Brokeback Mountain: 3 poems, 8 flashfics
I wrote a crap-ton of stuff for the Brokeback Mountain Comment Ficathon I hosted and forgot to re-post, so here those are. I swear, someday my fic cache will be cleared out. Someday!
*
One-Shot Deal (Ennis/Jack | 2007-07-03 | prompt: forever)
a word only meant
for the thin, cold mountain air.
wind’s fickle promise.
Lamb of God (Canon | Ennis/Jack | 2007-07-09 | prompt: “let he who is without sin”)
And so I ask you,
and so I ask-
is it a sin when I look in your eyes
and see stars looking back at me?
Perhaps I do not want to know
the answer, because
I am not a believer.
There is no Pentecost in my
future.
But I have to know, tell
me now:
am I sinning to
kiss you like penance?
I must know the answer, because
I am not a man of prayer.
And yet for four years I prayed,
every day,
to see the light of God again.
Orbiting (Canon | Ennis/Jack | 62w | 2007-07-15 | prompt: screencap of first night in tent)
Cupid-bow lips,
sunflowers and drenched-blue skies.
Don’t be afraid,
don’t be afraid.
Firelight glows and
makes the impossible
seem possible.
If just for one night,
if just in his cupid-bow lips,
and his drenched-blue eyes.
It’s okay,
it’s okay,
it’s okay.
You sink into a field
of sunflowers,
and in the dead of night,
you shine as bright as
the noonday sun.
And ficlets:
Where? (Canon | Jack | K | 291w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: where no one knows my name)
He’d gotten it off some pansy in New Mexico; the guy wouldn’t let off until Jack agreed to have some coffee with him, and he’d managed to slip enough whiskey in from his flask to make the cup worth it. Will Tanner had been his name, and the leaflet had fallen out of his back pocket when they were on their way back to their trucks.
It had been curiosity that led Jack to pick it up, nothing more. He hadn’t been able to read the letters before he stooped down.
San Francisco it declared, in big bold letters, almost too bright for the page. It had the name of a group on it, a name that Jack had memorized, memorized, but didn’t dare think or say too loud: around here, they would be dying words.
He’s out in the yard right now, Bobby asleep and Lureen too indifferent to keep tabs on what he does. His fingers go over and over the thick creases he’s left in the paper over the years, and those letters are still as brash as they were the first time he picked it up.
He thinks about a place where no one would know his name, where no one would look at him those guys had been eyeing Will Tanner in that parking lot. He didn’t stick around to find out what would happen to Will, because he hadn’t wanted to share his fate. He couldn’t do that to Ennis.
And he imagines a place where he can look into someone’s eyes, and they know, and they don’t care. Or maybe they understand.
And when he falls asleep, images of a ranch at the edge of a city he’ll never visit except in his dreams.
Water’s Edge (Canon | Ennis/Jack | T | 90w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: baptism)
Cold, cold, cold-it rushes them, fast and overwhelming, sinuous and slick. Blue shining aquamarine shining green-tinged-jade in the sun, they sink and yell for the sheer joy of it, skin crashing near as their breath skitters over the surface, rippling out like corn silk in the wind. This is more than either of them is shuttered in by duplexes and trailers and sidewalks-here, the dirt crunches under their bare feet, and the water holds their naked flesh with reverence. It isn’t swimming, it’s prayer, and it isn’t sex: it’s baptism.
A Real Happy Ending (AU | Ennis/Jack, Alma/Lureen, Ensemble | K | 216w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: one big happy family)
“Mama, Bobby pulled my hair again!”
Alma, carrying a steaming hot plate of potatoes to the table, shot Bobby a death glare. “You even think of touchin’ Francie’s hair again, Bobby, and I swear I will tan your hide.”
“And when she’s finished, I’ll whoop it good,” Lureen added, setting down the crock pot full of stew. Bobby cowered back into his seat, and Jack, carving the turkey, tried not to laugh.
“Don’t I get to whoop no one?” Ennis muttered, doling out peas onto Junior’s plate.
“Not me,” Junior said contritely.
“Hmph,” he muttered, and gave her an extra helping of peas as punishment.
“Dinner’s served,” Lureen said, setting down the bowl of cranberries.
They sat, and Alma smacked Bobby’s hand back from grabbing a piece of turkey. “Time for grace.”
So they joined hands, and Alma, being the only one who knew how to say a proper grace, did so.
