- Deeper Than Skin II -
Summer came and went, and with its departure came Jack's eagerness to be off. He and his father didn't get along well, and there was only so much fighting Jack could stand. Forking hay into the back of his pick-up one day, Jack suggested that he and Ennis might be able to find a good job at some ranch, working together like they were. Ennis seemed amenable enough to the idea, and so it was that Jack announced to his parents over supper that he and Ennis would be packing up and heading out soon. It was agreed that the boys would paint the outside of the house before they left—it was peeling badly, and Mrs. Twist's complaints had finally driven her husband to buy paint—and Jack and Ennis threw themselves into the work, Jack enduring his father's constant criticism only because he knew he would be rid of it soon enough.
In the end, there was more paint than needed, and Mrs. Twist cheerfully suggested that they paint the fence, too, since it "was such an eyesore," in her words. Jack argued against the idea with all the breath he had until Ennis put a calming hand on his friend's shoulder and reasoned that painting the fence couldn't take more than a few days.
Five days later, Jack was throwing those words back at Ennis, glaring down the long line of unpainted wood. " 'Won't take more'n a few days'," Jack mocked in a token imitation of Ennis's voice. " 'Have the fence done in no time and be on our way'. Fuckin' fence…"
"Didn't seem nearly this long when we was fixin' it up," Ennis muttered in defense. He shoved his hair back out of his eyes and realized belatedly that his hand was covered in paint. Jack looked away quickly, smothering a smile. Swearing, Ennis kicked at the fence, found that it hadn't dried yet, glared at the paint all over his boot—and turned the glare to Jack, who could no longer hold in his laughter. "What, you think it's funny?" Ennis demanded, though the corners of his own mouth twitched slightly in the beginnings of a smile.
"Yeah," Jack gasped, bent double. He lifted his head enough to grin helplessly at Ennis. "'Specially with all that paint in your hair…"
Ennis grabbed a brush, jumped at Jack, and coated the top of his head and side of his face with fresh, white paint. Swearing, Jack jumped Ennis and the two tumbled to the ground, battling for dominance.
And Jack, for the first time ever, pinned Ennis down and actually kept the bigger man pinned. Jack, hands wrapped loosely around Ennis's throat, grinned triumphantly down at the other man before dropping his shoulders to keep his weight closer to Ennis, thereby making it harder for him to roll Jack over. Ennis flailed uselessly about and finally gave in, reluctantly. Jack pulled away a little, the same grin on his face—and then Ennis's vision was full of forehead and eyebrows and hair falling against his own face, and Ennis was abruptly aware of Jack's lips against his.
Shock gave Ennis the strength he had formerly been lacking, and he bucked Jack off, rolling away and scrambling to his feet. Jack, dazed, shook his head a little, pushed himself up on one arm, glanced up at Ennis then quickly looked away. Ennis just stared down at him with a mix of shock and horror, making inarticulate little noises; Ennis pressed a hand to his face, turned away and took a few steps, turned back, stared, walked in a little circle, spun away again, immediately spun back around, stared at Jack; he pressed his knuckles against his eyes, muttered something Jack couldn't hear, and turned away again; this time, he did not turn back around.
That night, as Jack was in the bathroom trying to clean the last of the paint from his face and hair before going to bed, there was a soft knock at the bathroom door; before he could call out and ask who it was, the door swung open, and Ennis stepped into the room, yanking the door closed after him. Jack opened his mouth to say something, but Ennis grabbed him and shoved him back against the wall, his eyes angry. "You lis'en t'me, Jack fuckin' Twist. I ain't queer. The thing that happened today was a mistake, y'hear?"
Jack blinked at him in mild surprise, quickly thought through all the possible responses, and chose the worst. He reached up and grabbed two handfuls of Ennis's shirt, and propelled the man back against the opposite wall, pressing his mouth to Ennis's for the second time that day. Jack's hands moved up to grab onto Ennis's ears, keeping the man's face where it was, and pried Ennis's mouth open with his own. Ennis showed surprisingly little resistance, and that was what shocked Jack into stumbling away backwards. Jack leaned heavily against the sink, his knuckles white where he gripped the basin, and stared at Ennis. Ennis's eyes were closed, his lips still parted slightly. Jack wiped at his lips with the back of one hand and ran from the bathroom.
"You boys got any plans for what you're goin' t'do after you leave?" Mrs. Twist asked at breakfast.
Ennis stared fixedly at his plate. Jack glanced at his mother and said softly, "Plan is t' find work on some ranch or somethin'." Though there was no way for Jack to know if that was still what Ennis had in mind, what with the…things that had happened. The meal went on in silence a while longer. "Should finish with the fence today, leave soon's it's done."
"Sure took long enough," John Twist muttered sourly. "No way it shoulda taken so long."
Jack and Ennis both shrugged, and said nothing. Mrs. Twist glanced from her son to his friend, frowning, wondering what could have caused this obvious change in both their attitudes.
