In A Month Of Sundays

Aug 06, 2010 14:04


Title: In A Month Of Sundays

Pairing: Usutu/Matt

Rating: Pg-13

Word Count: 4001

Summary: Matt just wanted to start a peaceful, quiet life on the farm. So he doesn’t understand why someone who barely speaks to him can get his feathers so ruffled all the time.

A/N: This fic was requested by an anon at the Summer Matt-a-thon. I hope it was what they wanted. Thank you to my awesome beta kethni for going over this for me.


The road to the Petrelli farm had sunflowers growing alongside it, tall and bright and welcoming to the eye.  They waved to the stranger walking past, a golden-yellow howdy-do that made him smile and tip his hat. The man’s shoes were caked in dust and hard travel; his clothes looked like they’d seen more than one rough wash in a creek, his bag of belongings had a few decades of wear and tear, and his hat seemed held together by sheer stubbornness. No one would call him handsome per say, but there was something in his large frame and warm brown eyes that could draw a body in, like a simmering stew on a cold winter night.

As the sun drew up to full noon, the sound of a wagon caught the man’s attention. He turned around to see a two-horse rig and cart plodding up the road behind him; his thumb stuck out in a hitchhiker position like a reflex.  The cart pulled up beside him soon enough, revealing a dark-skinned man with impenetrable eyes looking down at him from the driver’s seat.

“Morning! You heading near the Petrelli place by any chance?” The driver stared at him for a moment, nodded once, and motioned for him to climb aboard. The stranger gingerly plopped his bag in the back and clambered up next to the driver with a thankful “Much obliged, sir” that made the driver’s eyes narrow imperceptibly.  With a click of the mouth and a slap of the reins, the cart started off again.

“Stroke of luck, you coming along. Didn’t think I’d make it before sundown, rate I was going.”

“…”

“So uh, guess you’re from near a ways?”

“Mhmm.”

“Aah. Name’s Parkman. Matt Parkman.”

“…”

“I was hoping the Petrellis might have work…”

“Mmm.”

Since it seemed to be getting him nowhere in a hurry, Matt decided to give up on conversation for the time being. The driver had this air about him, like only his body was truly occupying the space and his spirit was somewhere very far away. He wore no hat, and the sun gleamed dully from his bald head. He was shorter than Matt, and much thinner to boot, but the way he held himself whispered that he was certainly no pushover.

Matt twisted his hands together in his lap and suppressed the urge to crack a joke or two to ease the sudden tension.  The silence continued to hang heavy for the rest of the ride, sending goosebumps along Matt’s skin. The driver only looked ahead; Matt watched him sidelong and swore the man hardly blinked. Even the friendly sunflowers seemed to be looking away from them as they passed by.

Just when Matt considered walking the rest of the way, the cart crested a hill. Sure enough, the Petrelli farm sprawled over most of the valley, a shining testament of plenty. Matt couldn’t help but grin. All he had to do now was get a job and he could finally start anew.

The cart rumbled on as late afternoon sunlight gently illuminated the fields in front of them. As they got closer,  Matt could see men and women working, hoeing corn, weeding rows of carrots, and herding livestock. They laughed and called out to each other, seemingly happy in their work. This was just what he wanted: simplicity.

“Are you truly making the right choice?” Matt found himself startled out of his revelry by the sound of the driver’s voice. His voice was accented, from somewhere Matt couldn’t place. It carried the grave warning of a guide from a fairy tale or a ghost story, all at once protective and frightening. The goosebumps returned full force, and it took him a moment to gather his wits enough to reply.

“I, ah, well yes. It’s honest work, and I…” Matt cursed himself for faltering. The driver glanced over at him, his gaze weighty and piercing. When he looked away, Matt released the breath he’d been holding. They pulled up to a small whitewashed building with a simple screen door and sounds of life coming from the inside. A few men sat on crates outside, and they all showed a keen interest in the stranger in their midst.

The driver pulled to a stop. “This is your destination, Matt Parkman.” Matt tipped his hat, reached back to grab his bag, and hopped off the cart. Before he could say so such as a thank you, the cart pulled off again, leaving him unsure if he somehow made the man angry or if he was that brusque with most people. With a small shrug, he turned to the building, waving hello to the gentlemen eyeing him up.

