CHAPTER 6: A MOMENT OF TRUTH — MONDAY, NOVEMBER 7TH, 1983

JACK POV

When Jack arrived at the cabin, he could see that Ennis had been there for quite some time already. The horses he had brought — and that was a good sign — were already well tended-to. And the chimney was smoking. Jack secretly wondered if the bed was already made as well, remembering how sweetly Ennis had welcomed him the last time they had been here...

Normally, on the first day of their 'fishing trips', after the initial long, sweet bear hug they always shared, there was no touching. Ennis would call him "Jack Fucking Twist", sometimes "Rodeo", Jack would answer in kind with "Son of a bitch", or "Cowboy". They would hold each other, squeeze real close, breathe each other in, lose themselves in each other's eyes; then reluctantly pull away and take care of camp business, knowing they were both hard and desperate for more, but not doing anything about it, for hours, because, well, meeting places had to be easy to find, so there was no guarantee that no one else would happen by.

Until night fell. Then Jack would get closer, and after some time Ennis would finally feel comfortable enough to huskily let out his first "Come here"; lead him into the tent and take him hurriedly, whispers of "God, Jack" and "Yes, Ennis" filling the privacy of their shelter. Their first night was always about quick, and raw; hours of denying themselves while so close to each other after so long apart making it impossible to hold back any longer than necessary — though, since '67, Ennis still always took some time first fingering Jack, even on their first night.

Come morning, they would then move the camp to a place which was 'in the middle of nowhere' enough for Ennis's tastes and have a truly blissful free time for the rest of the week.

So Jack had been really surprised, that December of '75, when Ennis, before Jack could even get out one word of greeting, had shoved him against the wall and had been all over him right away, hushing out quickly "Glad you're here" before worshipping his body for quite a long time...

But the odds of anything like that happening today were surely not that high...

Damn, don't get all hopeful. He surely needs to talk. Funny, I never thought I'd put 'Ennis' and 'talking' about 'our thing' in the same sentence one day — so who knows how that would turn out, huh? Or he's gonna finally lose it when he sees me and knock my sorry ass into next week. Probably next month too.

Ennis was so close. Jack just had to get inside. Simple, right? But Jack was kinda panicking now, wondering for the zillionth time what he should say; and still finding no clue whatsoever. So he wanted to stay in the truck, just a little longer; hoping the right words would finally pop into his mind if he just waited long enough.

Yep, and while you're dreaming, don't forget to wish for a whiskey spring!

He let out a sigh, took his bag, and started to walk uneasily towards the door.

He made it as far as the stairs.

Then the door opened, and Ennis appeared.

Six months. It had been six months. They hadn't been that long apart since '67. And they had never parted before with such hurting, angry words. Six awful, long months, all forgotten in a blur, as though they just didn't matter anymore, erased by that simple undeniable fact: Ennis was here.

And — as always — that was enough to make the rest of the world vanish as Jack felt the usual punch in his gut that he'd come to crave. The punch he felt each time they reunited after months apart. The punch that told him each time that it was all worth it, that what he was feeling was still true, and still strong. The punch that always suddenly left him all warmed-up inside, and unable to concentrate on anything other than this need, this urge — to get close, until they both became one again.

Ennis was here. Leaning against the doorframe, watching him with unreadable eyes, not looking so comfortable either, and averting those eyes to the ground after some time, and Jack couldn't help but find that his posture was just that little bit different than normal — that he seemed worn-down. And Jack wondered how many sleepless nights there must have been to make Ennis — his strong Ennis — seem so tired.

So Jack just lost it and unconsciously let his bag fall to the stoop as he launched himself forward, nearly knocking Ennis off his feet, bringing them both inside, hearing the door close behind them as they hit the wall.

Jack felt home. His arms squeezing tight around Ennis, his hands desperately clutching big handfuls of the back of Ennis's shirt, his face buried deep in Ennis's neck, breathing Ennis in, in, in, getting intoxicated again with that familiar scent he had missed oh so much, and with the knowledge that he was now finally back, right where he belonged.

Ennis was holding him back tightly, one arm around his waist, one arm around his neck. And then, Jack heard the three usual words in his ears: "Jack Fucking Twist". But Ennis's voice was full of too many mixed emotions. So much more than the usual genuine, kinda tender, joking tone which Ennis used as a greeting; amazement, relief, joy, need, pain.

Yes, pain.

Jack's heart just broke. He couldn't answer in kind with his own usual "Son of a bitch". Not today. He just held Ennis tighter.

Jack could see the the materials from his sleeve and Ennis's back, one against the other, and he realized suddenly how much they said. His own, as always plain and colourful, showing the world how open, easy to read, lively and a bit show-off he could be. And then Ennis's. Ennis never wore plain shirts, even when he wasn't wearing working shirts. Ennis's shirts always had a pattern: small or big squares, thin or bold lines. Ennis wore his walls on his chest.

Like a cage. No one gets in, and you can't come out. One day, maybe, you'll allow me to take you out of it; but now, all I ask for is for you to let me in. Again.

