By Linc

Note: This story originally appeared on LockedMEN. It is being shared here with permission.

The heat of summer was well underway, and things had finally slowed enough that weekends started feeling like weekends again: shorter days, lighter work.

During the midday sun, when no one wanted to move more than they had to, Jack sat beside Ethan on the porch, drinking nothing stronger than sun-brewed sweet tea.

“Been meaning to ask,” Jack said, tipping his glass. “That barn — it belong to a neighbor? I know we don’t have livestock.”

“Still mine,” Ethan replied. “Nearest neighbor’s a mile off, easy.”

Jack squinted toward the fields. “How big is this place, anyway? I’ve been working it, but if someone asked me, I don’t think I could even guess.”

“Just over five hundred acres,” Ethan said, like it wasn’t much.

“So what’s it for then, if it’s not for livestock?”

“Storage, mostly. Used to be my dog’s spot during the day — back when I had one. He didn’t like it when I got too far off. I needed him somewhere out of the way. Safe from the equipment.”

Ethan’s gaze drifted toward the building, more thoughtful than nostalgic.

“Been a couple generations since we kept anything in there with a heartbeat,” he added. “Even the mice don’t much care for it. Silo’s newer, better sealed.”

“Still looks solid,” Jack said. “Minnesota winters aren’t exactly known for being kind to people, or buildings.”

“True,” Ethan agreed. “Costs a lot less to give it a once-over than let it rot. Wasn’t that long ago I had the dog. I thought about fixing up the old pole barn too, but the ‘90s upgrades left the place with everything I really needed. Couldn’t figure what I’d fix it up for.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. His thoughts drifted — too easily — to stories he’d read on nights when the room was dark and his hands were idle. Stories where barns weren’t just barns.

He shifted, the belt pressing in just enough to be annoying. He hadn’t gotten off in weeks, and his body never let him forget — especially now that asking meant negotiating with the man who liked saying no.

It tugged at him, both as a quiet reminder of what he asked for, and kept asking for.

What they had wasn’t just about control. It was about care, discipline, permission — trust earned with every word Ethan didn’t say.

In any other setting, it might’ve felt too strange to name. But this wasn’t any other setting. And they weren’t just any two men.

There was still space to back away, to joke it off, to change the subject. But Jack didn’t want to.

Ethan had the only keys, sure. But Jack had never been locked in. That was the difference, and the point.

They got in a bit more work, at a weekend pace, before the sun dipped just low enough that there wasn’t much more to be done. Shadows stretched long across the fields, and the light took on that coppery haze that said the workday had given all it was going to.

Ethan wiped the back of his neck with a bandana. “Town run,” he said. “Picking up linseed and cover grain — soil’s gonna need a rest after this year.”

Jack watched the dust trail as Ethan drove off, then turned toward the old pole barn.

He hadn’t been inside yet. No real reason. It wasn’t locked — never had been, as far as he could tell. Out here, where the nearest neighbor was a mile off and the sound of an engine carried for acres, who’d bother?

The interior was dry and dim, the air warm but stale with time. A few stray sunbeams angled through the high slats. The place was clean — not freshly swept, but not neglected either. Just quiet. Just old.

Jack’s boots thudded softly against the floorboards as he moved through the barn. A single chain lead hung from a heavy anchor set deep into the floor. No collar nearby. Just the lead, coiled neatly.

Near the steps leading to the loft, something caught his eye — a Polaroid, weather-curled at the edges but intact. He bent to pick it up.

A dog. Mid-sized, wiry coat. Bright eyes and a lopsided grin, like he knew something you didn’t. The image had that slight fade of all old Polaroids, but the energy in it was fresh. Alive.

When Ethan returned, Jack was back on the porch, the Polaroid sitting between them on the table.

“Found this in the barn,” Jack said, nodding toward the picture. “So what was their name?”

“Eddie,” Ethan said. “Like all dog owners, I had the smartest dog in the world.”

“That right?” Jack asked with a smirk.

“He knew enough to watch me while staying near the barn. Found that out one day when I came back and his lead had come unclipped. He’d stay in the shade, smiling, while I rode the tractor. When the noon sun beat down, he’d watch from just inside the door.”