“Afternoon, sirs. Where would I go to inquire about a job?” Matt did his best to look humble and friendly, in case he rubbed these people off the wrong way as well. To his relief, they all had a smile for him. One young man with a bundle of enthusiasm and an abundance of hair bounced up to Matt, looking for all the world like an excitable puppy.

“Hey, no need to be so formal! Don’t let old Turtle scare you; he’s always kinda quiet and spooky. You’re looking for a job? Come in and see Bennet, he’ll fix you right up. My name’s Peter. What’s yours?” Matt let Peter lead him inside, but he held up a hand for silence.

“Name’s Parkman, Matt Parkman…who’s Turtle? Was he the one driving the cart?” Peter nodded and was about to launch into another burst of chatter when a man in spectacles walked into the main room.

“Afternoon. I’m guessing you’re here to see if we’re hiring, since I’ve never seen you before and you don’t come off as a salesman.”

“Yes, sir. Would you be Mr. Bennet? I’m-”

“-Parkman. I heard. Have a seat, yes, over there. Ever worked on a farm before?”

“Only once, during the summer. An orange grove. But I’m no stranger to hard work. You show me what needs doing and it gets done.”

“Got any family?”

“…no, sir.”

“Know anything about livestock?”

“I…no,sir. But I learn fast.”

“I see.” There was pregnant pause. “How did you get here?”

“Walked mostly, but then…Turtle? He gave me a lift the rest of the way.”

“Oh. Did he? How much did you pay him?”

“I didn’t sir. He let me hitchhike.” This drew a shocked grasp from Peter, but he clapped a hand over his mouth. Bennet stared at Matt like he had two heads, and he wondered if he said the wrong thing.

“The pay’s not much. Forty cents a day, meals free and a bed to sleep in.”

“What more could I need?”

“The Petrelli’s don’t tolerate drunkenness or rowdy behavior.” Peter snorted at that, but a sharp glance from Bennet quickly quieted him. “Sunday is a day of rest, but there’s no pay for that day either, understand?”

“Does this mean I’m hired, sir?”

“On a trial basis, but if you work as hard as you claim, it’ll be a breeze.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The first week on the farm was a blur of muscle aches and strange odors. Matt never knew that it could be so difficult to learn the difference between herbs and weeds, or the proper way to milk a cow.  For some reason, he had the impression that cows were placid, stupid things. Nearly getting trampled two mornings in a row taught him differently.

Fortunately, on the third morning of milking duty, Matt noticed that Turtle was bailing sweet hay in the stalls for the cows to eat. At least if one of them kicked him to death there would be someone there to collect his corpse.

“Morning! You’re Turtle, right?

“Most call me that.” Matt blinked in surprise, not really expecting a multi-syllable answer.

“I wanted to thank you. For giving me a lift the other day.”

“Today is not appropriate. I will let you know when.”
Something about that made Matt’s stomach clench, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. The way he said it was so matter of fact and blunt that Matt couldn’t decide if he was being rude or not. Turtle’s face was inscrutable as ever, so Matt did the only logical thing he could do.

“…woah. What’s that supposed to mean?” Matt crossed his arms, giving the shorter man a stern gaze. For some reason, Turtle just looked over his hostile stance, shook his head a little, and went back to work without missing a beat.

“What it means, Matt Parkman, is that I have done you a favor. If you wish to thank me, then I will let you know when I want the favor returned. Is this not how it is usually done?”

“Uh…yeah. It is. I just wasn’t sure what you meant. Sorry.” Matt deflated, suddenly a little embarrassed by his defensiveness. A farm was no place for impulsive behavior, and he genuinely wanted to get along with everyone if he could. With a short sigh, he plopped himself down on the milking stool and dragged his bucket underneath a cow udder.

“Let’s get on without a fuss this morning, ‘kay Bessie girl?” The cow gave Matt a very unimpressed look. Matt wasn’t more than a few squirts in when he felt a light hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Turtle standing behind him; without a word he crouched down and pulled Matt’s hands away from the udder and replaced it with his own.