“Now can we dig in?” Jack asked, his hand still linked in Ennis’s.
“If you don’t, I will.” Lureen reached for the serving fork and snagged the slice of turkey that both Bobby and Jack had been eyeing, and soon, they were all laughing, bickering, and generally frustrating and amusing one another.
In short-they were having their first Thanksgiving together as a real family.
Leave This Behind (AU | Alma/Lureen | T | 399w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: don’t look back)
[Notes: This is obviously AU, but for the purposes of this scenario, I’ve also made Francine much older-only about a year behind Alma Junior.]
She slapped Lureen’s hand away, mouth trembling in a hateful line.
“I ain’t like him. I ain’t... I ain’t like that. You just... you get away from me.”
Lureen’s hands tightened into fists, red nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm; her eyes narrowed to slits.
“No, you sure as hell ain’t. You’re like me, you hear? You’re like me. And if you think I’m so fuckin’ disgustin’, why you keep askin’ me back here? Why d’you keep callin’ me in the middle of the night, Alma? Why d’you keep tellin’ me about about the things you want that you can’t have with him?”
Alma’s face crumpled, and she sank down to the floor, broken by the verbal assault. Lureen sighed, and sat down at her side, putting an arm around Alma’s shoulders and pulling her closer. “It don’t have to be like this, darlin’. Hell, Francine’ll be out of the house soon enough-then what’s gonna keep you here? And you know that Jack doesn’t want Bobby-doesn’t want him enough to stop me, anyway.”
Alma shook her head. “You’re dreamin’. Two women can’t make it on their own.”
Lureen was silent for a moment, and then started smiling. Her smile progressed into giggles, slightly hysterical, and then full blown laughter. Alma tried to glare at her-she hadn’t been joking-but Lureen’s joy was infectious and it wasn’t long before they were sprawled on the floor, breathless from laughing.
“You mind tellin’ me what’s so funny?” Alma said when she’d recovered a bit.
“You are, darlin’.” But before Alma could put on her misery face again, Lureen kissed her. “Now listen-you think I been sittin’ twiddlin’ my thumbs these years I was workin’ for my daddy? And how much you think he left me after he died?”
Alma shrugged. “Enough to keep you buyin’ new diamonds every time I see you.”
Lureen nodded. “But I buy all those diamonds myself, Alma. My daddy left it all to me, not to Jack. And I’ve been investin’ my money so that every year is practically doubles.”
“So?”
“So?” Lureen ran her hand through Alma’s hair, and slipped a leg through Alma’s. “So what that means is that I’m a rich woman.”
Alma blinked. “How rich?”
Lureen’s smile could have stolen the sun.
“Rich enough to take care of your for the rest of your life, Alma Beers, if you’ll have me.”
Smoke Out (Canon | Ennis/Jack | M | 382w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: high on pot)
“Am I smellin’ things?” Jack stumbled towards the bed. “Why’s it smell like peach cobbler in here, Ennis?”
“Cobbler?” Ennis, surprisingly, became more talkative the more illegal herb he smoked. “Why the fuck you thinkin’ about cobbler, Jack, when I’m so fuckin’ hard that my jeans’re cryin’?”
“Hungry,” Jack growled, riffling through the bag.
“Hungry? You are always fuckin’ hungry! I am so goddamned sick and tired of you stuffin’ your face. I was lookin’ forward to eatin’ that cobbler on the drive home, you stupid sonofabitch.”
“Sorry,” Jack mumbled around a mouthful of (really delicious) peach cobbler.
“Hunh.” Ennis seemed to forget what he was talking about. Then he sniffed. “Damn. That smells mighty tasty. Gimme me some.”
Jack crawled over to the bed on his hands and knees, holding the cobbler in the air carefully in his left hand. When he got to the bed, he straightened up. Grabbing a chunk of cobbler between his index finger and thumb, he held it out.
“What? You gonna make me stare at it all day?”
Jack shook his head, and held it closer to Ennis’s lips. When Ennis opened his mouth, undoubtedly to complain again, Jack stopped him with the sticky-sweet bite of cobbler.
Ennis got the point.