As usual, Jack was the first to finish eating; he sat back in his chair and waited until Ennis was done. The two glanced up at each and quickly looked away, then rose and silently left the house.
They didn't speak as they painted the last stretch of fence, but both boys looked frequently at each other, though neither noticed it; Jack did not see Ennis's frequent, furtive glances, and Ennis didn't see Jack's lingering looks at the play of muscles along Ennis's arms and back.
Jack finally straightened from the half-crouch he'd been in, looking at Ennis in silence a moment before asking as casually as he could, "We still gonna go on with the plan?"
Ennis didn't pause, his voice as offhand as Jack's: "Don't see no reason not to."
Jack nodded, waited to see if Ennis might say anything more; he didn't, and Jack went back to painting.
They didn't finish painting until late in the day, but Jack was determined not to spend another night under his parent's roof. As they threw their things into the back of the truck, Ennis mumbled something about not seeing why Jack was so eager to leave, his parents seemed like nice enough people. Jack answered sourly, "Sure, Momma's fine, if'n you can look past all the religious shit. Daddy ain't even worth talkin' 'bout, so I ain't gonna waste my breath explainin' why I hate him." And yet, it was all Jack talked about for a good hour as they drove, giving myriad tales of his hateful and abusive father, to all of which Ennis nodded agreeably and kept his mouth closed.
Jack drove as long as he could, but when he began dozing off and nearly drove them off the road, Ennis ordered him to pull over at the first motel they could find. Jack was, by then, too tired to argue.
The motel room was small, with a single bed; they'd decided they didn't have the money to afford two rooms or two beds, and climbed into the single bed with their backs to each other, as close to their respective edges as they could be without falling off the bed.
It was still dark when Ennis awoke, and he wasn't quite sure at first what had wakened him. But as his awareness increased, Ennis heard heavy breathing, as if someone very near him was struggling for air; Ennis traced the source of the breathing to someone above him and, shortly after, became aware of the legs on either side of his, and the hands laboring to undo his belt buckle.
It was a short scuffle that ultimately resulted in Jack's mouth pressing hard against Ennis's, followed by the length of a body pressing itself down against Ennis's chest, stomach, hips, and thighs. Hands worked their way between the bodies to unbutton Ennis's shirt; that job quickly done, the hands moved back to Ennis's pants.
Ennis tore his mouth away with a noise somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and the hands flew up to Ennis's face, gently stroking his cheeks and hair, voice murmuring incomprehensible but nonetheless comforting phrases. And all the while, the body pressed against Ennis, pressing especially hard in all the right places…until it was Ennis who lifted his mouth to meet those lips, and whose hands moved to the buttons of a shirt…
The next time Ennis woke, he was having trouble breathing; the cause soon became clear: he was laying on his stomach with Jack sprawled half on top of him, effectively sandwiching Ennis between his body and the none-too-soft bed. Ennis worked his knees and elbows beneath himself and pressed upwards, rolling Jack off and unto the floor. Jack awoke sounding as if he'd tried to swallow his own tongue.
Jack's head appeared over the side of the bed. For a moment, he and Ennis simply looked impassively at the other; then Jack gave a little snort and started searching on the floor for his clothes. He found Ennis's pants first, and threw them in the general vicinity of the bed; Ennis struggled into them and, modesty satisfied, rolled onto the floor to help Jack with the search.
Jack was the first to break the silence of the morning as they drove down the empty road: "So…we lookin' for ranch work?"
"I'd say so, seein' as that's 'bout all I'm good at. We c'n stop at a rodeo or two if you get the itchin' for it, but ain't no way I'm gettin' on another bronc."
Jack smiled, trying to hide his relief. We. Jack had been waiting all morning for Ennis to tell him to pull over, that he'd find work on his own, that he didn't want to be around Jack anymore…but it seemed now that those had been unfounded worries. As far as Jack could tell, Ennis had every intention of staying.
They stopped at a little diner to eat after Jack realized they hadn't had anything since lunch yesterday. There, Jack asked a waitress if she knew of any ranches that needed help. She thought for a moment, then said, "Old Tom Braxton's almost always lookin' for help. One a my boys worked there few years back, didn't have no complaints, said Tom was a real good man. I don't know him myself, but I've only heard good things about him." Jack gave the woman his winning smile, and it sent a strange feeling down into Ennis's stomach, to see that smile directed at a stranger. Ennis would realize later that this was the first stirring of jealously—the first, but certainly not the last.
Old Tom Braxton was not especially old. He still looked a perfectly fit man, and his eyes were a bright, lively blue as he regarded Jack and Ennis from behind his spectacles. He liked what he saw—two strong, healthy boys, eager for work and fallen on hard enough times that Tom could get them to work for a cheap price. Tom leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, looking earnestly at the two boys. "Tell you what, I just got a few new horses, but I ain't got the men to keep up with all of 'em. I can put you two to work in the stables."
"What kinda work?" Jack asked shrewdly.