“That grip will deform the cow. Two fingers, from the top, pull firmly.” Turtle demonstrated, producing a steady stream of milk into the bucket. Matt watched with rapt attention. “Your way,” Turtle gripped the entire udder and tugged, “makes air in the tip and makes the cow angry.”

Matt could feel himself flush, but a niggling part of his brain said it wasn’t entirely from embarrassment. He copied Turtle’s method, and was delighted when he also got a good result. His teacher nodded once before getting back on his feet. The cow made a low mewling noise, and when Matt turned around to thank him for the lesson, Turtle had disappeared again. For some reason, Matt was a little disappointed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It took until Matt’s second Saturday on the farm before he finally found his rhythm. He was on his way to the slophouse for dinner when he felt someone jump on his back. He stumbled to the sound of good-natured laughter and found himself surrounded by a group of men and women. The jumping culprit was Peter; with him were Gabriel, HiroandAndo (Matt only heard them referred to in one breath, as though they weren’t actually two separate beings), Daphne, and Elle.

“Hey, getting supper? Join us Matt, always room at the table for one more.” Peter flashed him a sunny grin and slung an arm around his shoulder. Elle watched the exchange with a fair amount of interest, making Gabriel roll his eyes at her.

“Course he’s gettin’ supper, dimwit.” Daphne skipped ahead of the group, walking backwards as she talked. “Why else would he be going to the slophouse? He ain’t Hiro, goin’ in just to take a gawk at pretty lil’ Charlie.” Hiro turned a mottled shade of red and stuck his tongue out at her, a move that she swiftly copied.

“You’re still welcome, if you don’t mind sitting at the children’s table.” Gabriel smirked and adjusted his glasses, earning a chorus of protests and a smack on the arm from Elle. Matt laughed, feeling more at ease than he had in a very long time.

The slophouse was packed, workers dragging themselves in with the dust of the day on their skin and smiles on their faces. The smell of simmering chili and fresh cornbread floated in the air, making more than one stomach rumble in appreciation.

Three serving girls stood behind the counter: Claire, who Matt was told from day one was Bennet’s Daughter And Off Limits, Period. That didn’t stop Peter from making moon-eyes at her, Matt noticed. Next was sweet redheaded Charlie, and Matt could see why Hiro turned into a fool whenever she was near. And finally there was Monica, as skilled as she was beautiful. She always snuck Matt a little extra something with his food, and her shy smile always made him feel less tired than when he walked in.

“Wow! My favorite! I’m going to eat three bowls worth, I’m starving!” Peter rubbed his stomach in appreciation as he made his way through the line.

“Dunno why you’ve got such an appetite,” Claire teased as she ladled hot chili into his bowl. “You don’t do nothin’ round here but get underfoot, no how.” There was an uproar of laughter in the line, as it was no secret that Mr. Petrelli’s second son only played at farming, never getting into the really heavy labor. The butt of the joke scowled, but was placated by an extra serving of cornbread.

“Next Sunday’s the social.” Monica passed Matt his meal, looking up at him through her lashes. “Don’t rekon you’ve anyone to go with, since you ain’t been here long.” She smiled, and Matt discovered that the one he gave in return was a trifle strained. As he took a moment to scramble for a reply, there was a crash behind him as Hiro dropped a bowl on the floor; Ando promptly scolded him in rapid-fire Japanese.  Matt took the moment to slip away and head to a seat.

As the folks around him chattered about the growing heat, the lack of rain, and the Huckleberry Social, Matt snuck a peek back at the serving line, feeling low-down and yellow for sneaking of without giving Monica a proper response. She was younger than him, true, but she wasn’t Janice for God’s sake, and she seemed genuinely interested. There was no sane reason why he should feel antsy around her. Looking back he could see her chatting with someone else. A mysterious, taciturn, and fascinating someone.

Matt was shocked to discover that not only was Turtle listening attentively to Monica’s animated chatter, but he was smiling. Even from this distance Matt could see the gleam of his shiny white teeth. That one brief smile transformed him from an impassive, apathetic man into a mythical being, a force of nature wearing the skin of a human.