“So why Eddie?” Jack tilted his head. “It’s kind of a… human name for a dog, isn’t it?”

Ethan’s mouth quirked. “You ever think of naming a kid with the names the city folk give their pets? A kid named Buckwheat would get teased mercilessly. One named Riesling’d probably get the county involved.”

“Fair.”

“Didn’t think I’d have kids,” Ethan said, eyes on the horizon. “Still don’t. So I figured if I wasn’t gonna pass a name on, might as well give one to someone who’d earn it.”

Jack let the silence stretch for a beat. “You miss him?”

Ethan nodded once, slow. “Yeah. But he got a good life. Lived longer than most. Didn’t go out in pain, didn’t get forgotten. Got to ride the tractor, sleep inside on cold nights. Bossed me around like it was his land.”

He paused, then added, “I wouldn’t say that’s the reason I kept the barn empty, though. Just didn’t need to fill the space.”

Jack didn’t press. He just looked out at the fields, the photo still between them.

“You think it’s meant for something else now?” he asked after a while.

Ethan didn’t say anything. He just shrugged with a small grunt.

As dusk settled in, Jack headed to the bunkhouse for a shower. The air was finally cooling, promising a night that wouldn’t cling to him like sweat. The water helped, washing away the grime and the heat in equal measure.

Back in his room, he hung up his towel, let gravity claim his body, and collapsed into bed without a second thought.

Morning didn’t knock — it just arrived, insistent and indifferent, dragging him out of sleep like a task overdue.

The next day came on thick with heat. One of those days where even the wind seemed to give up by noon. They worked anyway — clearing brush near the fence line, inspecting the irrigation lines for leaks Ethan swore weren’t there but wanted to check anyway.

By mid-afternoon, Jack’s shirt was soaked through and his hands ached from gripping tools too long. Ethan didn’t complain, just moved with the same steady pace he always did, like the work was just another extension of breathing.

They didn’t talk much. But the silence wasn’t strained. It never was, not anymore.

By the time the sun sank low and the tools were racked, Jack was bone-tired and restless in equal measure. He peeled off his gloves, flexed his fingers, and followed Ethan to the porch, where the sweet tea waited and the heat finally started letting go.

They sat for a while, watching the sky change.

Then Jack broke the silence, casual as a coin toss.

“Been wondering,” he said, tilting his glass. “That belt. You don’t strike me as the type to drop cash on something like that without a reason.”

Ethan didn’t look over. Just watched the horizon for a beat too long. Then: “I don’t.”

Jack let the silence stretch, waiting, but not pressing.

Ethan finally tipped his head, just a little. “Didn’t buy it for someone else. If that’s what you’re asking.”

Jack smiled faintly. “I wasn’t.”

“You ever try it on?” he asked after a moment.

“A few times,” Ethan said. “Probably when I was your age. Needed more focus than I had.”

“You think I could ever see you in it?”

Ethan took a slow sip of tea, then finally met Jack’s gaze.

“Maybe. But you’re not holding the key.”

That last line clicked — not just in Jack’s mind, but somewhere deeper.

He nodded once, finished his glass, and headed for the bunkhouse. The remains of the day clung to his skin, and the cool promise of the shower pulled him in more from muscle memory than conscious need.

But his thoughts weren’t idle.

Ethan had worn the belt. Not just owned it. Worn it. Not for a partner. Not for a scene. For himself.

As water streamed through the channels of the steel, rinsing dust from skin and memory from metal, Jack felt a different kind of clean — like something had shifted.

Not in the belt. In him.

He hadn’t expected that answer, and now he couldn’t let it go. Not yet.

Evening crept in with stars and stillness, and Jack lay quiet in the dark, turning the thought over like a coin between fingers. Ethan knew what the belt could do. Not just how it looked, but how it felt.

Morning arrived without ceremony.

No dreams, no alarm. Just sunlight in his room and the weight of the day waiting.

Jack rose, dressed fast, and jogged to catch up with Ethan, who was already at the truck, loading the back with rails and tools.

They were heading past the north line — where time and weather had outpaced maintenance. Years of Ethan managing solo had left some edges in need of tending.

“Grab the rest of the brackets,” Ethan said, not looking up. “We’ll want to reset the corner post while we’re out there.”