"Well, just cleanin' up 'till I get the feel a both a you, see what you can do… But if you do good, you can bet I'll promote you. I ain't the kind to waste talent."
Jack glanced over at Ennis, who nodded ever so slightly. Jack leaned forward, too, elbows propped on his knees. "What about pay an' livin' arrangements?"
"Got a barracks where all my workers sleep. You two'll have beds in there, places to put your things. We'll feed ya, three meals a day. Nights, ya got to yourselves, you can leave if'n you want, so long's you're back for work in the mornin'. I don't tolerate lateness. Far as pay goes…" He named the price.
Jack and Ennis exchanged looks, communicating in a way Tom couldn't understand. Jack nodded, said, "Mr. Braxton, you got yourself two stable hands."
Tom grinned, and rose to shake Jack's hand, and Ennis's. He kept hold of Ennis's, peering up into the taller man's eyes. "Do you talk, boy?"
"Only when I have to," Ennis mumbled, and Tom smiled slightly as he released Ennis's hand.
"Well, I'll show you boys around, introduce you to some of the people you'll need to know." He beckoned for them to follow him from the office.
Three stables contained the Braxton horses; Jack had been impressed by the look of the stables, and he was further impressed by the interior. The stables were clean almost to the point of sterility, and the horses looked to live far more luxuriously than Jack ever had. Each stable was tended by a troop of men; each troop was overseen by a Head Groom. Ennis and Jack were to work beneath Roy Williams, a distracted man who gave his new workers perfunctory handshakes and greetings before rushing off to yell at a hand improperly cleaning a stall. Tom Braxton grimaced slightly and apologized for Williams, explaining that the man oversaw the biggest of the three stables and had his hands full with all the new horses…and the new, unknowledgeable workers. "You boys better hope you know what you're doin'," Tom advised. "Do somethin' wrong, Roy's likely to throw you out, an' I'll trust his word afore yours."
What Tom had called the barracks looked to be little more than an old stable, modified to suit the large numbers of men it would hold. The beds were all bunk beds; a chest stood at the foot of the bottom bed, and another up against the wall for belongings to be kept in. A few feet away from the barracks was the "mess hall," where meals would be taken. Jack was shown where he could park his truck and, while he was off doing that, Ennis set about packing their things away in the chests by the bunks he'd been pointed to.
They didn't have to start work until tomorrow, and supper was a good hour away; when Jack returned to the barracks he innocently suggested they go wander about the grounds and see if there was anything to look at. Their wandering took them quite some distance from the farm and from all people; Jack, hands shoved deep into his pockets, said tentatively, "I been thinkin' 'bout…last night…"
Ennis paused briefly, then kept walking, though Jack noticed the suddenly tense set of his shoulders. "Yeah?" Ennis asked, trying to sound casual, unconcerned…but he was ready to bolt.
"Uh-huh." Jack was walking on thin ice, and he knew it. But he felt that there were things that needed to be said… "And…"
"Way I see it," Ennis interrupted, choosing his words carefully, "ain't nothin' really wrong with it, long as nobody finds out."
Jack's brow furrowed slightly in confusion—Ennis spoke so few words, they were almost always cryptic—but he nodded anyway. "Uh-huh…"
"And, uh…well…" He shrugged, staring determinedly down at the ground. "Yeah."
Jack slowed, and stopped. Ennis took a few more steps before he, too, stopped and half-turned to face Jack. Jack opened his mouth, closed it, and finally managed to get out, "So…what now?"
"What now?" Ennis repeated. "Well, now we're workin' here, gonna get paid good money. But we'll only get that money if we keep the job, so we can't do nothin' that'll give 'em excuse to fire us."
Jack tried to hide how much the words hurt, but Ennis must have seen something in his face. Ennis took two quick steps forward and grabbed handfuls of Jack's shirt, hauling the man forward into a bruising kiss that sent Jack's head to spinning. When Ennis released him, Jack stumbled forward, almost fell; Ennis gently righted him, squeezed his friend's shoulder, asked softly, "You alright, rodeo?"
Jack swayed slightly on his feet, giddiness making him dizzy. "Yeah," he murmured, eyes finally fixing on Ennis. "What…?"
"Way I see it," Ennis said with a level look at Jack, "our lives ain't no one else's business. A man has the right to live how he chooses. Some choices might make others uncomfortable, so as long as we don't go around advertisin' our private business…" It was more words than Ennis was comfortable speaking at one time, and he shifted his shoulders, looked down at the ground…but his hand remained on Jack's shoulder.
Jack took a shaky breath, trying to force his heart back to a normal rate. It wasn't working, and he gave up, deciding it wasn't really worth it anyway. He was just too happy…no, happy wasn't a strong enough word…ecstatic…
"Jack? We should head back…gettin' kinda late…"
Jack blinked, forcing his mind back to the present. "Yeah," he agreed, nodding overeagerly to compensate for the way he'd been acting. "Gettin' late…" Side by side, they walked back the way they had come.
