Night
moves
Author: wanderingsmith
sep 2010
Summary: Ennis thinks back on that long-ago summer
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to
pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the
toys, I play with 'em.
AN: someone asked for more fic.. and this was sitting there..
staring at me accusingly.. and done.. so, here yee be. enjoy.
He listened to Cassie chatter away; about *sex* of all damn things
for her to talk to *him* about.
And he wondered, aware that he'd had about enough beer if he wanted
to make it home tonight, what Alma'd say if she knew she had Jack
Fucking Twist to thank for her wedding night not being the hell the
waitress was describing.
His boredom threshold long passed and the alcohol dropping his
resistance, the words he couldn't help but hear somehow snuck him to
a place he tried so damn hard to stay away from.
The nights of that long-ago summer; pushed, by feelings he hardly
understood, then or now, to learn all the things that could feel so
good.
And the first was still the most surprising, even all these years
after he was pretty proud of how good he'd gotten at it. The way his
heart had literally jumped in his chest on hearing that strangled
cry, the fresh wave of pleasure that had buoyed him when he felt the
muscles that had easily held his still-lanky dead-weight before
suddenly tremble and quake.
No matter how drunk and blasted from his own release he'd been at
the time, the feeling of Jack's completely relaxed body molding to
his while his hand still gripped Ennis' wrist had still been his
first memory when he woke the next day.
Cassie was still chattering, sounding pissed at some invisible boy
who'd been such a disappointment, for once not asking Ennis to
participate in her conversation. He couldn't help but wonder,
listening to her tone, if Jack ever ranted about *him* like that,
even if only in his own head, for that first time. He'd never said
anything.. but Ennis had never asked, had he? Dammit again. His mood
turned grim and he interrupted his sometime-lover, abruptly
muttering something to wrap around the words 'go home'.
The short argument and practised avoidance of her reaching arms
didn't do much for his temper. Didn't even get his damn thoughts out
of their unpleasant path.
The hangover that had kicked in with a vengeance that morning had
pushed the thought that he'd woken with away until later. Until
after he'd recovered from the raw shock that he'd fucked with a man.
But even the deathly stigma attached to being queer deep at the back
of his brain couldn't hold out against the feelings that had led him
into that sin in the first place. A few hours alone on a horse with
his thoughts and the attraction he'd felt for his too-pretty,
too-entertaining, too... *something* dark-haired companion had grown
uncontrollable with the memory of how good he'd felt.
Jack's hard body so close. Touching him as he'd been fighting the
want to. And then that amazing pleasure, so different from what he'd
ever given himself.
He spent the day fighting himself, scared deep down at how little
power he had to keep his thoughts where they fucking should be. His
mind had never betrayed him like that before; in his 19 years, he'd
never wondered for a second who he was. It had always been obvious
and simple, all he had to do was as he was told. Work, and then work
some more. Hopefully have food to eat and a place he could actually
fall asleep. Simple.
But realizing too late how lucky he'd been in that was a waste of
time, and as he buried that damn dead sheep and *still* couldn't
stop.. 'wanting' the only person he'd ever known who actually
brought him to talking, he stopped fighting the web he'd walked
into. If you can't fix it, you gotta stand it.
They were only up here for the summer. He was marryin' Alma in
November. Jack was a friend... people were supposed to have friends,
nothing wrong with that. The... the sex was just cause they were
alone here. Didn't mean nothin'. He'd never looked at a boy before,
so there was nothin' wrong with him. Just... lonely. Old enough to
want more than wringin' it out with his own hand now, and... and
Jack was fun to be with, made him see he'd used to be lonely.. now
that he weren't no more. And it sure did feel good.
Too embedded in the past to stand his closed-in living space, Ennis
sat on his front steps, smoking and staring at the empty fields
beyond the road. He remembered the rolling mountain vista Jack had
been staring at when he'd finally tracked him down. Wondered now
just how sore he'd been, in any sense of the word. If maybe *he'd*
been thinking it was a mistake.
That was one day even Jack hadn't had the words. *He'd* tried to
explain the decision he'd come to; Jack... had only reacted to his
words. And with damn few of his own even then. Maybe...
But he'd been.. welcoming.. when Ennis finally ran out of excuses
not to move his ass -either to the sheep, or into that tent-.
It'd felt like goin' courtin' somehow, hands tugging his hat off
automatically, clutching it convulsively as he focused on the body
he could see through the open panels of the tent. Trying to move
like he knew what he was about. Glad that Jack had sat up to meet
him, but all words jammed far back in his throat, jaw too tight to
let anything out; never *had* managed to defeat that problem.
A comforting hand on his arm as he tried so hard to at least *look*
at his companion; losing his courage when Jack carefully took his
hat away from between them. Flickering his eyes from the ground to
that handy shield now thrown to the side; to the night-dark gaze
watching him so carefully from so close, a hint of sad hope waiting
for a sign. No humour in the boy that night, no jokes; serious eyes.
That warm palm coming up to just barely guide Ennis' face. He'd
wanted to turn and rub into that touch, hide away in gentleness he'd
forgotten the feel of over the years since his momma died.
Ennis' eyes were closed now, concentrating on that memory, hearing
the crackle of the nearby fire from the past rather than the wind
drifting across the empty land that was his everyday life now.
That first fumbling kiss; the angle wrong, his nervous resistance.
He hadn't thought about kissing when he'd been getting used to the
idea of them. Hadn't thought much about any details beyond reliving
the night before.
But Jack had been gently insistent, and in that comforting palm,
Ennis'd lost the will to resist. Shifting clumsily against each
other, an undercurrent of fear making his breath ragged; until their
lips had, just barely, touched.