Jack nodded, still feeling the edges of last night’s conversation like the ghost of a bruise — tender, but not unwelcome.

They settled into the work, sweat beading under their shirts as they drove the new rails in. Jack braced the post, arms steady.

“Maybe it’s the sun getting to me,” Jack muttered, half to himself, “or something else. But now I’m curious to see the belt on you. If nothing else, just to see it from the outside.”

Ethan let out a quiet hmm — noncommittal — eyes still on the nails he was setting.

Jack couldn’t tell if it was acknowledgment or dismissal.

A few more nails went in. Ethan gave the new join a final check, then stood.

“Go tighten up the next couple posts,” he said, brushing off his hands. “I’ll walk the far stretch, see what else needs doing.”

Jack slung the hammer over his shoulder.

“I’m not hearing a no,” he said as he walked off.

Ethan didn’t answer. He didn’t correct him either.

The day and the fence both dragged. Jack’s mind drifted until his own shadow, stretched tall in the twilight, startled him back to the moment.”

The last of the old split fence looking far more respectable, Jack started back towards the house as Ethan had already stowed the truck where it belonged and there was hardly anything left to carry but a couple tools and a few nails.

Getting to the porch he saw Ethan had already cracked open a cold bottle for Jack and was halfway through nursing his own, the smell of supper only a distant suggestion in the mind.

“You give any more thought to struttin’ in the belt for a bit?” Jack asked, his voice husky from the heat and the walk, but still playful.

“You’re like a dog with a bone, y’know that,” Ethan said, his tone easy in a way that caught Jack off guard. He lifted his beer in a wordless signal for Jack to stay put, then disappeared into the house. When he returned, he had the belt’s key and a clean rag in hand.

“Clean it, then meet me in the pole barn. Bring both the belt and the key.”

Jack made quick work of the return trip to the bunkhouse. Key and rag in hand, he peeled off his clothes and tossed them aside before heading to the showers. He cleaned the belt until it gleamed like it had that first day — the day it appeared on his bed like a challenge with no words attached. He gave himself a rinse, too.

When he dressed, he reached for boxer briefs — the first time in ages. The absence of steel was strange. Even clothed, he felt oddly exposed.

He made his way to the barn and found Ethan freshly showered, standing in an easy stance that made Jack slow his steps. The older man wore his shit-kickers, jeans, and a pristine A-shirt — all clean lines and quiet strength, showing off both his frame and the care he took in being put together.

Jack stepped nervously into the pole barn with items in hand, he found himself distracted seeing Ethan in this manner thinking of what was to come and acknowledging the benefits farm living had given Ethan. He continued closing the distance between them transfixed by Ethan’s gaze holding out the items, when Ethan took the last step. He wrapped his arm around Jack’s neck somewhere between a hug and a headlock leaving Jack with an odd chill in his shoulders. A clink and a click brought him back to the present as he realized the chill was the dog chain mounted to the barn floor now held in place with a keyed padlock. As Jack started to protest Ethan silenced him with a knowing look before saying “I told you I’d try it on and you’d not be holding the key. You can either accept your state and I’ll keep my word, or I can unchain you and we drop it”

Now it was Jack’s turn to be a man of few words as he said “yes sir” with a grin he couldn’t contain.

Ethan silently collected the belt and its key from Jack. He crossed the barn putting the keys to both the chain and the belt out of reach in every sense. Ethan stepped into shadow under the loft stairs as to keep some modesty with his back to Jack and made good on his promise, stepping back into the golden light of the suns initial descent for the evening as it poured through the barn door.

Jack definitely found an appreciation for Ethan and barely heard it when Ethan said “I’ll come back when supper’s ready” walking off in nothing but boots, his hat, and that quiet, maddening belt — the rest of his clothes over one shoulder like it was just another day’s work.

Jack was stunned — Ethan had given him exactly what he wanted, but the power between them hadn’t shifted a bit. Walking around to digest this he realized he could neither reach more than ten feet further into the barn nor out. Both keys beckoned him from the steps leading up to the loft. It was like that game people play, “Monkey’s Paw” where one makes a wish, and another creates a tale of how unexpected it could go. All in all he was satisfied though he now understood a yearning growing just in the few minutes of Ethan being out of sight. Jack wondered if he was becoming as close a companion as the previous occupant of this chain.

