Jack's Slash - Chapter 3
Here is the third chapter of my slash story but I didn't write it. Ennis had the idea for it but it was too hard for me to write so I told him to go see soulan and get her to do it. I feel kind a bad about that but stead a me explaining why it went this way you can just read these emails. Their on my journal stead a hers cause she is gonna lock hers up. It's my own damn fault she's gonna do it. Shoulda just kept quiet.
From: "Jack Twist"
Date: December 28, 2008 8:14:28 PM CHT
To:
Subject: Re: Problem with chapter 3
It's past Christmas so I don't feel guilty writing to you now but I got bad news. You are gonna have to take over writing chapter 3. Ennis had this idea for it and I said it sounded real interesting but the truth is I was nervous about writing it cause of a lie I told him a long time ago when I came back to him. I didn't tell him that though, I just went ahead and tried to write it. Had a do it over and over but he was never satisfied. So I gave up and said can't we go with this other idea I had and he said no, it had a be this one cause a this character he wanted for it. I know why he's hung up on him cause I had a deal with the aftermath when the real guy he's based on met his awful fate. When it happened I knew my lie would hafta stay that way. You probbly heard about it and you read enough stories that you'll know what I'm talking about when you read this. Ennis finally said that you better write this chapter cause you'll know what he's gettin at. But don't you go try and copy my style. I'll just put a warning on it that I had a guest writer.
Ennis is welcome to come and explain what he's trying to get across. But can't we just do it by email? I thought he could type 200 words a minute like you now.
Thank your mother for the sweater, by the way, which came just before we left. (How's she doing?) It's way too big for me so I gave that one to my husband. He made no comment about the rainbow stripes. I don't think he gets the significance.
Ennis doesn't like email. I know, crazy. But he didn't get a phone till he was 40 so that shouldn't be a surprise.
Ma got the UPS guy to bring her to Paul's place so she could deliver the apple cider vinegar to him herself a few days ago. She's been moody ever since. Not sure what's going on with her.
From: "Soulan "
Date: January 14, 2009 11:36:20 PM CHT
To:
Subject: Re: Re: Chapter 3
Happy New Year, Jack. (If that has any meaning where you are.) Attached is the chapter, and don't worry, I didn't try to copy your inimitable style. I don't write humor as well as you.
What humor?
I understand why you found it so difficult to write what Ennis wanted. For one thing, you assume he believes the lie you told him back then. But Ennis said he never really did and that's why what happened to that young man hit him so hard at the time. He knows you were trying to spare him, but you're both beyond that now, aren't you? So you should tell him the truth.
Secondly, the dream Jack has in this chapter is a gift from Ennis to you. You were treating it like a sex romp and that's why he was so frustrated with your versions. You'll see here that it meant more to him than that.
I know you're going to say "hey, why so few details in the sex scene?" Believe me, I wrote them but Ennis sure was squeamish about reading about you with someone else. I would've had them keep going in the shower but he wouldn't have it.
I should warn you that while I was writing, and when he wasn't reading over my shoulder and nitpicking, Ennis watched some DVDs of a TV series on my daughters' computer and was totally taken with one character. He talked about asking you to somehow fit him into chapter 4. Maybe since Ennis has even had you download a few episodes by now. I think you could do a lot with that crossover. On the other hand, maybe you don't like your story getting hijacked by others.
Now I get why he’s been asking every night if I wanna bring the powerbook into bed. Guess tonight I’ll say yes.
All I can say is this story is not going the way I thought it would. I know how I wanna end it but this is kinda getting off the track. Maybe I should just quit this one and start something else.
NO NO NO! How can you even consider it? If you did that, this Jack would be stranded as well. Ever think of that? A writer I know (a regular, published one) says that writing the first draft of a novel is like drawing a big circle freehand without looking. By the time you've finished it, the end of the story doesn't quite match up with the beginning in tone and style so you have to go back over and over it until it's a perfect circle. Since you're posting this as you go, you can't do that reshaping. Anyway, you're just doing this for fun. Right?
Right. By the way, Ennis told me to tell you that while he was using your kids computer, he went to look up one a your stories and noticed that the browser autofilled your LJ address. So I guess somebody is onto you. He didn’t say nothing cause you were on a tear with the writing and didn’t want you to get distracted. Maybe you got a Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy in your house and you don’t even know it. (He says it didn’t autofill my LJ name so my stuff is safe.)
OH. SHIT.
Jack's Slash Chapter 3
In the late afternoon of the third day of the Laramie rodeo, Jack was leaning on the fence, elbows propped on the top rail, watching the crowd drift away from the grounds. He watched without seeing because his mind was on his aching leg and sore shoulder. A drizzly night spent in the cramped truck cab meant he hadn't been feeling in top form for the bullriding, which he didn't even come close to winning, and he'd got banged up besides. He gingerly pressed the painful bruise on his right thigh where he'd been kicked and vowed to thank the clown later, because without him he wouldn't be standing at all.
