Title: Water and Fire, Interlude II

Author: Sheera

Date written: May 1, 2006

Pairing: Jack/Ennis

Rating: R

Plot summary: An exercise in dialogue, smexcapades, and silliness. (Really, there's not much to this one :)

Word Count: 783

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. Just taking a break from the "Portraits" series that I may never finish. This is also the first time I've consciously stepped away from Proulx's spare style…but not too far :)

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"Sheee-it, that's hard."

"Well, stop fuckin' fiddlin' with it, idjut. Lookin' at it won't get nothin' done."

"See if I ever do you a favor again, ungrateful bastard."

"Just get the damn thing off'a me!"

"Well, if you'd hold on to the headboard, maybe I could get some leverage, eh?"

"You realize your ass is within easy bitin' distance. Don't mess with me, cowboy."

Several guttural groans, and they were thrown in opposite directions.

"I'ma buy you a new pair of shoes, Mr. Ennis del Married To His Damn Boots. You steal 'em from a kid off the street or somethin'?"

"…or somethin'."

Jack heard the note in Ennis's voice, got serious. "How's your foot?" He touched it gingerly, swollen red and the toes smashed up like a wad of paper.

"'m fine. Hand me some a that whiskey."

Jack did, and stretched out on the bed, pulling a ziploc out of his pocket. "My friend gave me this stuff, said it's real high quality shit. Wanna give it a shot?"

Ennis shrugged, nodded and Jack pulled a paper out of the bag and deftly rolled the joint, sealing it with a quick flick of his tongue. Ennis tried not to stare, couldn't help it. When did Jack get so good at that? Jack clicked a flame into existence, inhaling deep, and it consumed the edges of the paper like flaring erosion. Ennis, not as practiced, inhaled too hard, coughed it up in spumes of annoyance, and determined to show what was what, he took another, slower and more thorough.

After the joint lay smoldering in the ash tray, sucked dry, they sprawled on the bed staring at the ceiling, slowly beginning to see the meaning of life in the landscape-like moldings of the plaster.

Ennis giggled, abruptly stopped because he couldn't remember why he was laughing. He decided to philosophize instead. "Y'know… I fuckin' love apples. I don' care if Alma thinks they're borin'. God, I could eat twenty apples right now. Maybe even fifty. Y'got any apples, Jack?"

"S'rry. But that sounds real good. Alma was a bitch, anyway. Who th'fuck doesn't like apples?"

Ennis rolled over awkwardly, looking at Jack plaintively. "That's what I like about you, Twist. You get it. You get it. And you're fuzzy, kinda like a peach. I like peaches, too."

Jack burst into insane laughter, eyes crinkling with happiness. Just as swiftly, his eyelids dropped to half mast, and he pushed Ennis back onto the bed, switching their positions so quickly Ennis got lost somewhere along the way.

"You callin' me soft, boy? I don't know that I rightly appreciate that."

Ennis traced a lazy finger from Jack's jaw, down his neck, the fluttering pulse pushing against his skin, brushing lightly on the fine down covering his chest. Ennis leaned close to Jack, bringing their lips so close together they breathed in time, electric charges crackling in the minute space between them. "But you are."

"Fuck." Moments later, their clothing was strewn around the bed, shrapnel of their desire, and Ennis pulled Jack closer, closer, closer, could barely feel him, as if he were a ghost, flickering in and out of existence.

"Jack, c'mere… c'mere." He couldn't stop running his hands all over Jack, fingertips bursting with sensation, burning with the existence of this man who felt like his soul. He was overwhelmed by the smell of him, the sweet salty stink of sun-soaked skin and time spent with animals, tinged with nicotine and the scent of hard liquor. He wanted to devour Jack, filled with an insatiable drive to taste him, biting his neck, warm skin straining to the point of bursting against his touch, and looking into Jack's eyes was like a long-remembered sky, the essence of a color distilled into two points, holding the promise of freedom and more. Ennis felt the tears scorching a trail down his face, and he pushed into Jack, pushed into the sight and color and sound of his dream, pushed until he he was no more, until he thought his blood might boil with it, until he wasn't pushing anymore and he was lost in the pulse of their bodies. When he thought he might die of it, he kissed Jack, lips crushed, teeth meeting teeth, capturing the flavor of him, and it pushed him over the edge he had been skirting, groaning his release into Jack's willing mouth.

Some time later, Ennis shifted, lying beside Jack, resting his head against Jack's shoulder, absently running his fingers through his soft black hair, and mumbled incoherently before he passed into oblivion,

"You taste like a fuckin' apple. That's why I love you, you son of a bitch."