The heat in the barn still lingered from the day and by the time Ethan returned, Jack had only his boots, socks, and skivvies, and that was probably the first time he could recall Ethan laughing.

Ethan collected the key to the belt, almost working in a step by step backwards version of the events from earlier. Changing from the belt back to the outfit he’d had when Jack had first joined him in the barn. He pocketed the belt key and walked over with the unlocked belt and the padlock key to let Jack out.

They walked back towards the house, the smell of meat and potatoes on the evening breeze and the events of the day still fresh.

“You surprise me,” Ethan said quietly, later. “Didn’t expect you to sit that still.”

“Didn’t expect you to lock me up and walk away,” Jack replied.

Ethan smirked. “You asked.”

Jack contemplated this new side of Ethan even as the man headed off — all boots, belt, and that maddening calm.

He made his own way back to the bunkhouse, half adrift in the afterglow, his body still humming from the sight and the stillness he’d kept.

Jack didn’t mean to slip it back on.

It was just there, sitting where he’d left it, clean and gleaming. A quiet invitation. Or maybe a test of will.

He’d told himself he just needed to feel it. The weight. The reminder. A quick check to see if it still felt the same.

It did.

Too well.

Captivating without yet holding him captive. For a moment, it felt like being back in his own place instead of one only leased to him. A place where certain wants pulsed without concern for the future.

He stood in the half-light of his room, fingers hovering near the clasp. Not quite decided. Not quite resisting either.

A part of him considered taking it off while he still could, but something also told him to look again. From the outside.

He found himself in front of the bunkhouse mirror, the only one on the property, letting his gaze drift lower. The belt gleamed against his frame, catching the light like it had something to prove. A season of farm labor had carved definition into him. Not sculpted, but earned — the kind built from sun, grit, and honest weight. He looked harder. Leaner. Like someone worth his own effort. And the belt, somehow, drew a line under that. Framed it. Made it feel real.

His thoughts drifted into sensation. The memory of focus. Of craving without release. Of being held in place and choosing not to pull free. It wasn’t just about denial.

It was the want for control without having to surrender it. The hum of appetite with nowhere to land. The ghost of a challenge he didn’t know how to voice.

His thumb brushed the lockpin once. Maybe as a joke. Maybe as a warning. Maybe just to see what he’d do.

He was split — body craving indulgence, heart craving connection, pride craving control. His mind, more than anything, just wanted a decision.

The lock clicked almost by accident. His breath caught. He stared down at himself with a sinking realization.

Shit.

Now he was stuck. Locked out of the only pastime he could afford these days.

He didn’t want out. Not immediately. But he hadn’t meant to make it official either. Not like this.

He knew he could ask Ethan for the key. That was the deal. But this late, over something so easily avoided? It wasn’t just awkward. It felt wrong. Like asking Ethan to clean up after a mess Jack had made on impulse.

His body gave in. His mind didn’t. And his chest carried that low thrum of regret that wasn’t quite guilt. Just noise he couldn’t shut off.

The next morning, Jack found Ethan by the fuel shed. He was mid-sip of his coffee, squinting toward the far edge of the fields.

“Hey,” Jack said quietly. “I, uh… I need the key.”

That got Ethan’s attention. He looked over his shoulder, one brow raised.

“Already?”

Jack’s ears burned. “Yeah.”

A long pause.

“You lasted longer last time.”

Jack shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on locking up. It just… happened.”

Ethan took another sip. “You get off yesterday?”

Jack’s face tensed. “No.”

Ethan let the silence stretch. “Then why now?”

Jack hesitated, staring at a rock like he might move it with his thoughts. “I don’t know. I just… miss it. And I don’t.”

“Which is it?”

Jack’s jaw tensed. “I just needed it last night. Thought it would help. But now it’s worse.”

Ethan studied him a moment longer, then set the cup down on the edge of the truck bed.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t mind holding the key. But if you want this to work, you’ve got to figure out what you’re asking for.”

“I—”

Ethan cut him off. “If you want me to hold the line, you’ve got to let it be a line.”

