Go Fish – Part Ten.
"Shit, Ennis – this ain't no sleepover. Let me in there," Jack leaned down towards Ennis, poked a hand inside the bedroll and continued, his voice a hushed whisper in tone but not a decibel quieter than it ever was. "Nobody'll walk in here an' I know you gotta be feelin' as lonely down there as I am up here."
Ennis sighed loud and spoke quiet, "'Nother coupla nights alone in there ain't gonna kill ya. Lucky I'm even in here."
"Don't see the point in waitin' now, Ennis. I don't care no more." Jack's cool hand found Ennis's bicep and gave it a pleading squeeze. "'Sides, nights is gettin' damn cold an' we always did manage t'keep warm in there t'gether."
Ennis gazed up at him through a whiskey-haze while he spoke, giving in to those pleading eyes; saw no point himself in waiting another two nights after a week being together but keeping apart. Hell, if they were in the same room they might as well be under the same covers. Fuck John Twist Senior, he thought, smiling on the inside but showing none of it,Don't plan on ever seein' the ol' bastard again after Tuesday. "If it'll make you shut the fuck up, then jus' get in here," Ennis turned away from him, hidden smile creeping it's way onto his lips. "But keep y'r hands to y'rself now."
"You sure have a high opinion o'yourself, Del Mar." Jack dropped down on top of the bedroll, stretched his arm up to the crooked wall-lamp above the bed and a light tug on the little cord that hung from it left them in darkness. Ennis felt Jack squirm beside him, still atop the canvas. Felt the clumsy kick of long legs and knew that he was wriggling right out of his drawers before climbing into the bedroll and pressing tight against him, breathing warm breath on the back of his neck, soft dick nestled in his asscrack, but keeping his hands to himself, sure enough.
Past week spent on that sorry old ranch hadn't been easy for either one of them. Jack's Daddy was a mean son of a bitch, made them work hard and did his damnedest to make any other time they had harder still. Pa Twist had set it out clear from the start: "This one," he'd said, pointing a bony finger at his only son, "didn't bring you here for no vacation. You're here t'work an' while you're under my roof an' on my land that's jus' what you'll be doin'." First day, morning after the night when Jack's mouth had found him in the secrecy of the barn and he'd slept curled on the small couch in the Twists' living room, the jobs had been dished out and Ennis'd felt like he was back in Aguirre's trailer.
"You," the old man said, with a nod of his head towards Ennis, "Can take care a out back. Land needs cleared, fencing put right, you worked a ranch 'fore, right?"
"Yep," he replied, casting his eyes up for a quick moment.
"All his life," Jack added, smiling by his side, hat in hand.
His old man looked unimpressed. "Well, get to. Cutters an' the like in the shed, far right. Don't 'spect I need t'be watchin' over ya." Ennis said nothing, made his way hurriedly out of the house and away from that man's uneasy stare, heard the clunk of Jack's footsteps following him and then the "Not you, boy," that stopped him in his tracks. Ennis kept on and, as he twisted the handle and shuffled out the door, heard John repeat that this wasn't gonna be no vacation, sounded like he meant it. So much for working together and sleeping together.
Accustomed to working alone and never a problem with following orders, Ennis set to work, soon found that the land they held was bigger than it first looked; grazing space that hadn't seen livestock in years stretched back a ways towards the flat horizon, overwhelmed now by scorched wheatgrass and scattered patches of sagebrush. That day had felt to Ennis like half-dream, half-nightmare. There he was, newly shacked up with Jack, but without the freedom to enjoy it – nothing like the Brokeback days he'd spent years pining for. He knew that this was how it'd have to be from now on in, no matter where they were that wasn't behind a locked door or high on a mountain - a different life with the same secret to keep - and he already felt he'd miss the ease of having a wife, the comfort of the pretence. He felt just as lonely that day as he had in any other that'd gone before, coulda been working any old ranch job, and wondered for a short, stinging moment if this hadn't all been one big mistake. He managed to shake that feeling off like a dog shakes off water; knew Alma had seen what she's seen and that would've changed everything anyway he played it. Mistake already made.