It was taking longer to readjust to the flatland and to solitude this year. How did he manage before? He'd never felt friendless in the past because he could always find somebody to talk to. Now he understood, though, that talking to a guy wasn't the same thing as friendship, and if you picked the right man, talk could lead to other things. Yet his yearning for further connection also made each conversation fraught for him. In the past, he'd occasionally picked up intriguing if scrambled signals from men whom he'd met at rodeos and in bars. But until this summer he hadn't quite known how to decrypt them. The odd men he'd encountered this week, well, they were another story.
The air was still very warm as evening approached and he felt a bead of sweat slide down the side of his neck and under his collar. He longed to lie in a real bed that night, and debated whether he should spend a few bucks on a motel room. Since June he'd only slept between sheets one night, at his father's house, and he'd been so anxious to get away that he'd hardly noticed the comfort. Because that kind of comfort was not what he'd craved. What he'd been missing was heat from a fire and from a body in his arms, warmth from hands that-
"Hi, Jack."
He whipped his head to the right as if the gentle voice had to be caught quick before it flew away. A slender guy about his age with straight blond hair and no hat was standing next to him, smiling at Jack like he knew him. It was an open, friendly smile but also sweet and sad.
"Howdy...?" Jack tried to place this face. School? Rodeo?
The young man didn't respond, just kept smiling until Jack couldn't help but ask, "How d'you know me?"
All he got for an answer was a little sigh. Jack had an idea then about him.
"Alright, might as well just tell me your story. You stranded? What's your name?"
"I'm Matt," the youth said, as if that explained everything. "I'm in lots of stories," he continued when Jack stared blankly, "but I don't usually do very much. Sometimes I'm a child, sometimes a little older than I am now, but I'm always kind. Somebody's good friend. But often not even that. More like a presence, or a memory." He paused and looked wistfully toward the horses being led away. "I had a big, long-running part for a while, as your best friend in California. I married your sister," he said, glancing at Jack, "which is ironic since you don't have a sister and I... anyway, work has sort of dried up lately. I just hang around Laramie, waiting until a writer needs me. So here I am." He smiled broadly at Jack. "At least I didn't have to go away this time."
Jack nodded. These guys all seemed to think someone was writing his life, too, but instead of setting them straight (he was his own man!) he figured it was better to just humor them. He shifted and switched the foot he rested on the rail but the movement aggravated the ache in his leg and he winced.
"Are you hurt bad?" Matt asked, moving closer. "I saw your ride and how you fell. That's when I recognized you." He put a hand on Jack's sore shoulder and rubbed it gently with his thumb. His touch felt deeply comforting to Jack, who automatically glanced around.
"Don't worry, nobody will notice," Matt murmured. "No one pays much attention to me now.
"I have to confess," he continued more cheerfully, "I've been dying to meet you as your canon self, since we're both from Wyoming, and because of... well... we have something in common."
Jack was wondering what cannons had to do with this kid's story. He was tired of standing though, and impatient for a drink.
"You feel like hitting the bar?" he asked.
Matt's expression darkened and he looked away. "I try to avoid bars, now," he muttered. But then he flashed a smile at Jack. "I have some beer at my place though, if you want to come by."
Jack felt a spark of happiness at being invited to someone's home. "Sure, why not," he shrugged.
Matt had come to the rodeo on foot so he rode with Jack in his truck. He directed him to a modest neighborhood on the edge of town and told him to pull up in front of an ordinary frame house. But instead of going to the front door, he led Jack down the driveway that extended all the way to the bottom of the long narrow back yard and ended at what must once have been a one-car garage, now converted to a studio, built flush against a wooden fence. Jack could see railroad tracks on the other side and beyond that, woods. Matt pushed open the unlocked door. The single room contained only the most basic furniture, including a bed that was not quite wide enough to be double. Jack lowered himself wearily onto one of the two straight back chairs next to the worn pine table. He glanced longingly at the bed as Matt stooped to take two beer bottles out of the tiny refrigerator.
"I think you're hungry," Matt said, meeting his eyes while he tried to open a bottle. Jack looked at him quizzically, wondering why he was attempting to twist off the cap.
"Oh..." the young man laughed, "I keep forgetting we still need bottle openers here. Anyway, I'll make you something to eat. Go ahead and lie down - you look tired."
Jack accepted the beer and relished several fizzy swallows, then set down the bottle and slid gratefully onto the bed. His boots thumped onto the floorboards one by one as he toed them off and he caught a whiff of his filthy socks, a single pungent note recalled from the miasma of odors that had enveloped them in the tent at night. It wasn't only weariness that made his body slump onto the mattress then. Stretching out, he closed his eyes and listened to the rush of water from faucet to pot and the clank and scrape of metal on metal as Matt busied himself at the hotplate. Jack drifted off but it didn't feel like he was asleep. He'd returned for the supper and was stretched out on the ground, blowing into his harmonica while Ennis scraped the cast iron skillet with the spatula, the cooling breeze wafting the smell of frying venison past his nose. He stopped playing to ask Ennis when their meal would be ready but before he could speak, Ennis said Don't stop. That sounds real good, Jack.