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again. His pulse was loud in his ears.

Finally: “So what now?”

Ethan sighed, not unkindly.

“Now you tell me if this is about getting off… or not knowing what to do when you’re free.”

Jack didn’t have an answer.

Not yet.

They started the day’s work without another word. Jack focused on his tasks, or tried to — but the rhythm of the farm couldn’t quiet the hum in his head. Every stretch of fence, every pail of feed, every row they checked felt automatic, like his body was doing the work while his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Only when the sky turned orange and the sun kissed the edge of the horizon did the full weight of the situation settle in. It had already been over a month since the last time — and the need was back. Worse this time, because Ethan wasn’t making it easy. Maybe that was the point.

They parted for the evening without comment, each heading to rinse off the sweat and dust of the day.

Back at the bunkhouse Jack showered and toweled off, but the belt stayed where it was — locked, gleaming, a quiet weight against his skin.

He pulled on clean socks and boots, the rest of him bare beneath. Then he stepped outside, unsure where he was going until he was already halfway across the yard.

The pole barn door was still ajar. Evening light spilled in, cutting the dust in gold.

Inside, the chain lay where they’d left it — not neatly coiled this time, just loose on the floor like a thought abandoned mid-sentence. The padlock sat on the loft steps. The key beside it.

He didn’t think. Just picked them up. Looped the chain around his neck and clicked the padlock shut — a motion too fluid to be called a choice.

He stood still for a moment, breathing into the sensation. The collar. The belt. The silence. As if layering restraint might bring back the calm he’d had the other night, when Ethan had made the call and all Jack had to do was follow.

But his body betrayed him, tightening with want. Need. The ache compounded by knowing this time, it wasn’t Ethan’s hand guiding the moment. It was his. And the key wasn’t in his control.

Frustrated, he flung the key toward the wall with a sharp metallic clatter.

Then he sat down, back against the cool wood of the barn wall, mind spinning. He didn’t even know what he’d been trying to prove; just that he’d made things more complicated.

The chain tugged gently at his neck, loose but unrelenting. He knew he’d have to face Ethan now—or maybe more accurately, face himself.

His pulse echoed, loud as a ticking clock in a quiet room with each beat stretching time too far. But the shadows in the barn had barely shifted when Ethan’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Food’s gonna get cold,” Ethan said as the sound of boots on the floor reached him like a tap on the shoulder.

He found Jack seated against the wall, the chain still clasped around his neck. Without a word, he walked over and sat beside him, resting one arm across Jack’s back.

Jack tried to speak. Twice. Nothing made it out.

“So,” Ethan said, quiet, “where’s the key?”

Jack just pointed at the thin metal somehow reflecting the last remnants of the day despite the sun already riding low.

Ethan stood, crossed the barn, and retrieved it with little trouble.

He didn’t unlock the chain.

Instead, he stepped out for a few minutes and returned with two plates and silverware. He sat beside Jack again and set one of the plates down in front of him.

“Eat.”

It wasn’t a command. Just an offering.

Jack stared at the meal, then slowly started picking at it. He didn’t feel hungry, but the quiet kindness landed harder than he expected.

Ethan placed both keys—the one for the belt, and the one for the padlock—between them.

“I don’t know if I understand all of this,” he said. “But we get on like a house on fire most days.”

He paused.

“And right now, it feels like you’re expecting to get chewed out. Or punished. I’m not that guy. I’m not mad. If that’s what’s in your head, forget it.”

Ethan glanced over, steady as ever.

“What I need is honesty. From you. With me, and with yourself.”

He gave Jack a light clap on the back, then stood and cleared the dishes, leaving the two keys where they sat—like a question only Jack could answer.

Jack watched him go. Once Ethan was out of sight, only then did he reach up and unfasten the chain.

He picked up the belt key. It felt heavier in his palm than it had before—but not unwelcome.

He slipped it into the cuff of his sock, the closest thing he had to a pocket, and turned toward the bunkhouse.

Bed was waiting, and answers — if they were coming — would have to wait until morning.

Morning came and the light flooding in to the room chased away the shadows of the nights dreaming.

