Ennis, watching the storm clouds all day and spying Jack as an angry speck in the meadow, predicts he would come back in a bad mood, and he's right.
Jack throws his hat down, immediately flopping over a log like a dead fish. Ennis knows what to do like he done a million times before and pours him a beer, handing his own smoke over to Jack. "Hard day, huh?"
"You got that right." Jack takes a long draw. "Damn coyotes… found a sheep ripped open, guts spillin out an' all that. Grass'll probably still be red by mornin'. Then the clouds sweep in out a nowhere and I'm soaked through, an' I scramble into the pup tent to find the piss smell's way strong in the rain. Then I come out to see the damn thunder's spook the sheep, they're scattered all over in clumps like maggots, an' I spend half the day herdin' em back to the pasture." He groans and strains his arm. Ennis winces. He can almost hear the soreness. "Damn Aguirre," Jack swears, and Ennis is suddenly overcome with fondness. He pats Jack on the thigh. "C'mon, little darlin, turn over."
"What sins do you got in that head a yours, cowboy?" Jack jokes, but turns around so that his back is facing Ennis, who's now straddling the log.
He slaps his back playfully. "You'll never guess. Now take that damn shirt off."
Jack visibly blushes and does so, but makes a show of popping each button like the show-off he is and Ennis makes no attempt to hide his adoration. Jack's back is speckled with moles, two at his shoulderblade, one at his nape and collarbone that Ennis can't see now, and a few at his waist. He's mapped every single one in his memory.
He puts one hand over Jack's shoulderblade and admires how it looks against the tan expanse of his back. Like it's his own body. Like if he draws his hand away, there will be an imprint on Jack's back in the shape of his sprawled fingers.
He can feel Jack growing redder. He does the same with the other hand and adjusts the position so that his palms are lying on top of Jack's shoulders and his thumbs lining the inner edge of the shoulderblades; there, he applies pressure, building up to what his sister used to call a shoulder rub.
"How'd you learn this?" Jack mutters, utterly relaxed.
"Used a do this for my sister. She worked hard."
"Mm…" Jack cracks open an eye. "Ya didn't have to make me take my shirt off. It's crazy cold."
"Shut up. I know you like me lookin."
Jack laughs breathlessly.
Ennis finds his hands wandering lower. "Your foot sore too?"
"Yeah, some…"
"All right, let me take those boots off for ya."