John Twist had appeared late that same morning, jarring him from his thoughts and the steady rhythm of hammering wire into wood. He appeared just as the clouds turned slate grey, rolling low and fit to burst, and Ennis had thought, in a rare moment of hope, that he was being moved inside to work alongside Jack, out of that damp wind. He squinted at him, nodded his head in salute, and wiped dirty hands, bloody form barbed-wire nicks, on his jeans.
"Here," John grunted and threw a brown paper sack down at his feet. "Eleanor sent lunch for ya. Y'can eat it out here."
"Thanks," Ennis muttered, crouching to pick up the bag, just avoiding a spray of the old man's spit as he did. Eyes rested on him then; a lingering narrow-eyed look that said what he had to say before the words came.
"I know your type, Del Mar. Ain't got me fooled. Don't think I don't know. " He spat again and turned on his boot heel, ambled back towards the house without a backward glance. Ennis let the bag fall to the ground - appetite all but gone - and kicked it across the grass and into the brush at the far corner of the field. He sat for a while, tugging at handfuls of grass, cursing under his breath, angry and feeling branded by that man's eyes on him, felt the unspoken word scorched into his skin: Queer. He let the rage simmer in him for a while but gave in to an empty belly before long, got up to retrieve the bag from where it'd landed, knew he couldn't leave it there for long or there'd be critters all over it. He reached down toward the small shrub, pushing back a dry branch, sending wilted leaves dancing as he did, and uncovered a single patch of penstemon hidden in that corner, like it was hiding, still flowering way out of season. The small round petals, vivid blue, seemed to calm him, reminded him of Jack's eyes: soft and bright and alive. Ennis let the branch fall and cover the secret blooms, sat with his back against a crooked fencepost, hat low over his eyes, and pulled a sandwich from the bag. As he ate, he wondered how something so artless and beautiful had ever managed to survive in a place like this. Couldn't help wonder the same about the penstemon.
They lay spooning in silence for a little while; sleep feeling to Ennis as far off as a life without a care. He nuzzled the bedroll, the smell of it – musky with a sweet, damp edge like mountain grass – took him back to the last time they'd shared it back in June and he knew, soon as he'd had it, that thought would be his undoing. He fidgeted some, craned his neck to see if Jack was still awake and, in response, Jack pressed closer still, whispered in a low, sleepy voice, "See? Nice an' warm in here now, friend," and nudged his hips forward in several shorts thrusts, still not a hand on him.
"Jack…" Not much of a protest as he arched his back involuntarily, pushing his ass back, tight against Jack's growing erection.
"Hush now," Jack breathed into his ear, soft lips grazing a lobe, sending a shiver through him that raced from his head to his toes, lingering longest somewhere in the middle. "I'm keeping my hands t'myself."
Ennis moaned at that, a small sound from the back of his throat, an felt Jack shift, pull his hips back, and the length of his stiff dick drew a line there, prodding the soft flesh of his ass as Jack rolled onto his back. The sound that followed was the soft scratch of skin against cloth; Jack's hand moved rhythmically and his breath grew quick, nothing he could see from his position but no description required. His own cock was standing to attention now, and he told himself again that he didn't want to get into this here – was risky enough those nights out in the barn – but his judgement was clouded by the booze they'd shared in celebration of the day, the fierce ache in his balls not helping. He turned, barely the outline of Jack was visible in the dense dark of the room, but Ennis knew too well the look that'd be on Jack's face, drew it from sweet savoured memory; head back, mouth open, tongue tracing wet lines on his bottom lip, and his blue eyes lidded but open, looking up at him through the brush of dark lashes.