"Jack? Food's ready if you are." He opened his eyes reluctantly to see Matt standing next to the bed, smiling down at him. He sat up groggily, Matt's hand on his upper back pushing gently but firmly, and shifted onto the chair. Matt sat down opposite, four hotdogs in buns on a plate between them as well as an open bag of potato chips. Jack spread his dog with ketchup and wolfed it down to an accompaniment of crackling and crunching as Matt dipped his hand again and again into the bag of chips.
"This your folks' place?" Jack asked as he reached for another hotdog.
"No. Some... friends let me live here. I'm from Casper, originally."
"You a student, then?"
Matt pinched up the last salty crumbs and sprinkled them on his tongue. "Where are you going after the rodeo? To Texas?"
"You're the second person to say I should go to Texas," Jack grumbled.
"I didn't say you should go there. I don't think you should, in fact. Keep looking in Wyoming."
"Looking for what?"
"You know who I mean."
Jack understood that, like the other lost men he'd met, this boy was somehow linked to Ennis, but right then he was too weary to ask how. He took two more bites of food and then yawned. The proximity to a bed was draining the energy from him, and so were the ministrations of this new acquaintance.
"Mind if I..." Jack began but Matt had already stepped over to the bed and was drawing back the covers. He stood up and was startled when the other boy moved right up to him and let his hands wander unhurriedly down Jack's chest, unsnapping the buttons. After he pulled off Jack's shirt he unzipped Jack's jeans, then sat on the chair as he pushed his pants down for him, remaining bent over until Jack stepped out of them. Before straightening up, Matt let his palm graze lightly over the dark purple bruise on his outer thigh and frowned. Jack dropped onto the bed and lay back, swinging his legs onto the cool sheets. He felt gentle hands peeling off his sweaty socks, then pulling the blanket up his body. Before it reached his chin, sleep had settled on him like mist...
...which was drifting along the ground in tendrils when he parted the tent flaps and saw that Ennis had just finished saddling Cigar Butt. Jack pulled up his jeans and got stiffly to his feet, wincing at the ache in is backside. After ducking out into the morning chill, he walked gingerly toward Ennis and saw and heard the clack of the shotgun as it was snapped shut. Ennis mounted without meeting his eyes. "See you for supper," Jack ventured, struggling to keep the last syllable from rising into a question. Ennis glanced at him and then away, made to turn his horse but then stopped. He looked back at Jack, his expression half a degree softer. "Yeah," he breathed.
Jack could swear he saw Ennis smile as he turned and walked away, in the sun now, tucking in his shirt. He recoiled the lariat, only to launch it again at Ennis' feet, catching them. Ennis stumbled and fell, then grabbed the rope, growling "This ain't no rodeo!" Jack laughed with relief as Ennis yanked him down onto his body and then with pleasure as they tumbled and rolled down the slope in an embrace, until Jack realized that Ennis was pushing more than pulling. Soon they were wrestling in earnest. Jack knew seconds before it happened that his knee would collide with Ennis' nose but he felt powerless to stop it. And then he couldn't help rising to comfort Ennis and join in blotting with his sleeve the blood flowing from his nose, even though somewhere in his head a voice was screaming to back off, do something else. And then he felt the strangely familiar shocking pain in his cheekbone an instant before the ground flew up to jolt his whole body. And then, and then... a hand on his hip and then his shoulder, turning him onto his back. "Jack, Jack, sorry... I'm real sorry." Callused fingers prying his own away from his face to softly touch his cheek; that oh so familiar body pressing against his side, warm breath on his skin, soft lips on his cheek drawing away the pain. Ennis moved down his neck and chest, unsnapping his shirt buttons as he kissed his way toward Jack's belt, Jack's fingers threading through his hair as he guided him lower. He gasped in surprise as Ennis took him in his mouth much sooner than he expected, way in, and seconds later Ennis was kissing him, their tongues twining. How was this possible, both at once? But god it was so good, that wet soft swirling and sucking at his dick and his mouth, his eyes closed in ecstasy... His heart was pounding hard and fast; he reached up and wrapped his arms around the narrow shoulders, somehow registering that it wasn't Ennis after all but he didn't care... didn't look to see who it was, utter relief rushing through him as he thrust up in blessed release...Ehhhh! Ehhhhh! trying to groan out a name but his throat felt paralyzed.
Sinking into the mattress as his muscles relaxed, his arms flopping to his sides, he hissed nsssss when the other lips released his and his dick slipped from the hand which then eased back up the waistband of his briefs. He slowly came back to his other senses when he heard Matt wipe his palm on the sheet. He opened his eyes and saw the room was permeated with the cool gray of dawn instead of warm evening light. Matt was lying on his side next to him, naked, propped on his elbow and smiling down at him, his fair hair hanging over his forehead.
