. He offered a hand, but couldn’t meet Taichi’s eyes. Taichi took it, his grip firm and brief, and pulled himself up.He brushed the dust from his clothes, a methodical, careful motion.
“That’s… harder than it looks,” Taichi said, his voice unnaturally even.
“Yeah,” Noah managed, staring at the dormant bull.The place where their bodies had been pressed felt cold, abandoned. “Takes practice.”
Another heavy silence descended. The dust motes swirled in the slanted light, witnesses to what had almost happened.
“I should go,” Taichi said, picking up his bag.“Practice film to watch.”
“Right.Yeah.”
At the doorway, Taichi paused. He looked back, his expression once again guarded, the polite smile back in place. But his eyes held a question, a turmoil that matched Noah’s own.“Thanks,” Taichi said. “For the lesson.”
Noah just nodded, his throat too tight for words. He watched Taichi walk away, the clean lines of his retreating figure swallowed by the bright sunlight outside. The imprint of his body, the memory of his weight and warmth, lingered on Noah’s skin like a brand.