"C'mon, Ennis - don't remember sayin' nothin' 'bout you keepin' your hands t'y'rself," he gasped low, shallow breaths punctuating the words, and reached to grab Ennis's hand.
Ennis was glad to be kept busy while he was there - no stranger to the sweat and blood of hard work - the sting of torn hands and dull ache in his back kept his mind focused on the job; not on the past, not on the future. They were kept, all those days, at what John Twist must've thought was a safe distance from each other. Any time there was a two-man job to be done, he'd make sure he was one of the men doing it, other times he'd stand guard over them, tongue cracking like a whip, words stinging. Got so that neither of them minded, both knew, even if the old man didn't, that there was no distance safe enough – seven hundred miles couldn't do it and neither could an empty stretch of land or steep staircase. Those days made the nights sweeter: they'd share secret looks – never more than that in the house - that could redden Ennis's face and harden his dick; stole moments in the barn, horses watching or not, one two-man job that John Twist wouldn't ever have a part in.
One week in, just that morning - the invitation to join Jack's folks at church declined, thank you kindly – and the stud duck of the pond had begrudgingly granted them a day of rest. They'd talked about that sweet life Jack had in mind, agreed that this wasn't it, and though it made Ennis nervous as hell – two of them, two guys, buying a place together – he still wanted it, sure of that more now that before. Sure, too, that he wanted to be out there making money to send home to his little girls – didn't plan to make moves to see them for a while, more than a little dust needing time to settle, but sinner though he may well be, he had honour in him, still. They drove up to that place Jack'd heard of - his Momma knew someone's sister who knew the folks that were selling up – close to Billings, further from the border than they thought, Ennis's first time out of state. Most of the two hour drive was interstate, Ennis quiet at he wheel a keyed-up Jack at his side - optimistic and mischievous, both – and they found the little place, though not before asking for directions and taking an off-road detour.
A scrawly, hand-painted For Sale sign signalled the find and they sat in the cab of the truck, looking at it and each other, wondering what to do next. It was a small spread, sure enough; smaller even than the one in Lightning Flat. There were sheep just visible, dirty white and woolly, at the back and the house was flat and wide, single level, paint chipped and peeling, dirty-white like the sheep. Right there before them in stone and timber; a whole world of possibilities, plans fast turning into actions.
"Well, we sittin' here all day?" Jack asked, shit-eating grin on his face, eyes as wide as all outdoors.
"Jus' takin' a look." Ennis paused, weak smile doing nothing to mask his trepidation. "Nice li'l place, huh?"
"Could be, friend. Could be," Jack fussed with the hat on his head, levered the door of the truck open. "You comin'?"
"Jesus…comin' Jack," Ennis whispered, quite as he could manage, neither of them keeping their hands to themselves now as his stroking hand slowed to a tight grip on Jack's softening cock, smooth and slick with his own seed. They lay wrapped in the bedroll, legs entangled and cocks held in mutual hands. Ennis pushed his face against Jack's neck, wet from his own spit where he'd been kissing, licking, biting just before, muffling the heavy sound of his shallow breath. A fierce heat rose in him; from the soles of his feet that felt like they were on fire, spread through him in flame-like licks, higher and hotter with each long stroke of Jack's hand on his dick until it found a way out, liquid fire pouring into his fist. "Felt hotter'n hell," He whispered to Jack, as his hand slowed and drew away from him. As sleep took him, not so far off after all, he lingered on the thought that heat of hell was something he should get used to. Wasn't going nowhere else.
They'd approached the ranch house, cool dry air swirling around them as they climbed the steps onto the porch, and stopped at the black front door, neither making to knock or holler.
"Well?" Ennis asked, looking at Jack, bag of nerves for no reason at all –Just a coupla guys lookin' around, he reminded himself.
Jack knocked finally and a young fella, not as young as them, but still, greeted them with a creak of the door and a "Howdy." Seemed he'd beaten them to it, bought the place four days previous for more than they could've paid for it anyway.