"You were dreaming of Ennis," Matt said matter of factly, "so I decided to help you."
Jack looked into his eyes for a moment, wondering how he was ever going to move on from Ennis if even other men invited his memory into bed with them. His thigh ached; he rolled away from Matt and out of bed. In four steps he was in the bathroom, shutting the door. He held his head in his hands, elbows on his knees while he sat on the toilet, trying to bring back the sensations of the dream: smell of pine, turf against his back, Ennis' lips soft on his skin, his gruff voice, the glow his words raised in his heart. Jack, I'm real sorry. He sighed, feeling the sweet warm liquid gladness ebbing away. When he glanced at his thigh he saw a clear, glistening streak on the bruise and realized that the ache had been from Matt's erection pressing against it. It was shame he felt then, because he hadn't even thought about reciprocating, as though this boy's feelings mattered less because he wasn't Ennis.
He left his underwear on the floor and flushed the john, looking toward the shower stall. He should return to the bed and do something for Matt. But he felt filthy. Clean up now, out of consideration? Or wait till later, when he'd really need it? He pushed aside the plastic curtain to look at the state of the shower; seconds later he heard the door open and suddenly Matt was at his back, his erection sliding between Jack's thighs. His arousal made Jack's dick stir, reminding him of an afternoon on Brokeback when Ennis-
"Selfish bastard." Matt's attempt at a growl made Jack smile, the contrast was so.... "You were going to leave me high and dry while you took a shower?" He snaked one hand around to stray over Jack's chest, flicking and caressing, while he reached with the other one over to the white tiled wall and turned on the hot water tap. "Well, I'm tired of playing the nice guy. Get in there." He nudged Jack forward, urging him over the low ledge and under the spray. The heat felt good, and Jack regretted that he and Ennis had never-
"Jeez Jack, can't you stop thinking about him for one minute and just enjoy this?" Matt teased as he positioned Jack to face him. Matt's blond hair was very soon wet and dark as he stood in the spray and soaped Jack's shoulders and chest; he noticed the boy's erection hadn't flagged. But Jack didn't reach for him. How was it he knew when Ennis was on his mind? He let Matt turn him around so he could run the soap over his back. Then he felt his hands sliding over his ass and between his thighs. Jack widened his stance as Matt knelt down to glide his slippery hands up and down his right leg and then his left, taking care not to apply pressure to the bruised skin. Still kneeling, Matt reached up between Jack's thighs and massaged his balls with his soapy fingers while kissing the small of his back. Jack gasped sharply, all his attention instantly focused there. Before he could obey the urge to turn around, Matt rose to his feet. Jack felt him wrap his arms around his waist and take his swelling dick in his fist while sliding his own fully hard one between Jack's thighs again.
"I know what you like," Matt murmured in his ear, "and I'm ready. I've been wishing I could have a chance with you for almost three years." In a tiny corner of his brain Jack wondered about that timeline but quickly gave himself up to the nerve shocking feel of a man's practiced hand shuttling smoothly along his shaft while a long dick glided between his thighs, brushing his balls and sending jolts of pleasure through him. Jack brought his feet close together and heard a breathy groan in his ear, wordless thanks for the friction. After a moment Matt drew back and Jack felt soap slick fingers ease between his buttocks and a foot nudge his ankle. He got the message and spread his legs, bracing his hands on the tiles. But a jabbing pain in his shoulder made him flinch and he felt Matt freeze.
"Let's get on the bed," Matt murmured. Jack straightened up and nodded, though he felt disconcerted, even a bit annoyed, to be with someone so completely attuned to his thoughts and feelings. Matt pulled him a step back so he was under the spray and when the soap was gone turned off the water. They stepped out of the steamy stall and Matt flicked a towel from the rod and began rubbing Jack with it to dry him off. But he wanted none of that friendly intimacy just then. It felt like months since his last good fuck instead of less than a week; felt like a lifetime. Jack yanked the towel away and tossed it to the floor, then pulled Matt the few steps toward the bed. They tumbled onto it still wet, Jack stifling a gasp when his bad shoulder hit the mattress. He rolled onto his back; Matt crawled on top of him and kissed Jack tentatively, then passionately when he responded with his tongue and his arms. This felt nice and familiar: wet skin smacking and squeaking, water dripping from their hair like the times they'd bathed in the river and then afterwards... He stopped thinking and let lust take over, reveling in the luxury of a mattress under him and a hard body against his, a velvet tongue to wind his own around. Keeping his eyes closed he let his hands explore this new back, a thin rather than lean one. Matt was soon kissing along his jaw and then sucking the side of his neck while he thrust against him. Jack felt he couldn't take much more of this maddeningly erratic friction. He started to reach for the Vaseline on the nightstand but it was his bad shoulder; he squirmed against Matt and murmured into his hair "Lift my legs and slick us both up." Matt drew back onto his knees and reached for the jar. Then he only bent Jack's right knee, leaving his foot on the mattress, and pushed his left leg up, ankle in the air, watching Jack's face all the while.