The next bite, he licked off of Jack’s fingers, eyes closing as he savored the taste of Jack and sweet fruit. By the time the cobbler was gone, he was biting hungrily at Jack’s fingers, one hand unconsciously gone down to stroke the erection that was making his jeans cry. Jack climbed up onto the bed, and replaced his fingers with his lips, their kisses sticky with crystal sugar and laced with the taste of peach. Their hands explored slowly, enlivened by the drug so that every crevice and expanse felt completely new, the unexpected sort of sensuality that comes from heightened sensitivity. Jack kissed down Ennis’s neck, his chest, and, after some difficulty and cursing of Levi-Strauss, his thighs and the inside of his knees. It wasn’t long before Ennis came; Jack merely brushed the head of his cock and that was enough.
It was the beginning of a long and very fruitful relationship that Jack had with Leroy Titus, a dealer of very high quality marijuana that he grew in his backyard.
Sunny Afternoon (AU | Ennis/Jack, Alma/Lureen | K | 365w | 2007-07-15 | prompt: double date at the beach)
“Oh, whatever.” Lureen popped the gum and rolled her eyes.
“Admit it. I converted you.” Jack pushed her on the shoulder, sending her sputtering and tripping across the sand.
Alma glared at him, her thin blond hair whipping around his face in the wind. “Being a lesbian isn’t like being a born again Christian, dumbass. You don’t convert.” She slipped her arm around Lureen’s waist and kissed her girlfriend thoroughly; Jack wrinkled his nose.
“So Alma’s the reason I like you, Jack?” Ennis said dryly, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He was the only one of them wearing jeans and a button up shirt; even at the beach, he didn’t loosen up.
“Nah. I like you ’cause you’re a stallion in bed.” Jack laughed wildly, and Ennis looked like he’d swallowed something that didn’t agree with him, but he just shook his head, throwing his arm around Jack’s shoulders.
The sun climbed, and Lureen stripped down her to her slinky black bikini. Alma’s one-piece was more modest, and Jack’s shorts rode dangerously low on his waist; every time he turned around, Ennis checked around them, territoriality written all over his face and posture. His concession to the warmth was to unbutton his shirt and roll up his jeans a few inches so he could wade in the water.
Jack and Lureen bought ice cream cones, and shared them with Alma and Ennis even though both of them initially refused, but “I’m on a diet” and “I don’t like chocolate” were proclaimed inadequate excuses.
A few people passing by glared at them (and a few young men stared when Lureen was licking ice cream off Alma’s chest), but Jack just said a friendly “hello” to them and engaged them in awkward conversation if they made the mistake of hanging around. Ennis glared and the bullies got his message very clearly when they looked at his bunched fists and veined arms. The four of them were pretty used to it, though; even at the university they attended, some students gave them sideways glances.
And they just indulged in the best revenge, refusing to allow anyone to spoil their gorgeous afternoon on the beach: they lived well.
We Become Air (Canon | Ennis/Jack | K | 130w | 2007-07-15 | prompt: meeting in heaven post-canon)
The strains of a faraway guitar. They float, high, higher than you ever imagined air went, higher than you ever imagined that you deserved.
Dying, you think, might not be so bad if you can hear this song for the rest of eternity.
You can almost hear the calloused fingers scratching against the chords, almost see the sunset profile of the man neither of you could be: when you listen, you become the song.
You rise, rise up, and strum until the last note brings you home.
He smiles, and you smile, and the sun rises up over the clouds.
And then there is no him, and there is no you. There’s just this, a beautiful song that will play the heavens dry, and a love that saved your soul.
Them Boys (AU | Wroe/Taylor | T | 219w | prompt: our cabins)
“You think them boys ever suspect?”
Roy took another swig of beer. “What-the ones we let come out here?”
“Yeah. Mean, think about it-we took one look at them ’n we could tell they was like us. Maybe they could, too. Swear that Ennis fella bores holes in me with his eyes, sometimes.”
Roy grabbed at Don’s waist and pulled him close. “Don’t want no one but me borin’ their eyes inta you.”
Don knocked back Roy’s straw hat, giving him a kiss that most assuredly was an agreement. “Probably right,” he said, setting his beer down on the nightstand, and reaching down to unbutton his shirt while Roy did the same. “Ain’t like they got as much practice as we do. Doubt they don’t know nothin’.”
“You wanna know the truth, I thought ’bout tellin’ Jack a few times. Think the man could use a friend.”
Don shrugged. “Long as you don’t mention nothin’ that’ll get me in trouble with the Missus, I ain’t goin’ a stop you.”
“Yeah. You trust ’im, I’ll trust ’im.”
Roy smiled, “You a good man, Don Wroe. How’d I ever get to be such a lucky bastard, to meet you?”