Ennis woke in the night, never a great sleeper, and anxiety gripped him –Shouldn't be here, he thought, Old man got 'nough against us. Shouldn't be here in this room, in the bedroll with him. But before he could climb out and down the stairs, quiet as a catburglar, Jack stirred, rolled close to him with a sigh he felt warming the back of his neck. Still asleep, Jack hooked a strong leg over his own in what always felt to Ennis like a claiming gesture; pinning him, holding him there to the place and the time and the feeling. Before he'd even realised he was moving, Ennis had stretched his arm back to take hold of Jack's hand and, with fingers clasped together, drew Jack's arm around him, held it to his chest. He remembered lying like this, up on Brokeback, just like this on countless cold nights in the tent with Jack on the QT when he should've been high on the hill with just the sheep and the odd baying coyote for company. It quieted his anxiety, something about the weight and the warmth - familiar and protecting - pushed away the hurt and the stress so it seemed to ebb away as quickly as it had come. Having Jack so close brought back a safe, untouchable feeling. Only time in his whole life he'd ever felt that way was when he'd been huddled side by side in a tent with Jack Twist. It was a feeling he hadn't realised back then would be unique to that time or that person; he'd half-expected to have it again once he came to share a bed with Alma, then longed for it when it never did return. One of many hoped-for feelings he didn't feel with her. Her legs and her arms, too small and thin and smooth; they bore no weight and never felt like they held him anywhere or to anything.
"You hirin' on?" Ennis had asked, taking some initiative, keen to get away from Lightning Flat sooner rather than later.
The man shook his head no, "Don't think I'll be needin' it, not anytime soon. You looking for work?"
"Yeah, somethin' residential or a place cheap enough to buy," Ennis kept on, talked like it was what he'd planned on saying all along. Jack looked on, not used to being the quiet one, amused no end, thought he better get used to being surprised by Ennis Del Mar.
The man in the doorway continued, "Tell you what, place up where I come from – you local boys? – town a Riley, near Hardin, fella running a place there jus' dropped down dead, wife and kid left don't know what t'do with the place. Looking for someone t'run it, maybe even sell up down the line. Looked myself but it was no good for me, need somethin' stable for the kids, so don't rightly know the ins and outs, but worth a try if you're lookin'."
And worth a try it was. They'd taken the name of the place – Meadowlark Ranch – and rough directions, drove straight there, two hours worth of talking about it on the way. After one when they arrived, out of the blue, widow and her sister home and more than a little surprised to see a couple of strangers at the door. They explained how they'd come to know the situation and she'd nodded at the mention of Kent, the name of the fella who'd sent them. She invited them in, told them her son was too young to keep the place ticking over, she wanted him to stay at school yet but wasn't keen on selling as she wanted the boy to have the ranch to go back to. Planned on living with her sister in town and wanted someone to run the place for her, she'd collect a cut of any money made, couldn't guarantee how long the arrangement would go for; she might decide to sell or move back in, depending. Suited them just fine. Asked when they could start.
They agreed on Wednesday that week – the widow, Mrs Decker, would have her stuff cleared out by then. They discussed the finer details over coffee, the two women smiling at them, taken by Jack's easy charm and loose tongue. When asked, Jack told them they were both in the process of divorce, Ennis's more recent – "Found his wife with another man, still sore on it." - and that they were cousins – "More like brothers, Ennis's folks died when he was young so we always been real close." The widow and her sister, Mrs Wiley, listened sympathetically. "Family's important in hard times," Mrs Decker had said, looking at her sister through glassy eyes, "I know that myself."
That settled, easy as pie it'd felt like, they drove back toward the border. Over the moon, both of them, they talked on it, joked and joshed, Ennis acting sore about what he'd told the women about his situation but feeling anything but; felt he could paw the white out of that moon if he wasn't so high over it.
