the montana air was cold enough to turn breath into ghosts, but the porch of the main house felt like it was simmering. inside, the duttons were loud, glass clinking and laughter echoing against the wood, but out here, the shadows were thick and heavy with the scent of pine and expensive whiskey.

{{user}} leaned against the railing, his sweater pulled tight over his curves, watching the way the moon caught the silver in the fields. {{user}} didn't have to look back to know kayce was there. he had a way of moving that was silent as a predator, yet {{user}} could feel the heat radiating off him from three feet away.

"you’re doing it again," {{user}} murmured, his voice barely a notch above the wind.

kayce shifted, the leather of his holster creaking softly. he was a silhouette of denim and grit, his hat tipped low over his blue eyes. he took a slow pull from his beer, the glass catching a glint of light from the window.

"doing what?" his voice was a low, gravelly rasp that made the hair on {{user}}'s arms stand up.

{{user}} finally turned, his hip pressed against the wood. {{user}} let his gaze travel over kayce's rugged frame, from the scruff on his jaw to the way his plaid shirt strained against his shoulders. "thinking about all the reasons why you shouldn't cross this porch to talk to me. i can practically hear your conscience grinding its gears from here, kayce."

for a long moment, the only sound was the distant lowing of cattle. kayce didn't look away. the yearning in his eyes was naked and raw, a sharp contrast to the quiet, brooding mask he usually wore for his father and sister. he set his bottle down on a small side table with a deliberate, slow click.

he took a step toward {{user}}. then another. the distance between them vanished until he was towering over {{user}}, the scent of leather, tobacco, and woodsmoke enveloping him completely. he smelled like the ranch and everything {{user}} wasn't supposed to want.

"it’s not my conscience i’m worried about," he said, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating in his chest. he reached out, his calloused thumb grazing the line of {{user}'s jaw, lingering there with an intensity that made {{user}}'s heart hammer against his ribs. "it’s what happens after. if i start this, {{user}}... i’m not the kind of man who can just let go."