He was suddenly reminded of Br’er Rabbit tales, and he thought perhaps Turtle was a misnomer. With an aura like that, he should’ve been Lion. By the time he realized that his eyes were following Turtle instead of staying on Monica, he understood why he slunk away. Monica’s smile was gazelle-beautiful, but it didn’t make his heart do backflips the same way Turtle’s did.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
For all that the Huckleberry Social was meant to be a family-oriented event, when the sun went down and the old folks and children went home for the night, the atmosphere took a decidedly sharp turn. The fiddlers upped the tempo, porcelain jugs appeared out of nowhere, and the younger crowd really started to kick up their heels. Matt had a grand time, allowing people to sweep him from one square dance to another until he got slightly dizzy. Even Nathan Petrelli, a.k.a Bossman Jr., knocked back a few tin cups of bathtub gin with his employees.

Matt was helping himself to just one more sliver of pecan pie (he danced pretty hard, so he deserved it) when Nikki sauntered over, batting her eyelashes hard enough to whip up a tornado. Peter and the gang seemed to be backing her up, and there was a malicious glint in Gabriel’s eyes that made Matt distinctly nervous.

“Parkman! Old buddy old pal, I need your help with something.” She slid in close, murmuring in his ear in order to be heard over the music. “I got a bet going, see, about roping skills; bet the Petrelli brothers that I could truss a full grown man in under ten seconds. They won’t let DL be my partner; they say it’s a cheat.” Matt took a step back, blinking in surprise.

Before Matt could properly protest, he was surrounded by a mob of his slightly drunk coworkers calling for him to be a good sport, there was money on the line. He allowed Daphne to pull him along. It was all in good fun after all, and Nikki was fit, but strong enough to take him down? Probably not. Daphne led him to a patch of grass surrounded by a hooting human corral, and Matt took a few good stretches to clear the dregs of alcohol from his brain.

Nathan brought over a slender, well-dressed man with curls turned into a riotous mess by the heat; Matt wondered if he really thought the Doc was gonna be necessary, a nervous feeling piercing through his stomach. Doc shook his head, pulled out a handkerchief, and said the game would begin on the count of five, his crisp British accent rolling over the assembled. Matt’s instincts kicked in. He widened his stance and kept his eyes trained on Nikki at all times.

So it came as a complete surprise to him when she came at him like greased lightning, not even giving him a chance to sidestep as she sweep his feet out from under him. Matt hit the ground in a resounding crash, the wind knocked out of him, and Nikki pounced. Rope slipped around his ankles, and when he thrashed she gripped him with surprising strength. Matt arched his back, preparing to flip over and knock her off, when a figure caught his eye.

Turtle was watching him, the only quiet, unmoving figure in the entire crowd. Time slowed; Matt could feel every fiber and crease in the rope, the blood pumping in his veins. He was flabbergasted as he felt himself suddenly aching and nervous, like the unworthy human sacrifice to some ancient god. Just a few feet closer and Turtle could be towering over him, bringing him to ecstatic heights with a mere touch.

The moment stretched thin, and just when Matt wondered if he would be frozen under the weight of Turtle’s gaze for eternity, Nikki made the final knot around his wrist and yanked.

The tension broke with the whoops of the crowd. Nikki was lifted in the air as cash was passed back and forth; Peter shot Matt a disappointed glare as he counted bills into Nathan’s hand. Matt writhed in his bonds, but when he looked up and saw that Turtle was still watching him, he stilled.

There was a twist to his lips, a smile of secrets whispered in the dark, like he *knew* what was lurking in the back of Matt’s mind. Matt decided that it would be better to lie face down in the dirt until he was freed; he was less likely to embarrass himself that way.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
“If you would like to speak with me, please do so. There is no need to lurk.”
Turtle continued to hang up the harness and tack as though the idea of Matt loitering outside the barn was of little consequence. The moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the few stragglers stumbling into the bunkhouse after a rowdy Saturday night. Matt waited for hours in the dark, watching for Turtle to come back with the last cartful of intoxicated workers from town. But one sentence, and all the words Matt nurtured over the week deserted him.

