The Path.7

Drabble: 1100 words
Genre: Canon { will be A/U later on}
Pairing: Ennis and Jack
Disclaimer: AP created'em, I just play with'em out of love

I managed to keep my wits about me most days; we were busy packing up the camp gear and readying the flock to move up to the summer ranges. Jack had no idea of my difficulties, and for my part, I did my best to keep myself on an even keel. No staring at his ass, no longing looks or licking my lips. I kept it all inside, as best I could.

The only dangerous game I played was during the last few days we were at the first camp, that swimming and bathing thing we did. That boulder soaking up the sun's rays was magnetic to me, I couldn't stay away. Nothing happened after that, my resolve seemed to firm up, and we never spoke of it. Not once.

We moved the sheep up to the high meadow during the first week of July. It was colder up there, and the wind was constant. The new camp we set up was still raw, and the tent didn't look right. But we got our work done, had a hot meal, and set in to talkin and drinkin 'n all. After a bit he began singin.

We got to talkin 'bout the Pentecost after Jack sang Water Walkin Jesus. Jack's guess was that Pentecost meant that "fellas like you'n me march off to hell."

I quickly protested that I wasn't a sinner. Claimed I hadn't yet had the opportunity. Jack mighta guessed just how close to that line I'd come lately.

He gimme that look that said "well, here ya go then, big boy." And handed me a nearly full bottle a Old Rose.

I took a thirsty swallow, while Jack pulled out his harmonica and started blowin it out, clearing it, then he played Turkey in the Straw. We tapped our feet and I clapped in all the right places. Then, while we caught our breath, Jack took a deep drink out of our bottle.

He next chose an old favorite, Red River Valley. The song was one my mother had sung along with the radio, and I began to hum. I closed my eyes, and repeated the chorus, picturing that woman who'd given birth to me nineteen years ago. It made me miss her voice, and the homey smell of her apple pies bakin, and it made me feel sad. I missed how she useta brush my hair to try to get the curls to lay flat. Picturing my mother quickly zapped the buzz I had started.

With the long days of moving sheep and setting up camp, that full hot meal, and then the Ol' Rose, I was just about dead on my feet. Even though there was still a bit of daylight left, I mounted Cigar Butt and headed up to the sheep. After running the perimeter of the flock checking for coyotes, I bedded down, barely giving a thought to my situation. I didn't stir till dawn.

At sunrise, I rolled up the pup tent, rode around the flock checking for predators again, brought in a couple strays and then headed down the mountain for breakfast. And Jack.

It was strange how every morning when I reached base camp at last, Jack looked better to me than he had the day before. His cooking hadn't improved any. He wasn't much better than me in that department, but it was edible and we was hungry. His coffee was better'n mine though. I tried to force my mind on tending the sheep and keeping them safe, and my eyes away from his face, his body . . well, just him in general, I guess. At one point, he felt my avoidance, I think. Cause he looked at me funny, and asked "you mad at me, Ennis?"

Told him I wasn't. No reason to be. It didn't seem to satisfy him, 'cause he kept lookin at me, worried or sad. After a couple days of this, I started stayin in camp longer. I'd offer to beat his ass in a game of checkers, or gin rummy. That seemed to satisfy him. We'd play the games and tease and challenge each other, and it took my mind off my situation for awhile. That's what I always called it, "my situation." I didn't guess the real reason I was so fixated on him, not for a long time. Just thought it was some kinda "boy crush". I never had one before, but it was all I could figure it might be. I sure hoped it would go away 'ventually. Never did seem to though.

Then one night after supper, we played strip poker. It was Jack's idea and I couldn't talk him out of it. We neither one had any money, so we couldn't even play for pennies, so strip poker, it was.

As the night wore on, and the level dropped in the bottle a Old Rose, I seemed to get luckier and luckier. Each hand, he'd either try to bluff and he wadn't too good at that, or I'd just have better cards than him. First his boots came off, one by one, followed by his socks. Then his shirt. When he started to unbutton his jeans, I said "whoa there bud, your hat's good enough." It was tough enough, looking at his chest, where that black hair trailed down, and down, to disappear inside his pants. . . my breathing had gotten pretty shakey already.

I made sure he won the next couple of hands, and then on the third hand he threw down his cards and said "I lose again!" while standing up and stripping off his Levi's. His drink-stupored hands were clumsy and he pulled his boxers down by mistake, along with the britches. When he sprung free right there in fronta me, by the fire, I thought I'd swallow my tongue, dry as it was. He laughed and said "oops!" but the damage was done, and I stared while he stood there fully erect, allowing me to get my eyes full.

My damn cock, mostly hard all night, was now like a hot poker in a steel furnace. I jammed on my boots and hat, and jumped on Cigar Butt like Tom Mix in the movies. As I fled to the high country, the rocking motion of my horse under me kept me high and tight. I couldn't get the vision of Jack out of my mind, and I was too buzzed to wonder why he was hard and ready, the same as me. My release came once again with Jack's name on my lips.

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