Title: Water and Fire, interlude
Author: Sheera
Date written: April 11, 2006
Pairing: Jack/Ennis
Rating: R for semi-sexuality and language
Plot summary: Ennis sees Jack in a new light.
Word Count: 572
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters—that honor goes to Ms. Proulx.
Author's Note: This is set somewhere in the Water and Fire universe, but I don't know where it fits in exactly. It isn't even necessarily AU. I'm trying to keep all my lovey-mushy stuff in the Water and Fire series, though, so it may just become a series of short pieces on that theme. This hasn't been beta read or edited, so be gentle. I was just trying to take a break from an angst-ridden Jack piece I've been working on.
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Ennis's breath stuck in his throat, a solid lump, and his fingers gripped the railing, holding on to it like he was a drowning man about to sink. Maybe he was. Time had slowed to an aching crawl while he watched Jack atop that bull, and he saw every movement in impossible detail. The hot glare of the sun framed Jack's figure, appearing and disappearing in flashes as he undulated back and forth, flowing like wave atop the beast's back. It almost seemed that for those brief seconds, they were somehow melded into one—there was no power struggle, no violence—just a physical sinuosity that dried out Ennis's mouth. The bull danced, fevered jerks, stirring plumes of fine dust, and Jack followed with an effortless ease, the grace of confidence. Ennis thought he saw the white flash of grin.
When Jack flew from his seat, it seemed perfectly normal, as if he jumped out of bed that way every morning, curling and turning mid-air, and he landed on both feet, cat-like. Ennis kept staring at the spot where Jack had been riding. There was something hot scalding inside his veins, a flush that was more than desire, bordering on awe. The Jack he knew was not like this; he thought of Jack tripping over his own boots, missing the coyote by a foot with his shotgun, spilling whiskey down the front of his shirt.
The announcers' excited voices were mere murmurs to him, and before he knew it, Jack was standing before him.
"Nine seconds, friend. Best fuckin' ride I ever had." He licked his lips, his body almost humming with satisfaction.
"Well, not half so clumsy's you usually are." Ennis grimaced a little, as if the words tasted sour in his mouth.
Jack didn't miss a beat. "Rodeo's the closest I got to a religious experience. Don't waste no time on thinkin' or double guessin' myself. Now let's git. I'm starvin', we can get some room service back at the hotel I booked us, the stuff they got here'll burn a hole in your gut faster'n you can say chili dog."
On the ride to the room, Ennis kept silent, snatching glimpses at Jack, watching him tap on the steering wheel along with the tune on the radio, singing slightly off-key but loudly enough to make up for it. Ennis thought it might be his imagination, but Jack looked different, like underneath his clothing there was liquid energy, lying fallow, waiting for the right time and place. Ennis bit his nail, pretended to look out the window at the featureless prairies, the wind-battered landscape. The rest of the time between the ride and ending up on the hotel bed was a blur, pointless chit-chat and silent anticipation, and he was wrestling Jack into the bed, couldn't care less if the boy wanted to order a steak, he wanted Jack now, wanted to feel that energy he glimpsed, thrumming through his bones and roaring in his ears, wanted to touch it so bad he could almost feel it, could see Jack writhing and flowing with the roar of the crowd, and in the second that he let himself see Jack with him that way, riding easy and brazenly in control, he let out a groan of ripping surrender, then down, and out.
As Jack fell asleep, a smile curled on his lips, savoring the sweet taste of respect hard-earned, but well-deserved.