Warmth
Author: wanderingsmith
jan 2010
Summary: My take on Jack's thoughts behind the first tent scene
Rating: NC17
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: It
just
didn't
make
sense
to me, had to work through and give it a
reasoning.
originally meant to switch to Ennis' POV for the second half.. but Jack
wanted his full say.. chattery lad, he is.
This is strictly my interpretation of the movie, not using the book, so
yes, if it *could* have happened within the boundaries of the dark
spots not on camera.. I might have used it to play with. sue me.
Jack's mind was fogged with sleep and dislocated with the alcohol
sloshing his system, but he still thought this might be a better waking
than most he'd had.
He was used to being chilled. Had nineteen years of waking
miserable; and hell, enough of those waking with a stiff dick too.
But the block of furnace-heat along the half of his body laying on the
hard ground; that, he wasn't used to. Nor the warm knuckles that
had,
at some point, appeared in his lower back.
Damn but he was sick of coldness. And the usual arousal was
nothing compared to the live wire that was running between those
knuckles and his balls. Took only a few seconds to realize that
half that pimplin' skin was 'cause those rough bits of bone were part
of a fist gripping his jeans and holding them away, letting the damned
air at his hide. But they also took him back to the one good
thing in
his current life.
Ennis.
The quiet, sad, tough blond cowboy who was actually starting to
smile. At Jack, even.
'Ain't had the opportunity.'
And flirt; the words and those eyes... Every instinct Jack had
said he wasn't the only one feeling this damn pull at his guts.
But he also reckoned he was getting to know Ennis Del Mar enough to
know the man was either stubbornly unaware of it, or would deny it
'till the damn woollies all flew away on gossamer wings. There
was less give in the 19-year-old than in most men twice that age that
Jack knew.
When he was awake and sober, leastwise.
And yet, here he was; possessively gripping Jack's clothes in his
sleep. Had
to mean that *somewhere* behind that closed-off facade, there was
something more, something deeper, to those furtive glances Jack had
caught his friend
shooting him after a few drinks.
Hell with it; his mind might be muzzy-tired, but the rest of his body
was fucking cold and he knew damn well the other
man had to be too.
Jack sluggishly wrestled a hand out of the blankets, every move
rubbing
those knuckles on his happy skin like a caress.
When he finally got free, he fumbled behind him, momentarily wondering
what he might grab, other than a hand. Ha, gotcha. Damn,
even
his *hand* was hot, how did he manage that?
As soon as Jack pulled, those other knuckles shifted, becoming a palm,
hot and flat against his spine. Then the body at his back more
than willingly rolled, coming up to wrap him in warmth.
If he hadn't been so damn hard, his whole lower body tense and aching,
he
might have resisted the need and settled for that suddenly cozy
closeness; set that hand on his chest and gone back to sleep a warm,
content
man.
There'd be times in the dark years to come that he'd wonder what might
have happened if he hadn't pushed them so early on.
But right then, that hot hand, rough and calloused, controlled power,
was in his grip, and his cock was *right there*, aching all the more at
the new physical contact and with the generous heat that dismissed
the
nasty, joint-hurting cold from his poor body.
Just a touch to lull himself to sleep with; he just wanted touch...
He hardly had time to enjoy even the thought that that hand was resting
on him when the fingers flexed. And his body was stretching into
their
beautiful glow, pleasure sparking through him at the stroke; at knowing
*who* was palming him. Jack buried his
face in his pitiful excuse for a pillow; half to be quiet, half because
it twisted him into tighter contact, feeling Ennis' warm breath on his
neck and a stiff column against his ass, all making muscles clench
that.. he wished wouldn't.
Guess that was it; die was cast, last stone kicked from the shaky
outline of a foundation their world had tried to lay for his
life. He
wanted a *man*, wanted Ennis; fucking *inside* him.
The hazy realization was enough to fully wake Jack even before he felt
the body around him stiffen. He hardly had time to assimilate
either the acknowledgement of his needs or the risk he'd taken, putting
his dick under the hand of the mountain of uncoiling muscle now jerking
away from him.
Instinct was all that could react to the burst of adrenaline. Get
up get up get free. Don't fucking let him go or-
There was danger in the larger man, especially drunk and furious; but
Jack had never feared him. No more than the frisky mare that
*could* hurt him by throwing him. He just *knew* neither of them
actually wanted him harm. And grabbing at the man's coat, Jack
knew that if Ennis threw a few punches at him right now, he could damn
well take care of himself. But if the man ran, he'd never let
Jack close again. Jack'd lose the closest friend he'd had and..
this other feeling
that ran roughshod through his guts. And he didn't need anyone to
tell him that that kind of connection to another human being was
precious; had to be.
-And maybe Ennis didn't either.
God! Could he really feel it too?? Jack stopped
fighting to grasp the heavy canvas material when he realized his friend
wasn't
trying to run. Was holding one of Jack's wrists away, yes, but
only gently; and allowing Jack's other fistful of jacket. Was
watching him with a drunken mix of confusion and.. yeah, that was
desire, and it was focused on Jack; not just memories of a good
dream. Oh Christ yeah, Ennis! You want this too, want
*me*! That was enough to send exhilaration through him, more than
enough to make the aching need deep inside ratchet tight.
Maybe it was against his will, against the image of himself, obviously
so much more strongly set than Jack's, but Ennis wanted this.
Enough
to lean towards Jack all on his own, dark eyes staring at his lips.
The alcohol fog was long since shoved far back under the adrenaline,
and Jack knew what he was doing; what he- *they* wanted. The
hazy, half-denied dreams; the knowledge gleaned from listening to years
of people's sneers and hate-spawned innuendo, combined with being
raised on
a farm. And he knew Ennis had to have the same understanding.
