Archive of Our Own ^beta

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081. Tease.

It’s a game they both enjoy. Ennis pins Jack down and rubs his hard cock against Jack’s asshole. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast; maybe a feather-touch, maybe grinding hard. Who will give in first? Can Jack entice Ennis to plunge uninvited into his sultry depths? Or can Ennis get Jack to beg for it? Rule One: If Ennis puts it in before he’s asked to, Jack is the winner. Rule Two: If Jack says, “Fuck me,” or “Put it in,” or “Give it to me,” or even “Please,” before Ennis goes into him, then Ennis is the winner. There’s no loser.

082. Anger.

Jack roped Ennis’s feet, bringing him down. It started as playful wrestling, but as soon as they touched Ennis was aflame—wanting to hold Jack, kiss him, make love to him on the grass, in the sun, one last time…

How could Jack laugh? Didn’t he care? Did it mean so little to Jack, that their time together was over? And what kind of way was that for Ennis—any man—to be feeling? Ennis burned with rage, grief, self-hatred, despair.

Ennis found some small comfort knowing that Jack would bear his mark for a few days after they parted.

083. Shy.

“Wanna watch it there! That horse has a low startle point!”

Ennis thinks: Well, that was a dumb thing to say. Like Jack hadn’t noticed, when it was him ridin her. Like I thought he couldn’t handle her. He’s good a-horseback. Maybe not so good as he thinks, but good.

“Doubt there’s a filly that can throw me.”

Jack thinks: What I wanna go braggin and showin off like that for? This horse dumps me on my ass, I’m gonna look mighty dumb. He’s sure the quiet type. But he knows what he’s doin. Capable. Wonder if he likes me?

084. Love.

This thing. That’s what I useta call it. Like it was outside a us. Like it was from somewheres else. Huh. Corny old line guys useta try to get their girl to put out—”This thing is bigger than both a us.” Yeah, and it surely was. Cause it come from both a us—Jack an me both. But it wasn’t big enough for me to take a chance on it. And it wasn’t big enough for Jack to keep his dick in his pants and not get noticed and killed.

But “that thing” was love, I know that now.

085. Hate.

Randall Malone. Lureen’s eyebrows came together in a hard line. Oh, I knew. Tried not to, but I knew. Heard rumors bout Jack’s ways even before we got married. And those Wyomin fishin trips. Wonderin maybe, maybe not. Decidin no. Knowin yes. Couple times a year in Wyomin. Then Mexico, too. Outa sight. Safe. And then Randall. And then scandal. She choked on a sound that was part laugh and part sob. And now Jack’s dead and I’ve gotta tell lies about it. I hope they get Randall, too, and that he burns in hell for bringin this on us.

086. Found.

Ennis opened his eyes to a pale, misty dawn, very unlike the red glare of yesterday’s awakening. He woke smiling—not a common occurrence—and his smile deepened and softened as the warm body behind him snuggled closer, tightening an arm across Ennis’ chest.

Somewhere in his mind were dozens of panicky, worrying questions. About his future, the summer’s end, Alma… About the significance of this new thing—to himself, to Jack, and to others who might learn of it.

But just for now, he wanted to ignore all that, and simply enjoy the warmth and peace of Jack’s embrace.

087. Life.

“You and Alma—that’s a life?”

Took him more’n fourteen years, but he finally admitted Jack was right. It wasn’t much of a life, even back when he thought it was the best he’d ever get, and probly more’n he deserved. Poor excuse for a life before Jack Fuckin Twist came back, and even harder after.

Three years divorced now, and down another notch. He’s gone from not much to damn little to fuck-all of a life. Life with Jack, now—if it could be done, which it couldn’t, but if it could be done—now that woulda been a life.

088. Fear.

Ennis pulled into the trailhead parking area, only vehicle there. No Jack. Ennis was early, he knew, but…

“Yeah, alright,” Jack had muttered. “See you next month, then.” And drove off.

That was last month. Ennis got out of the cab, took a turn around the graveled lot. Lit a cigarette, had a few drags, then crushed it with a sharp twist of his boot. Looked back along the access road. Nothing.

Fourteen hours Jack had driven—for a quick hug, and a kick in the teeth. He’d left quickly, turning away to hide the hurt.

Ennis paced and waited.

089. Hero.

He could do anything: ride a horse or a bull, rope a calf or a boy pretending to be one. They’d pitch a tent in the backyard and build a fire, even though Mama didn’t like it, and they’d eat beans out of the can. (He’d always say “No more beans!” but they’d always have beans again the next time anyway.) Or they’d go to the dealership and ride all the tractors and combines around the lot. Grandpa would holler that it was a waste of time and gas, but he’d do it anyway. Who else could face down Grandpa?

090. Villain.

“Ya call them horses groomed, boy?” the stockboss shouted harshly, brandishing the curry comb with its circle of metal tines.

The stableboy, clad only in jeans and boots, cringed. “I done my best, honest!”

“Why, I oughta take this to yer pretty pink backside—show you what a good curryin is!”

“Oh, please, Master, no!”

The stockboss snickered. “Master?”

“Ennis.”

“‘Oh, please, Master, no!’” mocked the stockboss. He threw back his head and guffawed.

“Goddamnit, Ennis!” protested the stableboy.

“Jack, you want to play this silly game, you’re gonna hafta try not to say stuff that’s gonna make me laugh.”

091. Slave.

“Ya call them horses groomed, boy?” the stockboss shouted angrily.