"Does this hurt? We can do it another way if-"
Christ, at least Ennis was decisive in moments like this. "I thought you were tired of being nice!" Jack exclaimed, trying to make his voice teasing but he was beginning to chafe at this boy's solicitousness, so different from Ennis' desperate urgency that he... now one finger in, then two. Just stop thinking!
"God yeeaahh!" Matt groaned as he eased in slowly, Jack's calf braced against his shoulder. "Tell me if this-"
"Ssshhh! Don't talk."
Jack was lying on his back on soft, damp moss in their favorite spot near the edge of the stand of firs, his eyes closed against the late morning sunlight. His hands were crossed over his bare chest and Ennis' head was resting on his thighs, warming them. He wanted to reach down to caress Ennis' face but his hands were trapped. When Jack opened his eyes his face was turned to the wall. The sheet was draped over the length of his body right up to his chin and tucked tightly around him. Sunlight streamed through the window and lay in a brilliant hot rectangle across the white cotton over his legs, and continued up the plaster, where it was dappled with pale gray, leaves from the tree outside breaking up the light. He was alone in the bed. Alone felt normal, until he shifted and felt a different, familiar ache. The gray-light hours came back to him, along with the memory of other limbs against his; of vibrations traveling through the mattress from slender, trembling arms braced on either side of his torso; of his left foot in the air, waving forward and back as a collarbone pushed rhythmically against his leg. He recalled with satisfaction the long-craved sensation of being filled, and the moans and whispers of this strange, gentle caregiver as he thrust almost gracefully, playing Jack like a country fiddle until they both cried out.
He heard a clink and turned toward the sound. Matt was sitting at the table, in jeans but shirtless, stirring coffee in a white mug. When he saw Jack watching him, he smiled.
"I brought your bag in," he said, nodding toward the floor. "Hope you have some cleaner clothes." He rose, stepped over to the bed and sat on the edge next to Jack.
"Coffee?"
"Not just now." He wanted to lie there a little while longer under the sun-warmed sheet.
"Will you be able to ride again in Laramie? Tomorrow's the last day."
"Naw. Think I'll head out for Colorado and New Mexico and then over to Texas. Hit a few rodeos along the way."
Matt sat in silence for a moment, shoulders slumping and his hands clasped around the mug in his lap.
"Be careful," he said quietly.
Jack snorted. "Course I'm careful, but bullriders gotta take chances, too. This ain't a job for-"
"I mean other times." Matt brushed his fingers over the sheet where it covered Jack's chest and hands, fixing his gaze there. "In bars. Who you talk to. How you talk. Who you leave with."
Jack was silent, wondering if he was hearing timidity or the voice of experience.
"And don't let yourself be seduced by any pretty cowgirls," Matt said with a smirk.
"Huh, not likely."
"Right."
"I'll take that coffee now."
"On one condition."
"What?"
"You let me come with you to Texas."
Jack resisted the impulse to say no immediately. "Why?"
"I haven't been out of Laramie in a long time. I've never been to Texas. I want to... well, I'd just like to go there. Don't worry, I have a bit of money. I won't be a burden. Please?"
Jack remembered the feeling of being slowly suffocated by Lightening Flat, the desperation to get away. It seemed heartless to leave this poor kid idling his time here, at the mercy of fickle writers. He wondered if he could train him to be less... nice. Who knows, maybe Matt would become a friend, even if he didn't expect it.
"Alright."
From: "Jack Twist"
Date: December 28, 2008 8:14:28 PM CHT
To:
Subject: Re: Problem with chapter 3
It's past Christmas so I don't feel guilty writing to you now but I got bad news. You are gonna have to take over writing chapter 3. Ennis had this idea for it and I said it sounded real interesting but the truth is I was nervous about writing it cause of a lie I told him a long time ago when I came back to him. I didn't tell him that though, I just went ahead and tried to write it. Had a do it over and over but he was never satisfied. So I gave up and said can't we go with this other idea I had and he said no, it had a be this one cause a this character he wanted for it. I know why he's hung up on him cause I had a deal with the aftermath when the real guy he's based on met his awful fate. When it happened I knew my lie would hafta stay that way. You probbly heard about it and you read enough stories that you'll know what I'm talking about when you read this. Ennis finally said that you better write this chapter cause you'll know what he's gettin at. But don't you go try and copy my style. I'll just put a warning on it that I had a guest writer.
Ennis is welcome to come and explain what he's trying to get across. But can't we just do it by email? I thought he could type 200 words a minute like you now.
Thank your mother for the sweater, by the way, which came just before we left. (How's she doing?) It's way too big for me so I gave that one to my husband. He made no comment about the rainbow stripes. I don't think he gets the significance.
Ennis doesn't like email. I know, crazy. But he didn't get a phone till he was 40 so that shouldn't be a surprise.