They stopped on the way back for food, washed it down with malt whiskey at a roughneck bar afterwards. Back on the road while they could still see straight enough to drive, Jack took the wheel and found another a route off the interstate, pulled them into a quiet ravine as the sun dipped in the sky, turned the distant hills the colour of ash. Jack clamoured for a kiss or more, Ennis resisting, "Plenty a time for that, soon 'nough," he'd said, smile on his face, couldn't hold his lips straight. "Anyway, now that we's family, I don't know…"
"Ennis," Jack interrupted, pushing himself close. "Ain't you ever heard a kissin' cousins?"
Morning came and Ennis squinted in the curtain-dimmed light of the room, felt Jack's hand still on him, resting limp and heavy on his belly. He heard footsteps on the stairs outside and rolled tired eyes, hand on head, knowing there'd be questions to come about why he wasn't on the couch, and what if they'd heard something? Brought a stab of senseless fear to his chest that he fought to push down and away: just two more days.
Jack woke soon after and they dressed, quiet smiles passing between them, Ennis hating the fact that Jack could make him, man and boy, blush pink like a girl with just a look.
"Tell you what, I been thinkin'," said Jack, tucking in a shirttail.
"You been thinkin' in yer sleep?"
"Fuck you. Serious now Ennis, t'hell with stayin' here another two nights, my old man's made bein' back here hell an' I was here a whole week 'fore you even showed up."
"Can't go til Wednesday, that's what she said, ain't got much choice." Ennis said, shrugging his shoulders; the voice of reason.
"Let's go on up Brokeback for a coupla nights, for ol' times sake. Say our goodbye's to Wyoming for good, I'm thinkin'."
Ennis thought about it for a minute, couldn't find a reason not to. "Sure would be nice to get a break 'fore we start at the Meadowlark."
"Get your stuff t'gether an' lets get, then." Full of beans now, Jack stepped over the bedroll on the floor and picked up his unpacked bag, still lumpily half filled with clothes.
"I ain't got no stuff, Jack, 'member?"
"Well, looks like you're 'bout ready then. C'mon. Let's break the good news."
When they went down, together despite Ennis's initial protest – wanted to stay up there, get their stuff together - the Twists were sitting at the kitchen table, coffee on the boil and eggs bubbling on the stove. Jack did the talking, Ennis quiet in his seat, sipping his coffee before it was cool enough to drink. No congratulations or well-wishes on the job front, Jack said they'd be leaving today, going fishing first, neither Eleanor or John said much at all. Breakfast was quiet, but felt no more or less awkward to Ennis than it been the week before. John Twist left first, no goodbye said, just muttered words about going back on promises and as they headed on upstairs to get their things.
Bag on his shoulder, Ennis tying up the bedroll tight on the floor, Jack spoke. "Y'know Ennis, sure wish things had been different first time we'd come down off Brokeback. Know I felt somethin' even then. Shit, more'n a few lives coulda been a helluva lot better. Wish i'd said somethin' at the time."
"Well, y'didn't," Ennis looked down as he tugged on the strap that held the bundle of canvas and down together. That feeling was back in him, something like fear but not so easy to name riding sixty-forty with hope, it tied knots in his stomach that he tried to ignore, knew they would come undone up on the mountain. He stood up, heaved the bundle up in his arms. "An' neither did I, Jack. Let's get goin'."
Jack bounded down the narrow stairs, canvas bag on his back and Eleanor came to say goodbye, put a hand on her sons arm, "You come back soon, both o'you."
They threw Jack's bag in the back of his pick-up, the bedroll and camping gear already there with fishing poles, two, and a creel case.
"Glad y'remembered that fishin' gear this time," Ennis said, sly smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Tell you what, friend," Jack said, lightning a cigarette, eyes narrowed to the morning sun. "You can go fish up there if you want, but I got a better idea."
Ennis got into his own truck, wondered if Jack had packed those shirts from their first time on Brokeback, didn't feel right asking, knew he'd find out soon enough.
~The End~