“Evenin’. Thought maybe we could jaw a spell. I won’t get in the way.” Matt could’ve kicked himself, he sounded like Peter and that was not the impression he wanted to give. Turtle didn’t reply, and Matt wasn’t surprised. The horses whuffled softly as Turtle patted one of them affectionately on the nose.

“You did not wait for me at this hour to make small talk. What is on your mind?” Matt flashed back to that secretive smile, and the warm temperature in the barn got rather noticeable.

“Can’t a guy just stop by for a chat? I’ve been here a month, but we hardly talk. You’re a really mysterious guy, and I’m naturally curious.” Matt plopped on a nearby bale of hay, busying his hands by twisting a few strands together.

“I’m only a mystery because you wanted me to be one.” Matt’s head snapped up; Turtle leaned against a stall, looking down at Matt with a smoothly neutral expression. It rattled him, but Matt refused to let it show. “You have been here, made many friends, and are building a life. You do not speak to me unless the job demands you do so. And yet, you watch me when you think I cannot see. Why is that, Matt Parkman?”

“I don’t, that is, well, I didn’t think you liked talking much, so…”

“But here you are now. Something changed your mind.” Matt got to his feet, ready to just give up on the whole thing and walk out, resigning himself to a torturous existence of never-ending sexual tension. What was he thinking, approaching him like this anyway?

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Matt Parkman.” Turtle’s amber honey of a voice stopped Matt dead in his tracks. It was an idiom, it was a challenge, it was the last straw that had Matt whirling around and marching right back inside. He got right in Turtle’s face, using every inch of his height to loom over the dark-skinned man.

“You don’t get to tell me that, god-dammit! You don’t get to look down on me! Yeah, so I avoided you, but it wasn’t like you were rolling out the fucking welcome wagon at first either. What am I supposed to do huh?” Matt raged, poking Turtle in the shoulder with a finger. “You’re no good to me as a mystery, because I live for mysteries pal, and I crack them. Mysteries take over my dreams and haunt me during the day, I obsess over them, and I can’t keep it up anymore. It’s killing me! So I’ll make fucking small talk all day long if it gets you out of my damn head and keeps me from wanting what I can’t have! Got it?!”

The sound of Matt’s heavy breathing provided a counter-balance to the muted shifting of the animals. Neither one of them moved for a very long time; Turtle only spoke when Matt seemed to be slightly more calm.

“That was brave.” To Matt’s chagrin, Turtle seemed completely unruffled by Matt’s outburst. He placed a hand on Matt’s chest. “I’m going to give you a gift. I think that you deserve it for being honest.”

“…what?” It was an ineloquent response, but Matt was genuinely confused and more that a little frightened. Why on earth he let that escape from his heart  and out his lips he’d never understand, but Turtle kept him off-balance all the time. This proved to be no exception.

Turtle cupped Matt’s face in his hands and lowered it close to his own; their lips nearly brushing each other. Matt went wide eyed, and the fact that he was taller didn’t matter a lick, because the look in Turtle’s eyes made his knees want to buckle anyhow.

“Usutu.” It was a feather-brush whisper against Matt’s mouth, something he could very nearly *taste* on the tip of his tongue.

“That is my actual name. It is my gift to you.”

“Why? Why tell me now?”

“I want to hear it fall from your mouth when I’m inside you.” There it was, laid bare as a windswept plain. It dropped Matt to his knees, too stunned to respond when he was patted on the head. The truth hit him with the force of an oncoming train: he wasn’t dealing with a fictional character, a myth, or a god, but a man; it made his whole body shake, because he’d never dealt with anyone like him before.

“Look forward to it, Matt Parkman.”

Prompt: Matt's the nervous newbie farmhand who's head-over-heels for the resident expert, Edgar/Usutu/Mohinder/Gabriel (author's pick), but too shy to do or say anything. The other figures it out but gets Matt to open up about it before revealing that he reciprocates. Bottom!Matt would be awesome. With a secret bondage kink even better.
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