Ma got the UPS guy to bring her to Paul's place so she could deliver the apple cider vinegar to him herself a few days ago. She's been moody ever since. Not sure what's going on with her.
From: "Soulan "
Date: January 14, 2009 11:36:20 PM CHT
To:
Subject: Re: Re: Chapter 3
Happy New Year, Jack. (If that has any meaning where you are.) Attached is the chapter, and don't worry, I didn't try to copy your inimitable style. I don't write humor as well as you.
What humor?
I understand why you found it so difficult to write what Ennis wanted. For one thing, you assume he believes the lie you told him back then. But Ennis said he never really did and that's why what happened to that young man hit him so hard at the time. He knows you were trying to spare him, but you're both beyond that now, aren't you? So you should tell him the truth.
Secondly, the dream Jack has in this chapter is a gift from Ennis to you. You were treating it like a sex romp and that's why he was so frustrated with your versions. You'll see here that it meant more to him than that.
I know you're going to say "hey, why so few details in the sex scene?" Believe me, I wrote them but Ennis sure was squeamish about reading about you with someone else. I would've had them keep going in the shower but he wouldn't have it.
I should warn you that while I was writing, and when he wasn't reading over my shoulder and nitpicking, Ennis watched some DVDs of a TV series on my daughters' computer and was totally taken with one character. He talked about asking you to somehow fit him into chapter 4. Maybe since Ennis has even had you download a few episodes by now. I think you could do a lot with that crossover. On the other hand, maybe you don't like your story getting hijacked by others.
Now I get why he’s been asking every night if I wanna bring the powerbook into bed. Guess tonight I’ll say yes.
All I can say is this story is not going the way I thought it would. I know how I wanna end it but this is kinda getting off the track. Maybe I should just quit this one and start something else.
NO NO NO! How can you even consider it? If you did that, this Jack would be stranded as well. Ever think of that? A writer I know (a regular, published one) says that writing the first draft of a novel is like drawing a big circle freehand without looking. By the time you've finished it, the end of the story doesn't quite match up with the beginning in tone and style so you have to go back over and over it until it's a perfect circle. Since you're posting this as you go, you can't do that reshaping. Anyway, you're just doing this for fun. Right?
Right. By the way, Ennis told me to tell you that while he was using your kids computer, he went to look up one a your stories and noticed that the browser autofilled your LJ address. So I guess somebody is onto you. He didn’t say nothing cause you were on a tear with the writing and didn’t want you to get distracted. Maybe you got a Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy in your house and you don’t even know it. (He says it didn’t autofill my LJ name so my stuff is safe.)
OH. SHIT.
Jack's Slash Chapter 3
In the late afternoon of the third day of the Laramie rodeo, Jack was leaning on the fence, elbows propped on the top rail, watching the crowd drift away from the grounds. He watched without seeing because his mind was on his aching leg and sore shoulder. A drizzly night spent in the cramped truck cab meant he hadn't been feeling in top form for the bullriding, which he didn't even come close to winning, and he'd got banged up besides. He gingerly pressed the painful bruise on his right thigh where he'd been kicked and vowed to thank the clown later, because without him he wouldn't be standing at all.
It was taking longer to readjust to the flatland and to solitude this year. How did he manage before? He'd never felt friendless in the past because he could always find somebody to talk to. Now he understood, though, that talking to a guy wasn't the same thing as friendship, and if you picked the right man, talk could lead to other things. Yet his yearning for further connection also made each conversation fraught for him. In the past, he'd occasionally picked up intriguing if scrambled signals from men whom he'd met at rodeos and in bars. But until this summer he hadn't quite known how to decrypt them. The odd men he'd encountered this week, well, they were another story.
The air was still very warm as evening approached and he felt a bead of sweat slide down the side of his neck and under his collar. He longed to lie in a real bed that night, and debated whether he should spend a few bucks on a motel room. Since June he'd only slept between sheets one night, at his father's house, and he'd been so anxious to get away that he'd hardly noticed the comfort. Because that kind of comfort was not what he'd craved. What he'd been missing was heat from a fire and from a body in his arms, warmth from hands that-
"Hi, Jack."
He whipped his head to the right as if the gentle voice had to be caught quick before it flew away. A slender guy about his age with straight blond hair and no hat was standing next to him, smiling at Jack like he knew him. It was an open, friendly smile but also sweet and sad.
"Howdy...?" Jack tried to place this face. School? Rodeo?
The young man didn't respond, just kept smiling until Jack couldn't help but ask, "How d'you know me?"
All he got for an answer was a little sigh. Jack had an idea then about him.
"Alright, might as well just tell me your story. You stranded? What's your name?"