“Sheep won’t watch themselves,” they said in unison, and burst out laughing, until they found more interesting ways to occupy their mouths.
*
One-Shot Deal (Ennis/Jack | 2007-07-03 | prompt: forever)
a word only meant
for the thin, cold mountain air.
wind’s fickle promise.
Lamb of God (Canon | Ennis/Jack | 2007-07-09 | prompt: “let he who is without sin”)
And so I ask you,
and so I ask-
is it a sin when I look in your eyes
and see stars looking back at me?
Perhaps I do not want to know
the answer, because
I am not a believer.
There is no Pentecost in my
future.
But I have to know, tell
me now:
am I sinning to
kiss you like penance?
I must know the answer, because
I am not a man of prayer.
And yet for four years I prayed,
every day,
to see the light of God again.
Orbiting (Canon | Ennis/Jack | 62w | 2007-07-15 | prompt: screencap of first night in tent)
Cupid-bow lips,
sunflowers and drenched-blue skies.
Don’t be afraid,
don’t be afraid.
Firelight glows and
makes the impossible
seem possible.
If just for one night,
if just in his cupid-bow lips,
and his drenched-blue eyes.
It’s okay,
it’s okay,
it’s okay.
You sink into a field
of sunflowers,
and in the dead of night,
you shine as bright as
the noonday sun.
And ficlets:
Where? (Canon | Jack | K | 291w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: where no one knows my name)
He’d gotten it off some pansy in New Mexico; the guy wouldn’t let off until Jack agreed to have some coffee with him, and he’d managed to slip enough whiskey in from his flask to make the cup worth it. Will Tanner had been his name, and the leaflet had fallen out of his back pocket when they were on their way back to their trucks.
It had been curiosity that led Jack to pick it up, nothing more. He hadn’t been able to read the letters before he stooped down.
San Francisco it declared, in big bold letters, almost too bright for the page. It had the name of a group on it, a name that Jack had memorized, memorized, but didn’t dare think or say too loud: around here, they would be dying words.
He’s out in the yard right now, Bobby asleep and Lureen too indifferent to keep tabs on what he does. His fingers go over and over the thick creases he’s left in the paper over the years, and those letters are still as brash as they were the first time he picked it up.
He thinks about a place where no one would know his name, where no one would look at him those guys had been eyeing Will Tanner in that parking lot. He didn’t stick around to find out what would happen to Will, because he hadn’t wanted to share his fate. He couldn’t do that to Ennis.
And he imagines a place where he can look into someone’s eyes, and they know, and they don’t care. Or maybe they understand.
And when he falls asleep, images of a ranch at the edge of a city he’ll never visit except in his dreams.
Water’s Edge (Canon | Ennis/Jack | T | 90w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: baptism)
Cold, cold, cold-it rushes them, fast and overwhelming, sinuous and slick. Blue shining aquamarine shining green-tinged-jade in the sun, they sink and yell for the sheer joy of it, skin crashing near as their breath skitters over the surface, rippling out like corn silk in the wind. This is more than either of them is shuttered in by duplexes and trailers and sidewalks-here, the dirt crunches under their bare feet, and the water holds their naked flesh with reverence. It isn’t swimming, it’s prayer, and it isn’t sex: it’s baptism.
A Real Happy Ending (AU | Ennis/Jack, Alma/Lureen, Ensemble | K | 216w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: one big happy family)
“Mama, Bobby pulled my hair again!”
Alma, carrying a steaming hot plate of potatoes to the table, shot Bobby a death glare. “You even think of touchin’ Francie’s hair again, Bobby, and I swear I will tan your hide.”
“And when she’s finished, I’ll whoop it good,” Lureen added, setting down the crock pot full of stew. Bobby cowered back into his seat, and Jack, carving the turkey, tried not to laugh.
“Don’t I get to whoop no one?” Ennis muttered, doling out peas onto Junior’s plate.
“Not me,” Junior said contritely.
“Hmph,” he muttered, and gave her an extra helping of peas as punishment.
“Dinner’s served,” Lureen said, setting down the bowl of cranberries.
They sat, and Alma smacked Bobby’s hand back from grabbing a piece of turkey. “Time for grace.”
So they joined hands, and Alma, being the only one who knew how to say a proper grace, did so.
“Now can we dig in?” Jack asked, his hand still linked in Ennis’s.