He still had yet to make a choice, but for now left the belt on, and the key tucked back into his sock, though his duties required he don more clothes than he had last night.

He and ethan went through the day in a matter of fact manner, even talking casually about anything other than the belt, though as usual Jack did most of the talking while Ethan nodded, grunted, or spoke in short responses in his blunt but benign way.

The air of last night clearing between them, yet a fog remained in Jacks mind where carnality consumed, scratching at the edge to be let in.

Sure enough the orange hues decorated the landscape and it was time to wrap up for the day, they each started their pre-dinner rituals.

Jack lasted another day in the belt. Maybe two. But when the workday ended and the bunkhouse was quiet, the itch came roaring back.

He thought about taking the key to Ethan — letting him decide. But that wasn’t the deal. And it wasn’t fair. Ethan had trusted Jack to ask when he was sure. Not to pass off the burden.

So Jack unlocked himself.

The act alone made his skin buzz. And once his hand drifted lower, the memories followed — old patterns, half-remembered kinks from long nights and darker corners of the internet. Rope. Rubber. Tape. Heat. Control.

It didn’t hit all at once. He let it come in waves, pushing it back, pulling it close. Jack offered himself to the edge like he used to when nothing else made sense.

And when he finally let go, it was sharp. Clean. Loud inside his own skull.

But the quiet that followed? Hollow.

Not disappointing. Just… thinner than he remembered. Like getting trashed on cheap liquor when what he really wanted was one cold beer with someone who gave a damn.

He’d chased the rush. Let himself rise and crash out, hoping the need would lift.

But no matter what was flowing or how much, nothing washed away the need.

So he cleaned himself up. Cleaned the belt, too. Polished it like it mattered. Then clicked it shut — without putting it back on. Just locked. Inert.

He left it on the shelf like a question.

The key, he held for a long time. Turned it over in his palm. Then slipped it into his pocket.

He didn’t know what Ethan would say. He didn’t know if this whole thing — the tension, the teasing, the chain, the trust — had cracked something or built something.

But he knew one thing: he didn’t want the belt without Ethan.

Jack had been locked up for weeks. This time, he was locking himself out.

Jack reached the main house just as Ethan stepped onto the porch. He jogged the last few yards, breath catching, and set the key down on the wooden table between them.

Ethan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Jack spoke first, eyes fixed on his plate. “I want back in the belt. But only if you want to keep going with this.”

He hesitated, then went on.

“It started with you offering a tool. But it’s more than that now. I don’t know what to call it, and I’m not asking for a label.”

He drew a breath, steadier now.

“I’d like you to hold the key again. For now. Maybe we both sleep on it a couple days. I just…” he paused. “I liked the back and forth. Even when I pretended I didn’t. And I think I need it. But I need to know what you need too.”

Jack finally looked up and offered a faint smile.

“I want to earn your trust. Like you earned mine.”

Ethan didn’t say much over supper.

Not that he ever said much. But tonight, the quiet held a different weight — not cold, not dismissive. Just thoughtful. Careful.

Jack didn’t press. He’d said his piece. Now it was Ethan’s turn, in whatever time and language he chose.

They ate, cleared the table, and went about the rest of the evening like it was any other.

The next day passed with nothing to write home about. So did the one after.

Work got done. Meals were made. The rhythm of the farm held steady. If anything had shifted between them, Jack couldn’t tell.

Not until the third evening, when Ethan caught Jack by the porch just before sundown.

“I’ve decided,” Ethan said simply, gaze unreadable. “Wash up, bring the belt, and meet me at the pole barn before supper.”

That was all.

Jack’s heart kicked up, like the air right before a storm.

He showered, dried off, and retrieved the belt from where he’d left it: clean, closed, untouched.

At the barn, the light was golden, stretching long across the floorboards.

Ethan stood just inside, waiting.

He said nothing as Jack stepped in, just closed the distance between them, his expression unreadable until the very last second.

Then, without a word, Ethan took the belt from Jack.

And before Jack could say anything, Ethan pulled him close — quiet, steady, warm. Not claiming. Not dominating. Just there. Anchoring him.

Ethan produced the key from his pocket, and while his arms were still wrapped around Jack, the key turned in his fingers with the soft click of a promise remade.