Paul Jones hated dirt.
He didn't mind getting dirty - that was different - but when it came to dirt, home grown, out there in the backyard dirt, it was for the birds. Or worms.
He'd seen a lot of worms.
It was roughly three o'clock in the morning, the perfect time to be ********' sleeping and doing every other normal thing every other goddamn normal person should be doing at that hour. But no, no, not Paul Jones, he was out there, on his knees like some sort of bigass sap, fingers burying themselves in the dirt with one hand as the other held the flashlight up like some kind of ********' mugger in the middle of the night.
Sometimes he held the flashlight in his mouth, when a particularly bothersome weed wasn't cooperating. Sometimes he had to set the flashlight down altogether as he tugged and pulled, sinking more blasted dirt underneath his blunt fingernails as weed after weed was cast aside into the growing pile to his left.
The things he ********' did for love.
He'd bought roses the year before, having gotten ready the swimming pool as well but with the crappy weather had prevented them from even getting the soil tilled for new things -- late start or what have you -- so Paul had taken to preparing the soil all around the hammock and the edges of the backyard for additional flowers and ******** his spouse had in mind to start growing outside of his favored, precious vegetable garden.
It took almost four hours.
Four.
Goddamn.
Hours.
By the end, there was a massive pile of weeds and what have you, piled messily in a section, complete with worm and bug carcasses of critters that failed to get out of the way fast enough for the clumsy Jones's fingers. Sweat painted his brow and had the ends of his hair sticking to the sides of his face, bristly jaw damp while the sun decided to finally peek its ********' head over the horizon. In no time at all, Noah would be waking up and wondering where the hell his husband went --- otherwise, Paul's cue to get the hell upstairs and into the shower.
Weeds and s**t were put in the garbage bag he'd brought out, then tossed in the bin where a dozen or so smushed cigarette butts already littered the bottom of the plastic container. Paul'd gotten a few gift cards to the local hardware store, having decided to sacrifice his day into carrying around whatever sort of plant his lover wanted to place in the newly tilled, newly ready dirt areas on his special day.
Abandoning his dirty shoes outside on the deck, socked feet took to the stair two at a time, the large man doing his best to sneak into the bathroom for a shower before the grumpy redhead had time to wake up. If he was lucky, he'd get to do the honors himself, wishing his kiddo the best of birthdays in the best way he knew how.
Nuxaz