“If you don’t, I will.” Lureen reached for the serving fork and snagged the slice of turkey that both Bobby and Jack had been eyeing, and soon, they were all laughing, bickering, and generally frustrating and amusing one another.
In short-they were having their first Thanksgiving together as a real family.
Leave This Behind (AU | Alma/Lureen | T | 399w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: don’t look back)
[Notes: This is obviously AU, but for the purposes of this scenario, I’ve also made Francine much older-only about a year behind Alma Junior.]
She slapped Lureen’s hand away, mouth trembling in a hateful line.
“I ain’t like him. I ain’t... I ain’t like that. You just... you get away from me.”
Lureen’s hands tightened into fists, red nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm; her eyes narrowed to slits.
“No, you sure as hell ain’t. You’re like me, you hear? You’re like me. And if you think I’m so fuckin’ disgustin’, why you keep askin’ me back here? Why d’you keep callin’ me in the middle of the night, Alma? Why d’you keep tellin’ me about about the things you want that you can’t have with him?”
Alma’s face crumpled, and she sank down to the floor, broken by the verbal assault. Lureen sighed, and sat down at her side, putting an arm around Alma’s shoulders and pulling her closer. “It don’t have to be like this, darlin’. Hell, Francine’ll be out of the house soon enough-then what’s gonna keep you here? And you know that Jack doesn’t want Bobby-doesn’t want him enough to stop me, anyway.”
Alma shook her head. “You’re dreamin’. Two women can’t make it on their own.”
Lureen was silent for a moment, and then started smiling. Her smile progressed into giggles, slightly hysterical, and then full blown laughter. Alma tried to glare at her-she hadn’t been joking-but Lureen’s joy was infectious and it wasn’t long before they were sprawled on the floor, breathless from laughing.
“You mind tellin’ me what’s so funny?” Alma said when she’d recovered a bit.
“You are, darlin’.” But before Alma could put on her misery face again, Lureen kissed her. “Now listen-you think I been sittin’ twiddlin’ my thumbs these years I was workin’ for my daddy? And how much you think he left me after he died?”
Alma shrugged. “Enough to keep you buyin’ new diamonds every time I see you.”
Lureen nodded. “But I buy all those diamonds myself, Alma. My daddy left it all to me, not to Jack. And I’ve been investin’ my money so that every year is practically doubles.”
“So?”
“So?” Lureen ran her hand through Alma’s hair, and slipped a leg through Alma’s. “So what that means is that I’m a rich woman.”
Alma blinked. “How rich?”
Lureen’s smile could have stolen the sun.
“Rich enough to take care of your for the rest of your life, Alma Beers, if you’ll have me.”
Smoke Out (Canon | Ennis/Jack | M | 382w | 2007-07-03 | prompt: high on pot)
“Am I smellin’ things?” Jack stumbled towards the bed. “Why’s it smell like peach cobbler in here, Ennis?”
“Cobbler?” Ennis, surprisingly, became more talkative the more illegal herb he smoked. “Why the fuck you thinkin’ about cobbler, Jack, when I’m so fuckin’ hard that my jeans’re cryin’?”
“Hungry,” Jack growled, riffling through the bag.
“Hungry? You are always fuckin’ hungry! I am so goddamned sick and tired of you stuffin’ your face. I was lookin’ forward to eatin’ that cobbler on the drive home, you stupid sonofabitch.”
“Sorry,” Jack mumbled around a mouthful of (really delicious) peach cobbler.
“Hunh.” Ennis seemed to forget what he was talking about. Then he sniffed. “Damn. That smells mighty tasty. Gimme me some.”
Jack crawled over to the bed on his hands and knees, holding the cobbler in the air carefully in his left hand. When he got to the bed, he straightened up. Grabbing a chunk of cobbler between his index finger and thumb, he held it out.
“What? You gonna make me stare at it all day?”
Jack shook his head, and held it closer to Ennis’s lips. When Ennis opened his mouth, undoubtedly to complain again, Jack stopped him with the sticky-sweet bite of cobbler.
Ennis got the point.
The next bite, he licked off of Jack’s fingers, eyes closing as he savored the taste of Jack and sweet fruit. By the time the cobbler was gone, he was biting hungrily at Jack’s fingers, one hand unconsciously gone down to stroke the erection that was making his jeans cry. Jack climbed up onto the bed, and replaced his fingers with his lips, their kisses sticky with crystal sugar and laced with the taste of peach. Their hands explored slowly, enlivened by the drug so that every crevice and expanse felt completely new, the unexpected sort of sensuality that comes from heightened sensitivity. Jack kissed down Ennis’s neck, his chest, and, after some difficulty and cursing of Levi-Strauss, his thighs and the inside of his knees. It wasn’t long before Ennis came; Jack merely brushed the head of his cock and that was enough.
