FIC: Open Range, "That Son-of-a-Bitch"
Series: Open Range
Title: That Son-of-a-Bitch
Rating: R
Pairing: Ewan/Hayden
Word Count: 561
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people and this is a work of fiction.
Summary: Once the land was free of fence and barriers, and two cowboys loved each other in the safety of the wide range away from others' scrutiny.
Note: This was inspired by Annie Proulx's Brokeback Mountain.
Ewan remembers the days when cattle were free to roam the open land, when the skies were strung with flat clouds of glory white, when he had that son-of-a-bitch by his side-always smilin’ that goddamn smile of his and smokin’ like a chimney stack when cigars could be had-when life had not been this slow, this empty. That right bastard, he thinks, that motherfucker that he misses more than his dead wife, and even his two married little girls. He wonders how Clara and Esther are doin’ with their men. If they’re bein’ treated right, the way they ought to be and not anything like the way he did Eve. His poor wife, he shakes his head and brings the liquor bottle to his lips, she should of never married him. She should have listened to her fucker of a father. She’d been happier that way. She would’ve of been.
The liquor burns as it goes down his throat and settles into the pit of his ever thickening torso. With no damn longhorns to drive on the trails from San Antonio all the way to Abilene, Kansas, he’d gotten to remembering and the memories were hard things that he needed to drink away. So he’d turned to the bottle to chase his misery the way a hard trail ride used to do. But Chisholm Trail died in 1884, the last time it was used and he’d been there, been there from the damn beginning in 1867 to the end. He’d seen it all and lived it all. No fucking Easterner could say the same, sittin’ on their snotty asses and eatin’ Texan beef.
For ten years, the trails had been Ewan’s way of blocking the son-of-a-bitch from his mind. But when it’d gone and there’d jus’ been working on a fenced ranch with Eve and his two girls, the old times came back to haunt him. Everywhere he looked, Hayden Christensen was there. In his dreams, looking at him with those bonnet blue eyes of his, and Ewan jus’ wanted to grab him by the ears and pull him close and kiss the shit out of him. Kiss Hayden until the bastard closed his eyes. Yeah, close those eyes ‘cause Ewan didn’t need to see ‘em to know what color they were. He knew, he knew, he fuckin’ knew.
He’d jus’ woken up from one them dreams. An hour or two ago and the taste of Hayden had been on his tongue and he had to get rid of it, had to forget it ‘cause if he didn’t he’d go insane. There was that one time when Eve had slapped him so hard for so long ‘cause he damn near lost his mind. He’d been so close to jus’ leavin’, leavin’ it all behind to jus’ follow his heart, but she wouldn’t let him go. She said she still needed him, that his girls needed him. They couldn’t grow up with no daddy, could they? Was he gonna be like his daddy and leave them? And he jus’ couldn’t do it. Ewan would love to spit on his old man’s grave, but he didn’t want his girls to do that. He loved his girls, loved them so much that he picked himself up and pulled himself together.
But a day never went by that he doesn't miss Hayden givin’ him hell.
TBC
Title: That Son-of-a-Bitch
Rating: R
Pairing: Ewan/Hayden
Word Count: 561
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people and this is a work of fiction.
Summary: Once the land was free of fence and barriers, and two cowboys loved each other in the safety of the wide range away from others' scrutiny.
Note: This was inspired by Annie Proulx's Brokeback Mountain.
Ewan remembers the days when cattle were free to roam the open land, when the skies were strung with flat clouds of glory white, when he had that son-of-a-bitch by his side-always smilin’ that goddamn smile of his and smokin’ like a chimney stack when cigars could be had-when life had not been this slow, this empty. That right bastard, he thinks, that motherfucker that he misses more than his dead wife, and even his two married little girls. He wonders how Clara and Esther are doin’ with their men. If they’re bein’ treated right, the way they ought to be and not anything like the way he did Eve. His poor wife, he shakes his head and brings the liquor bottle to his lips, she should of never married him. She should have listened to her fucker of a father. She’d been happier that way. She would’ve of been.
The liquor burns as it goes down his throat and settles into the pit of his ever thickening torso. With no damn longhorns to drive on the trails from San Antonio all the way to Abilene, Kansas, he’d gotten to remembering and the memories were hard things that he needed to drink away. So he’d turned to the bottle to chase his misery the way a hard trail ride used to do. But Chisholm Trail died in 1884, the last time it was used and he’d been there, been there from the damn beginning in 1867 to the end. He’d seen it all and lived it all. No fucking Easterner could say the same, sittin’ on their snotty asses and eatin’ Texan beef.
For ten years, the trails had been Ewan’s way of blocking the son-of-a-bitch from his mind. But when it’d gone and there’d jus’ been working on a fenced ranch with Eve and his two girls, the old times came back to haunt him. Everywhere he looked, Hayden Christensen was there. In his dreams, looking at him with those bonnet blue eyes of his, and Ewan jus’ wanted to grab him by the ears and pull him close and kiss the shit out of him. Kiss Hayden until the bastard closed his eyes. Yeah, close those eyes ‘cause Ewan didn’t need to see ‘em to know what color they were. He knew, he knew, he fuckin’ knew.
He’d jus’ woken up from one them dreams. An hour or two ago and the taste of Hayden had been on his tongue and he had to get rid of it, had to forget it ‘cause if he didn’t he’d go insane. There was that one time when Eve had slapped him so hard for so long ‘cause he damn near lost his mind. He’d been so close to jus’ leavin’, leavin’ it all behind to jus’ follow his heart, but she wouldn’t let him go. She said she still needed him, that his girls needed him. They couldn’t grow up with no daddy, could they? Was he gonna be like his daddy and leave them? And he jus’ couldn’t do it. Ewan would love to spit on his old man’s grave, but he didn’t want his girls to do that. He loved his girls, loved them so much that he picked himself up and pulled himself together.
But a day never went by that he doesn't miss Hayden givin’ him hell.
TBC