Snuggle response, Ennis/Fred
Sometimes Fred wished he had something more. Maybe something actually definable. He wanted just the little things, the ones that shouldn't have mattered so much in the face of the larger things he did have. Okay, he had someone to sleep with on a regular basis, but he wanted someone whose hand he could hold anytime he wanted, someone who wouldn't jump if he ran his hand along their lower back as he passed. Okay, he had someone to talk to about anything that popped into his mind -- well, anything but this -- but sometimes he wanted someone he could refer to as his boyfriend or lover or something other than just 'Ennis' or 'the cowboy' or 'the sheepboy' or whatever it was that week. Okay, he had a mate who was always willing to help, to offer a hand or a cigarette, but maybe he'd like someone who he could quite literally take home to the family, and --
Sometimes Fred hated the couples he saw walking down the street. He hated himself for remembering times with Terrance, where at least they were in agreement when it came to the hiding everything from everyone thing. He hated Ennis for seeming content with -- the nothing they had. He hated Ginny for cutting right to the quick. Sometimes Fred wanted to go back to London and try to forget everything about the States. A few times he had even wished he had stayed dead, back in that absolute, calm black where nothing had mattered, where nothing had hurt or pleased.
But sometimes, he didn't worry. Sometimes it seemed really okay. Like when he woke up slowly, fingers entwined with Ennis's shirt, the other man's slow breath snuffling into his neck. Like when they moved seamlessly around Fred's small kitchen, preparing yet another thrown together dinner to eat in front of the telly. Like when Ennis invited Fred over to a family gathering and his daughters were ridiculously welcoming, the potato salad just perfectly spot on, and Ennis's faint smile couldn't be brighter.
But sometimes Fred forgot that he wanted something more, that this really wasn't going to be enough for him forever. Sometimes he ignored that little voice warning him to stop falling for a man who would never come out of the closet. Sometimes Fred dispelled any fear that this would end in extreme misery. When Ennis looked around the shop, at the sparkling countertops and nicely lined toys, at the thick carpets and brightly painted walls, and when he smiled and rested a hand on Fred's shoulder, Fred found it easy to push all his worries to the side. When Ennis's fingers found their quiet way to slip slightly beneath the other man's collar, to brush rough fingertips along the goosepimpling skin there, Fred smiled. Maybe this would be enough, and not just sometimes.
Sometimes Fred hated the couples he saw walking down the street. He hated himself for remembering times with Terrance, where at least they were in agreement when it came to the hiding everything from everyone thing. He hated Ennis for seeming content with -- the nothing they had. He hated Ginny for cutting right to the quick. Sometimes Fred wanted to go back to London and try to forget everything about the States. A few times he had even wished he had stayed dead, back in that absolute, calm black where nothing had mattered, where nothing had hurt or pleased.
But sometimes, he didn't worry. Sometimes it seemed really okay. Like when he woke up slowly, fingers entwined with Ennis's shirt, the other man's slow breath snuffling into his neck. Like when they moved seamlessly around Fred's small kitchen, preparing yet another thrown together dinner to eat in front of the telly. Like when Ennis invited Fred over to a family gathering and his daughters were ridiculously welcoming, the potato salad just perfectly spot on, and Ennis's faint smile couldn't be brighter.
But sometimes Fred forgot that he wanted something more, that this really wasn't going to be enough for him forever. Sometimes he ignored that little voice warning him to stop falling for a man who would never come out of the closet. Sometimes Fred dispelled any fear that this would end in extreme misery. When Ennis looked around the shop, at the sparkling countertops and nicely lined toys, at the thick carpets and brightly painted walls, and when he smiled and rested a hand on Fred's shoulder, Fred found it easy to push all his worries to the side. When Ennis's fingers found their quiet way to slip slightly beneath the other man's collar, to brush rough fingertips along the goosepimpling skin there, Fred smiled. Maybe this would be enough, and not just sometimes.