Rating: pg13
Fandom: Brokeback Mountain (movie 'verse)
Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable themes/places belong to Annie Proulx and others. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.
Char/Pair: Ennis Del Mar
Prompt: Tears from fivebyfiction on livejournal
Spoilers: Yes.
W/C: 297
Warnings: Male masturbation, mild language
A/N: None.
You don't go to the funeral. Even though his momma said you were always welcome, but you don't feel comfortable. Maybe because you don't think he's really there, maybe because you feel guilty. Either way, you hold your own little service on Brokeback. It's filled with whiskey and screams, some tears and a whole lot of whispering apologies into the fire.
oooo
Out of the corner of your eye you'd swear you could see a campfire, the gossamer strands billowing towards the sky. You figure it's only a ghost.
oooo
Your dick is angry-red and heavy in your hands as you tug fiercely, more for pain than anything else, maybe for a little bit of amnesty. It hurts, but it just makes you hate yourself for being alive to feel it, when he isn't. It's cold on the mountain and you don't come but you haven't been satisfied in any way since he passed so you're used to it. Bundle into your coat a little more and burrow further into the tent, push his broken face out of your mind.
oooo
You go home to the only place that doesn't have memories and tack some to the wall. Cardboard-stiff and it flakes off on your fingers like dried paint. You can almost taste it in your mouth, thick on your tongue, coppery and sweet. Tastes like him, like blame.
oooo
The wind rocks your trailer, blows through the open door, flutters the tattered curtains over the kitchen window. No need to close your eyes to see him but you close them anyway, so you don't. You try to remember what he felt like, all silk and steel and Jack, your hand a stutter-hitch like your breathing, like your life.
You spill messy over your hand, quiet, alone.