"I'm Matt," the youth said, as if that explained everything. "I'm in lots of stories," he continued when Jack stared blankly, "but I don't usually do very much. Sometimes I'm a child, sometimes a little older than I am now, but I'm always kind. Somebody's good friend. But often not even that. More like a presence, or a memory." He paused and looked wistfully toward the horses being led away. "I had a big, long-running part for a while, as your best friend in California. I married your sister," he said, glancing at Jack, "which is ironic since you don't have a sister and I... anyway, work has sort of dried up lately. I just hang around Laramie, waiting until a writer needs me. So here I am." He smiled broadly at Jack. "At least I didn't have to go away this time."
Jack nodded. These guys all seemed to think someone was writing his life, too, but instead of setting them straight (he was his own man!) he figured it was better to just humor them. He shifted and switched the foot he rested on the rail but the movement aggravated the ache in his leg and he winced.
"Are you hurt bad?" Matt asked, moving closer. "I saw your ride and how you fell. That's when I recognized you." He put a hand on Jack's sore shoulder and rubbed it gently with his thumb. His touch felt deeply comforting to Jack, who automatically glanced around.
"Don't worry, nobody will notice," Matt murmured. "No one pays much attention to me now.
"I have to confess," he continued more cheerfully, "I've been dying to meet you as your canon self, since we're both from Wyoming, and because of... well... we have something in common."
Jack was wondering what cannons had to do with this kid's story. He was tired of standing though, and impatient for a drink.
"You feel like hitting the bar?" he asked.
Matt's expression darkened and he looked away. "I try to avoid bars, now," he muttered. But then he flashed a smile at Jack. "I have some beer at my place though, if you want to come by."
Jack felt a spark of happiness at being invited to someone's home. "Sure, why not," he shrugged.
Matt had come to the rodeo on foot so he rode with Jack in his truck. He directed him to a modest neighborhood on the edge of town and told him to pull up in front of an ordinary frame house. But instead of going to the front door, he led Jack down the driveway that extended all the way to the bottom of the long narrow back yard and ended at what must once have been a one-car garage, now converted to a studio, built flush against a wooden fence. Jack could see railroad tracks on the other side and beyond that, woods. Matt pushed open the unlocked door. The single room contained only the most basic furniture, including a bed that was not quite wide enough to be double. Jack lowered himself wearily onto one of the two straight back chairs next to the worn pine table. He glanced longingly at the bed as Matt stooped to take two beer bottles out of the tiny refrigerator.
"I think you're hungry," Matt said, meeting his eyes while he tried to open a bottle. Jack looked at him quizzically, wondering why he was attempting to twist off the cap.
"Oh..." the young man laughed, "I keep forgetting we still need bottle openers here. Anyway, I'll make you something to eat. Go ahead and lie down - you look tired."
Jack accepted the beer and relished several fizzy swallows, then set down the bottle and slid gratefully onto the bed. His boots thumped onto the floorboards one by one as he toed them off and he caught a whiff of his filthy socks, a single pungent note recalled from the miasma of odors that had enveloped them in the tent at night. It wasn't only weariness that made his body slump onto the mattress then. Stretching out, he closed his eyes and listened to the rush of water from faucet to pot and the clank and scrape of metal on metal as Matt busied himself at the hotplate. Jack drifted off but it didn't feel like he was asleep. He'd returned for the supper and was stretched out on the ground, blowing into his harmonica while Ennis scraped the cast iron skillet with the spatula, the cooling breeze wafting the smell of frying venison past his nose. He stopped playing to ask Ennis when their meal would be ready but before he could speak, Ennis said Don't stop. That sounds real good, Jack.
"Jack? Food's ready if you are." He opened his eyes reluctantly to see Matt standing next to the bed, smiling down at him. He sat up groggily, Matt's hand on his upper back pushing gently but firmly, and shifted onto the chair. Matt sat down opposite, four hotdogs in buns on a plate between them as well as an open bag of potato chips. Jack spread his dog with ketchup and wolfed it down to an accompaniment of crackling and crunching as Matt dipped his hand again and again into the bag of chips.
"This your folks' place?" Jack asked as he reached for another hotdog.
"No. Some... friends let me live here. I'm from Casper, originally."
"You a student, then?"
Matt pinched up the last salty crumbs and sprinkled them on his tongue. "Where are you going after the rodeo? To Texas?"
"You're the second person to say I should go to Texas," Jack grumbled.
"I didn't say you should go there. I don't think you should, in fact. Keep looking in Wyoming."
"Looking for what?"
"You know who I mean."
Jack understood that, like the other lost men he'd met, this boy was somehow linked to Ennis, but right then he was too weary to ask how. He took two more bites of food and then yawned. The proximity to a bed was draining the energy from him, and so were the ministrations of this new acquaintance.
"Mind if I..." Jack began but Matt had already stepped over to the bed and was drawing back the covers. He stood up and was startled when the other boy moved right up to him and let his hands wander unhurriedly down Jack's chest, unsnapping the buttons. After he pulled off Jack's shirt he unzipped Jack's jeans, then sat on the chair as he pushed his pants down for him, remaining bent over until Jack stepped out of them. Before straightening up, Matt let his palm graze lightly over the dark purple bruise on his outer thigh and frowned. Jack dropped onto the bed and lay back, swinging his legs onto the cool sheets. He felt gentle hands peeling off his sweaty socks, then pulling the blanket up his body. Before it reached his chin, sleep had settled on him like mist...