Jack used to have the key. He had always been able to get inside. He hoped he still could. He wanted to. He needed to. And suddenly, Jack knew what he wanted to say.

"God, Ennis. I wasn't sure..."

I was so scared I'd never get to see you again.

"I'm so fucking sorry. So fucking sorry. There are no words, Cowboy. No words to tell you how fucking sorry I am."

Squeezing, clutching, never wanting to let go. He had been too close. Too close to losing this. Too close to losing him.

Ennis just held him back tight, whispering softly "I know, Jack, I know", brushing his chin gently against Jack's temple or in Jack's hair.

After a while, Jack disentangled himself from Ennis. And then Ennis's fingers were on his face, thumb running lightly down his cheek, then above his mouth, brushing softly the little mole on the left which had been hidden for so long.

"You shaved it."

A whisper; matter of factly yet in a tone unable to hide some kind of gratitude, and Jack realized Ennis had figured out that it had never been about fashion, or whatever else he had first thought it to be.

"Yeah", Jack simply whispered back, a little shy smile on his face, but feeling mostly happy.

"It's nice. It's like... before, huh..."

Then the fingers disappeared and Ennis averted his eyes, like he always did when he thought he had said too much.

Jack sighed softly. "You know, you should have said... something... if..."

"Wasn't my place."

Jesus, Ennis, whose place then? Can't you ever get a clue!

Jack reached down and took Ennis's hands in his own, brushing lazy circles with his thumb on the inside of Ennis's wrists, just like he knew Ennis liked.

Jack particularly loved this simple act; he knew he surely shared the knowledge of Ennis's other sensitive spots with Alma and 'whatever-her-name-was', but he was pretty sure this one was his, and his only: it was a spot SO accessible that it was easily not considered as a possible soft spot — and judging by the embarrassed chuckle and blush he had gotten from his Cowboy the second time he had used this just-new-learned trick, on purpose, Ennis obviously hadn't known how sensitive he was right there before Jack had made him realize it, huh...

Jack remembered in a flash when he had discovered how this little innocent touch was pulling on Ennis's strings, that Spring night a few years ago near the campfire. Jack had been talking about Bobby for quite some time. They were sitting close to each other, on camping chairs for the first time — God, we ARE getting old! — and at some point, Jack, while talking, had felt his hand brush accidentally against Ennis's as they had apparently both aimed for the bottle at the same time, and had without thinking intertwined their fingers together... And Ennis had just let it happen.

There had been no drinking afterwards; Jack had just kept talking, feeling stupidly happy and warm, holding Ennis's hand, letting his thumb run softly from the side of Ennis's thumb to Ennis's inner wrist and back, again and again, the motion getting automatic, staying each time longer and longer brushing Ennis's pulse, loving the way Ennis's skin was soft there, compared to Ennis's strong, firm hands. And Ennis had just closed his eyes and relaxed, and had quietly listened to him, cutting in briefly from time to time to say how his girls were acting the same, or exactly the opposite, as Bobby. Until after some time he hadn't been talking at all anymore, and he had gotten sort of... fidgety, finally ushing out one whispered "Jack" which had zinged right through Jack's spine.

And Jack had felt blessed, 'cause that had been another of Ennis's little secrets revealed.

And he had felt dumb, 'cause he could have slapped his forehead for not having thought about it before. It just made sense, knowing how Ennis would sometimes just give far too much attention to his own damn arms and hands when he was in the mood to feast on any inch of Jack's flesh he could get — until of course Jack decided he couldn't take it any longer, rolled them over until he was on top, and impaled himself on Ennis greedily.

And Jack had felt hungry, huh. And when he had brought Ennis's wrist to his mouth and had let his tongue play there a little, slow and soft under Ennis's jacket, Ennis had nearly moaned, and then whispered his soft but damn undeniable, irresistible, "Come here", the one that always turned Jack's insides to mush. And when their eyes had met, the fire in them had been burning brighter than the campfire, you bet.

So Jack smiled shyly now, feeling Ennis relax as usual at the simple brushing gesture. It amazed him sometimes, the power he had over this man. His man.

He kept his voice low, barely a whisper. "Bullshit, Ennis. Of course it was your place. It IS your place." He saw Ennis's jaw twitch and sighed, knowing he was entering forbidden waters. But this time, he just HAD to go on. "All the rest... It never meant anything, Ennis. Never."

Ennis shook his head, shortly but firmly, commanding 'Don't' in the universal silent way as he kept looking down. But surprisingly, there was still no "Jack..." to be heard, spoken in that painful yet authoritative tone Ennis always used when he got too uncomfortable with Jack getting too close to saying words he didn't want to hear. So Jack took the plunge, needing to finally say something aloud after all those years, and after all they had just gone through, and unable to not let it out right now.

"I'm yours, Cowboy. I've always been yours. And yours only."

Jack heard Ennis's sharp intake of breath as his words echoed around them. But Ennis still wasn't trying to escape, and Jack wasn't gonna miss the opportunity to say as much as he would be allowed.

"And I want to be yours. I need to be yours..." His voice turned pleading now, but Jack couldn't care. "Tell me, Ennis. Tell me that I'm still yours."