It was the beginning of a long and very fruitful relationship that Jack had with Leroy Titus, a dealer of very high quality marijuana that he grew in his backyard.
Sunny Afternoon (AU | Ennis/Jack, Alma/Lureen | K | 365w | 2007-07-15 | prompt: double date at the beach)
“Oh, whatever.” Lureen popped the gum and rolled her eyes.
“Admit it. I converted you.” Jack pushed her on the shoulder, sending her sputtering and tripping across the sand.
Alma glared at him, her thin blond hair whipping around his face in the wind. “Being a lesbian isn’t like being a born again Christian, dumbass. You don’t convert.” She slipped her arm around Lureen’s waist and kissed her girlfriend thoroughly; Jack wrinkled his nose.
“So Alma’s the reason I like you, Jack?” Ennis said dryly, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He was the only one of them wearing jeans and a button up shirt; even at the beach, he didn’t loosen up.
“Nah. I like you ’cause you’re a stallion in bed.” Jack laughed wildly, and Ennis looked like he’d swallowed something that didn’t agree with him, but he just shook his head, throwing his arm around Jack’s shoulders.
The sun climbed, and Lureen stripped down her to her slinky black bikini. Alma’s one-piece was more modest, and Jack’s shorts rode dangerously low on his waist; every time he turned around, Ennis checked around them, territoriality written all over his face and posture. His concession to the warmth was to unbutton his shirt and roll up his jeans a few inches so he could wade in the water.
Jack and Lureen bought ice cream cones, and shared them with Alma and Ennis even though both of them initially refused, but “I’m on a diet” and “I don’t like chocolate” were proclaimed inadequate excuses.
A few people passing by glared at them (and a few young men stared when Lureen was licking ice cream off Alma’s chest), but Jack just said a friendly “hello” to them and engaged them in awkward conversation if they made the mistake of hanging around. Ennis glared and the bullies got his message very clearly when they looked at his bunched fists and veined arms. The four of them were pretty used to it, though; even at the university they attended, some students gave them sideways glances.
And they just indulged in the best revenge, refusing to allow anyone to spoil their gorgeous afternoon on the beach: they lived well.
We Become Air (Canon | Ennis/Jack | K | 130w | 2007-07-15 | prompt: meeting in heaven post-canon)
The strains of a faraway guitar. They float, high, higher than you ever imagined air went, higher than you ever imagined that you deserved.
Dying, you think, might not be so bad if you can hear this song for the rest of eternity.
You can almost hear the calloused fingers scratching against the chords, almost see the sunset profile of the man neither of you could be: when you listen, you become the song.
You rise, rise up, and strum until the last note brings you home.
He smiles, and you smile, and the sun rises up over the clouds.
And then there is no him, and there is no you. There’s just this, a beautiful song that will play the heavens dry, and a love that saved your soul.
Them Boys (AU | Wroe/Taylor | T | 219w | prompt: our cabins)
“You think them boys ever suspect?”
Roy took another swig of beer. “What-the ones we let come out here?”
“Yeah. Mean, think about it-we took one look at them ’n we could tell they was like us. Maybe they could, too. Swear that Ennis fella bores holes in me with his eyes, sometimes.”
Roy grabbed at Don’s waist and pulled him close. “Don’t want no one but me borin’ their eyes inta you.”
Don knocked back Roy’s straw hat, giving him a kiss that most assuredly was an agreement. “Probably right,” he said, setting his beer down on the nightstand, and reaching down to unbutton his shirt while Roy did the same. “Ain’t like they got as much practice as we do. Doubt they don’t know nothin’.”
“You wanna know the truth, I thought ’bout tellin’ Jack a few times. Think the man could use a friend.”
Don shrugged. “Long as you don’t mention nothin’ that’ll get me in trouble with the Missus, I ain’t goin’ a stop you.”
“Yeah. You trust ’im, I’ll trust ’im.”
Roy smiled, “You a good man, Don Wroe. How’d I ever get to be such a lucky bastard, to meet you?”
“Sheep won’t watch themselves,” they said in unison, and burst out laughing, until they found more interesting ways to occupy their mouths.