The stableboy cringed. “Done my best, honest!”

“Why, I oughta take that currycomb to your hide—give you a good curryin!”

“Don’t, boss. Please, I’ll do better.”

A malicious grin crossed the stockboss’s face. “First you say you done yer best. Next you say you can do better. Boy, you are one miserable, lyin, snivelin, cowardly yella dog.”

The stableboy snickered. “‘Miserable, lying, sniveling, cowardly yellow dog,’ Ennis? ‘Sniveling?’”

“Fuckit, Jack, now don’t you start!”

“Sniveling!” The stableboy collapsed in fits of helpless giggles.

“You asshole,” said the stockboss affectionately.

092. Freedom.

A few minutes in a courtroom, a piece of paper, and everything was changed. Ennis hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard. After all, he’d moved out months ago; the visitation schedule was already in place; he’d been paying child support all along…

And yet… “Divorce granted,” and the bang of the gavel took him like a sucker punch—hard, unexpected, disorienting.

He wished Jack was here. He got out a postcard and wrote:

Jack—

The divorce got final last week. I don’t
hardly know how to feel or what to do
with myself. See you soon, bud.

Ennis

093. Quest.

Jack Twist sat in the public library, a stack of phonebooks on the table before him. His first search had produced an E. del Mar, but when he called, it wasn’t Ennis. His second try found several del Mars who might have been Ennis’s brother, K.E. But none of them was.

Jack’s third strategy was to call every Beers in the Wyoming phonebooks, hoping that one of them would be related to Alma. The first directory—Casper/Laramie—yielded a dozen listings. He carefully wrote them all down, then turned to the next book.

If this didn’t work, he’d check out Montana.

094. Journey.

Ennis started out early the day before, even though it was only a little over 100 miles—maybe two-and-a-half hours in a car; three or more in a big rig, slowing to a crawl up the mountains. K.E. drove him out to the main road, they punched each other genially, and then K.E. drove off and Ennis stuck out his thumb. He got rides quickly, but just for short stretches. Hit Riverton before noon, visited a while with Alma and her family. Waited more’n four hours for his next ride, only took him to Lander. Finally hit Signal about 5:30AM.

095. Triumph.

Alma checked the bedside clock—1:30AM. Home real late this time, she thought. She listened to the muted sounds of Ennis putting his fishing tackle away. Then the refrigerator door—open, pause, close. Fish? Paradoxically, she felt a pang of angry disappointment.

“So how was the fishin,” she asked, yawning, as Ennis came into the bedroom.

“Not bad.”

“D’ya bring some home?”

“Unh-uh. Caught us some browns, but we ate em.”

“Mm.”

Next morning, there was the virgin line. Never touched water in its life. There was her note still tied there:

Hello, Ennis,
Bring some fish home.
Love, Alma

096. Writer’s Choice – Limits.

“Y’see, Ennis, K.E. don’t like to tell ya, but there just ain’t room for ya in that little place, once him n me’re married and livin there together.”

“Well. I can get a summer herdin job from the Farm and Ranch, I guess. Me an Alma’re gonna get married, too, pretty soon. So I guess it’ll work out okay.”

“That’s great. I’m real happy for ya. And I know K.E.’ll be, too.”

Later, when she told K.E. about Ennis’s plans, he asked, “You told him he was welcome a stay with us, didn’t you?”

“A course I did,” she said.

097. Writer’s Choice – Commitment.

Ennis was stunned at the intensity of his emotions. This tiny, helpless being in his arms for the first time raised such overwhelming love and protectiveness in him that he could barely breathe.  Not usually given to prayer, he yet felt an intense desire—almost an entreaty—to be a good father, to do right by his child.

A teenage candy-striper fluttered around, giving advice that he scarcely heard. Ennis felt as though, for this one moment, he was exactly where he was meant to be, doing exactly what he was meant to do—holding and loving his infant daughter.

098. Writer’s Choice – Fallen.

“This is a one-shot thing we got goin on here,” he told Jack.

Ennis spoke the truth in those words. But not the truth as he then imagined it—a summer fling, soon to be dismissed with other boyhood pastimes—a brief interlude, an embarrassing remembrance in later life, but essentially meaningless. No; Ennis learned late, learned hard. That truth was deep and mortal.

It was like the single shot that dropped the elk, when the great creature had staggered and hesitated before it fell, as though it had merely been startled—had not realized that its life was lost.

099. Writer’s Choice – Anticipation.

It’s his wedding night, and Ennis has had more to drink than he wanted, though less than his buddies had urged on him in the ancient let’s get the groom too drunk to perform tradition.

His expectations are high. Because he’s not queer. Which means that if sex with Jack was so much better than beating off alone, sex with a woman will be better still.

His fantasies lately are all of Jack, but that’s just because his only experience is Jack. He knows that sex with Alma will clear all that out of his head. He’s sure of it.

100. Writer’s Choice – Different.

K.E. Del Mar is eleven years old. His brother Ennis is nine. “How come yours is different?” Ennis wants to know. His has a flap of extra skin that he needs to wash under. K.E.’s looks neater somehow.

“Cause I’m cut and you’re not.”

Ennis grabs his penis nervously. “Yours used to be like mine? When did they cut it off? Did it hurt?”

“At the hospital when I was born. Dad got real mad about it, but they couldn’t put it back, could they? So when you got born, he made sure to tell them not to do yours.”