He'd kissed Alma before, he hadn't been *that* much of a virgin.
Proper and gentle. But that had felt almost like.. something he was
*supposed* to do. Like holding the door open and helping her with
her coat.
This.. Kissing Jack.. he *wasn't* supposed to do. So why did just
feeling the man's too-soft lips close on his feel so intimate? So
shockingly, amazingly, good. So... fucking *right*.
He hadn't wanted it to end, hadn't wanted to give up a second of
that tender connection; deep down, he'd known even then that he
wanted more, so much more of this, no matter how wrong. Jack's
whiskey-breath against his lips, an unfamiliar taste just barely
detectable no matter how he looked for it, feeling in his stillness
how much it'd affected him too. Foreheads tight together, minute
brush of noses as they both dealt with their reactions; unwilling to
separate.
"I'm sorry."
The first words Jack volunteered since Ennis had left him without a
promise of return that morning hadn't made sense at first, lost in
the warm haze as he was. Ennis'd reluctantly opened his eyes, just
enough to see again that sadness; almost regret. And he'd remembered
that until last night, his life had been simple. But it was done,
and weren't none of Jack's fault. He could just barely admit to
himself that he needed to feel that tenderness again, needed it like
he needed water to drink.
He'd nodded once, watching Jack's eyes open, so close,
acknowledgment showing, and then that soft voice easing into his
mind; "It's alright."
He'd remembered then: laying on Jack, bodies molded together like
they'd never been apart, like they *belonged* that way. Remembered
that little feeling of joy at knowing he'd brought someone that kind
of pleasure. He'd wanted it again, but he hardly knew how. All he
knew was Jack; the strength and reassurance he somehow got from the
would-be rodeo cowboy.
They'd spent most of that night wide awake, Jack taking the lead
through the mysteries of intimacy, Ennis following eagerly. Kissing
and touching, stroking each other not only with hands, but with
their whole bodies. Ignoring the descending mountain chill as their
heated blood kept them warm for a while; until Jack, laying on Ennis
catching his breath at some point, had shivered.
They'd laughed then, drunk on each other enough to overcome doubts
and find their way back to having fun together, and Ennis had
grabbed a blanket, throwing it over the both of them to make a
second tent; grinning into the glimmer that was all he could now see
of Jack's eyes. He'd hated losing the sight of that beautiful body,
but it'd been worth it to be able to continue to touch and taste and
listen to all the little sounds of pleasure he could cause in the
man.
Taking a deep breath, Ennis opened his eyes, staring back at that
empty flatland in front of the trailer that people thought was so
much better than his old shack. Not understanding that the only
thing that would make a place a home, was a person. One particular
person. That he could never truly have. He shook the lonely hurt
away, preferring the other thoughts to that un-fixable one.
He still wondered about the first night, but he was damned sure he'd
learned to give pleasure that summer.
And on his wedding night, even though he'd felt half dead with the
pain of giving Jack up -forever, he'd thought-, he'd known he had to
hide it, had to be the good groom he'd chosen to be when he'd let
that truck drive away from him.
She sure hadn't been the same as Jack. As flirty and forward as she
sometimes was, she hadn't been then. He'd been the one who had to
make the first move, stamping on a moment of sympathy for Jack's
patience with *him*. Trying to bury any thought of the man who he
was realizing by then held his heart.
Her body was all soft, and weak. Had to keep remembering to be
gentle. To listen to *her* rather than play a little, tease... in
the ways that he'd learned drove *Jack* crazy. Listening to Jack had
grown instinctive; adjusting to listening to her softer, shyer
voice, to the flutter of soft hands instead of Jack's strong,
calloused grips, it'd taken effort. But he'd done it, feeling a
faint mirror of that old joy at giving pleasure.
Yeah, Alma really did owe Jack. Looking back sadly, Ennis wondered
if he might have done better by her and his girls if he'd had more
time with Jack. Time to learn things steadier and more lasting than
night moves they both still kept feelings silent in.
They'd known that sweet summer would end, had been young enough to
glory in the physical pleasure every chance they could. Taking each
other so high with every practice of an awkward touch.
They hadn't been looking for more. Not thinking of great sentiments;
or the future.
He woke that night to the sound of thunder. Still smiling slightly
with his last dream, he allowed himself to laze in the memory,
humming an old song that had a whole new meaning since 1963.
Willfully losing himself in a moment where life had seemed so very
different. With Jack held safe in his arms, there seemed to be
nothing to lose, even as the autumn closed in on them with the same
distant roll of thunder that now instead stood as a promise of
seeing his lover again soon.
Ain't it funny how things change.
AN: yes, I took
artistic licence with Ennis opening his eyes.. hard to tell in
the dark.. coulda happened... sue me
Night moves
by Bob Seger
Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy
Workin' on mysteries without any clues
Workin' on our night moves
Workin' on our night moves in the summertime
In the sweet summertime
We weren't in love oh no far from it
We weren't searching for some pie in the sky summit
We were just young and restless and bored
And we'd steal away every chance we could
To the backroom, the alley, the trusty woods
I used her she used me
But neither one cared
We were getting our share
Workin' on our night moves
Trying to lose the awkward teenage blues
Workin' on out night moves
In the summertime
And oh the wonder
Felt the lightning
And we waited on the thunder
Waited on the thunder
I woke last night to the sound of thunder
How far off I sat and wondered
Started humming a song from 1962
Ain't it funny how the night moves
When you just don't seem to have as much to lose
Strange how the night moves
With autumn closing in
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