Ennis bent his head even lower, and all there was was silence for some too-long seconds.

Come on, Ennis. Open the damn cage.

Jack kept brushing Ennis's wrists softly; waiting, wanting, needing Ennis to finally say or do something, anything, for once.

Just one time, God, please, just this time.

Ennis's eyes finally came up again to meet Jack's. His voice was so low — even lower than his usual mumbling — and hesitant, it came out more like a question than a statement: "Mine, huh..."

Jack let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and moved closer, brushing more strongly at Ennis's pulse. He lost himself in Ennis's gaze, wanting Ennis to see it all clearly in his eyes. What he wouldn't say. What Ennis wouldn't hear. And Jack nodded, his voice just as low as Ennis's had been, but assured.

"Yes. Yours." Jack inhaled deeply, as if that little word had filled the air with the most delightful fragrance, and couldn't help but confess, still holding Ennis's gaze, "Feels right, huh..." Then he smiled, tilting his mouth upwards and close, so close to Ennis's lips. "Tell me. Again."

And this time, Ennis growled.

"Mine."

Ennis attacked Jack's mouth desperately, bringing his hands to Jack's cheeks, holding him close, diving deep in Jack's mouth, and it felt even more frantic than in '67. Jack just let Ennis kiss him as long, as deep, as hard as he needed, let Ennis reclaim him as his, being just pliant and giving back as hard as he could but not fighting Ennis's lead, willing himself totally into Ennis's power.

They stumbled towards the bedroom, shirts and undershirts and shoes getting off and lost on their way, a melody of needy, soothing "Yours" echoed by needy, possessive "Mine" each time their lips had to part to take in some air. Ennis's hands were everywhere, just that bit harder and that bit more desperate than usual; and Jack loved it, loved the way they were telling him how much Ennis had been tortured too, thinking he would never be allowed this anymore. Telling him how bad he had been missed, and how bad he was needed just now.

And then they were by the bed, which had indeed been made, and he heard the thud Ennis's pants made when they hit the floor, and the stumbling of Ennis's feet freeing themselves from his jeans, and the 'cling' his own belt made when Ennis's hands opened it. And then Jack found himself half pinned across the bed, his legs still on the ground, as Ennis let himself fall on top of him, and then slid down between his legs, taking the rest of Jack's clothes off swiftly on his way.

Jack just surrendered, giving total control to Ennis, savoring Ennis's possessive, gripping touch and near-bites; needing to be possessed, needing to be reclaimed, chanting "Yours, Ennis, yours" over and over when Ennis's mouth got too busy to keep hushing out the litany of desperate "Mine" while licking and kissing and nibbling all the way down Jack's shivering body. Until Ennis's hungry, desperate mouth closed around him, working fast up and down, and Jack couldn't keep it in.

"God, Ennis, this, never, just yours, yours, yours."

Another growl could be heard then, but Jack knew it had been right to tell, and it had been soothing to hear, 'cause a moment later, one, and then two of Ennis's fingers were blissfully stretching him.

Then, as Jack had guessed he would, Ennis flipped him over, fingers still working as he let his damn-perfectly-knowing-him mouth nibble Jack's neck, then lick a path down Jack's back, stopping just a little longer on the way to play with Jack's sensitive secret spot, the one no one else knew, and Jack felt higher still, another song of "Yes, there, Ennis, yours" escaping his lips now.

Soon Ennis's hands gripped his hips hard and brought him down into his lap, and Jack just clutched the sheets tight for support, knowing what was coming, hearing Ennis spit, a sound he hadn't heard for several years since Ennis seemed to prefer to use lube, but which was just what he needed to hear right now, and not even a second later, Ennis entered him with another growled "Mine", filling him up perfectly, as always.

And it was fast. And it was raw. And it was possessive, Ennis letting out a throaty "Mine" with each thrust. But Jack loved it, even asked "Harder". And had to let out his last confession.

"Yes, Ennis. Yours, all yours, just yours, yours, yours."

Ennis's right hand reached around his waist and started stroking Jack's cock in the same frantic rhythm as his hips. And Jack came, hearing Ennis gnarl behind him a few seconds later. The same sound as their first night. And it seemed to Jack that each piece of their shattered puzzle was falling back into the right place.

After a while, Ennis let go of him and sat on the ground, leaning back against the bed. Jack just sat next to him, letting his head fall against Ennis's shoulder, and they were both silent for another while.

Jack felt like laughing. Here they were, in a neat cabin, with a comfy bed, and they still couldn't help but do it on the floor. And said bed was now invitingly open, Jack having pulled quite hard on the covers while hanging on, but they were still sitting on the floor. But the thing was, Jack couldn't care; they were together, again, and that was all that mattered in the end.

Ennis's voice shyly broke the silence, whispering, "I'm real glad you came."

Jack's heart just stopped. He forced himself to stay quiet and unmoving, knowing Ennis wouldn't feel comfortable if their eyes should meet after this tiny little admission. And the only thing Jack could reply with was "And I'm real glad you wanted me to come."