He let go, silent, aware of the quiet man's currently lowered startle
point, their eyes the only thing
still linking them as he started to wrestle his
jacket off, their foreheads coming to rest on each other without fight.
"What'r you doin'."
That gravelly voice burned down his spine like hard liquor, pooling low
and stiffening his already fucking throbbing dick. It wasn't a
question; Jack could damn well see that the confusion had passed,
fancied he could
smell the musk of hunger from the other man, wanted to reach down and
wrap
his hand around that hard cock that had so briefly rocked against him;
wanted- too many things. But there was still denial, even as
Ennis' head tilted, fractionally -maybe unwillingly-, reaching for the
same kiss Jack had tried to ease into, keeping their faces as close as
he could.
Finally free of his too-confining coat, Jack reached up, eager to
touch, eager- only to see that furious panic peek through again,
getting his reaching arms knocked back.
Damn! Easy! He swung his arms back up, grappling for a
hold. Easy, Ennis, take it easy, boy.
The grips the man suddenly had on the back of his collar were
steel-hard, pulling at his hair and still telegraphing stubborn fear,
but Jack only tried to break them once, giving in and accepting the
pain as worth Ennis seeming calmer with the controlling touch. He
wasn't attacking; wasn't even shoving Jack away. Didn't fight
anymore when Jack got his hands on his cheeks and jerked their faces
back together.
That's it, it's alright, it's OK, it's just me, look at me,
cowboy.
Ennis' grip loosened, for a second almost caressing, before his tension
flashed back and the hand fisted, tugging Jack's hair again.
But
tugging him *closer*, not away, their breath as quick one as the
other. Mouth still resisting contact, but accepting Jack's hands
stroking his stubbled cheeks, so close he could feel Ennis' breath on
his
lips.
Fine, no kissing, no lovemaking; wasn't what he needed most,
anyway. Wasn't what the clenched stillness in the other man
demanded.
Jack dropped one hand down to undo his buckle; clink of metal in the
air mingling with the sound of their panting. Ennis crouching
unmoving, hands flexing in place until Jack had his belt loose and
shifted a leg to the side, starting to turn with a grab at Ennis'
bicep to bring him along. Not botherin' to deny the arousal he
felt in
the
knowledge that it was the last control he'd have. On all fours,
hearing behind him the sudden hurried crinkle of fabric being jerked
around,
then Ennis' belt tinkling release, Jack worked his zipper down quickly,
delirious with need that hardly felt the fear when Ennis roughly shoved
the thick material over his ass.
His breath jammed and he reflexively braced his hands on the mess of
blankets at the first blunt touch. Shocking point of heat and
then, through the blood rushing in his ears, sound of spitting, only
half
understood, before- Oh *fuck*! That fucking
*hurt*. Too late to call a halt even if he wanted to
though.
Remember that first bull-ride, Jack? Agony right where a boy
don't never want
it, just 'cause he hadn't been ready. Pride the only thing
keeping him on; like Ennis' gasp of almost shocked pleasure now,
momentary
clarity of pure, sweet sound, and that desperate grip on the back of
his
shirt. Just *relax* and fucking hang on.
And then a second of pleasure among the rough pain, jolting him.
You can stand
this Jack, you fucking *want* this, boy; remember the wild joy of that
*second* ride? This can be good, you *know* it can.
He got a hand around his half-softened dick, pumping in time with the
man fucking
him, knowing his body wouldn't fight his practised touch long; not with
the way he damn well wanted this.
Ennis' head coming to rest between his shoulder blades, whole-body
furnace-heat once again surrounding him, breath hot and ragged as he
thrust; almost gently, considering his earlier desperation.
Ennis. *In* you; touching, holding and needing this as much as
you do. Being as gentle with him as Jack reckoned the orphaned
ranch-hand knew
how to
be.
Cowboy's soft laughter making you shiver; remember
that? Fucking beautiful naked body in the bright sun; Jack trying
so hard not to look at him, corners of the eyes drawn inexorably.
No longer having to deny the fucking *attraction* he'd been feeling so
long!
The
pain faded from his mind -just one more in a long line-, sharp arousal
taking its place, rocking his hips back to meet those thrusts, looking
for more of that hidden pleasure. Christ.. shaking his
head; clenching his teeth wasn't enough to contain the mind-fuck at the
confirmation that those damn people didn't know *shit*. He wasn't
crazy, this felt *good*. Just a little more and-
Gods! Never mind the soft laughter. Ennis' grunt of
ecstasy in Jack's ear; that was worth anything right
there.
He was so fucking close, just a little- his lover's heavy weight
dropped on his back, still gripping his shirt. His other hand
dropping besides Jack was reassuring, but nothing compared to how
fucking
*good* his cock
gliding so easy out a' him felt. Hand letting go of himself to
grab Ennis' wrist,
Jack held him tightly, rocking back hard against him -oh gods that felt
good-, taking *Ennis'* still-just-hard-enough dick back in right where-
yeah, he was there, gods yes! Moaning with the pleasure as he
shot on the damned
mess of beddings; body twisting with the wracking shudders, Ennis' hand
under
his a hot
anchor to reality.
His arm muscles seemed to dissolve, turning shaky and then outright
collapsing
him to the hard ground, out of breath but
so damn content with the heavy man-weight holding him down. He
could breathe well enough, and he was warm; and *Ennis* breathed on his
nape. Relaxed on his body. *In* his body, Christ almighty.
He wanted to flail at the re-descending haze of alcohol that he felt
surround him about the time Ennis' breathing changed to
sleep-purry.
No! I just want to stay here, feeling *this*; forever...
AN: The tent scenes:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXnQqqgAPJY.
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