...which was drifting along the ground in tendrils when he parted the tent flaps and saw that Ennis had just finished saddling Cigar Butt. Jack pulled up his jeans and got stiffly to his feet, wincing at the ache in is backside. After ducking out into the morning chill, he walked gingerly toward Ennis and saw and heard the clack of the shotgun as it was snapped shut. Ennis mounted without meeting his eyes. "See you for supper," Jack ventured, struggling to keep the last syllable from rising into a question. Ennis glanced at him and then away, made to turn his horse but then stopped. He looked back at Jack, his expression half a degree softer. "Yeah," he breathed.
Jack could swear he saw Ennis smile as he turned and walked away, in the sun now, tucking in his shirt. He recoiled the lariat, only to launch it again at Ennis' feet, catching them. Ennis stumbled and fell, then grabbed the rope, growling "This ain't no rodeo!" Jack laughed with relief as Ennis yanked him down onto his body and then with pleasure as they tumbled and rolled down the slope in an embrace, until Jack realized that Ennis was pushing more than pulling. Soon they were wrestling in earnest. Jack knew seconds before it happened that his knee would collide with Ennis' nose but he felt powerless to stop it. And then he couldn't help rising to comfort Ennis and join in blotting with his sleeve the blood flowing from his nose, even though somewhere in his head a voice was screaming to back off, do something else. And then he felt the strangely familiar shocking pain in his cheekbone an instant before the ground flew up to jolt his whole body. And then, and then... a hand on his hip and then his shoulder, turning him onto his back. "Jack, Jack, sorry... I'm real sorry." Callused fingers prying his own away from his face to softly touch his cheek; that oh so familiar body pressing against his side, warm breath on his skin, soft lips on his cheek drawing away the pain. Ennis moved down his neck and chest, unsnapping his shirt buttons as he kissed his way toward Jack's belt, Jack's fingers threading through his hair as he guided him lower. He gasped in surprise as Ennis took him in his mouth much sooner than he expected, way in, and seconds later Ennis was kissing him, their tongues twining. How was this possible, both at once? But god it was so good, that wet soft swirling and sucking at his dick and his mouth, his eyes closed in ecstasy... His heart was pounding hard and fast; he reached up and wrapped his arms around the narrow shoulders, somehow registering that it wasn't Ennis after all but he didn't care... didn't look to see who it was, utter relief rushing through him as he thrust up in blessed release...Ehhhh! Ehhhhh! trying to groan out a name but his throat felt paralyzed.
Sinking into the mattress as his muscles relaxed, his arms flopping to his sides, he hissed nsssss when the other lips released his and his dick slipped from the hand which then eased back up the waistband of his briefs. He slowly came back to his other senses when he heard Matt wipe his palm on the sheet. He opened his eyes and saw the room was permeated with the cool gray of dawn instead of warm evening light. Matt was lying on his side next to him, naked, propped on his elbow and smiling down at him, his fair hair hanging over his forehead.
"You were dreaming of Ennis," Matt said matter of factly, "so I decided to help you."
Jack looked into his eyes for a moment, wondering how he was ever going to move on from Ennis if even other men invited his memory into bed with them. His thigh ached; he rolled away from Matt and out of bed. In four steps he was in the bathroom, shutting the door. He held his head in his hands, elbows on his knees while he sat on the toilet, trying to bring back the sensations of the dream: smell of pine, turf against his back, Ennis' lips soft on his skin, his gruff voice, the glow his words raised in his heart. Jack, I'm real sorry. He sighed, feeling the sweet warm liquid gladness ebbing away. When he glanced at his thigh he saw a clear, glistening streak on the bruise and realized that the ache had been from Matt's erection pressing against it. It was shame he felt then, because he hadn't even thought about reciprocating, as though this boy's feelings mattered less because he wasn't Ennis.
He left his underwear on the floor and flushed the john, looking toward the shower stall. He should return to the bed and do something for Matt. But he felt filthy. Clean up now, out of consideration? Or wait till later, when he'd really need it? He pushed aside the plastic curtain to look at the state of the shower; seconds later he heard the door open and suddenly Matt was at his back, his erection sliding between Jack's thighs. His arousal made Jack's dick stir, reminding him of an afternoon on Brokeback when Ennis-
"Selfish bastard." Matt's attempt at a growl made Jack smile, the contrast was so.... "You were going to leave me high and dry while you took a shower?" He snaked one hand around to stray over Jack's chest, flicking and caressing, while he reached with the other one over to the white tiled wall and turned on the hot water tap. "Well, I'm tired of playing the nice guy. Get in there." He nudged Jack forward, urging him over the low ledge and under the spray. The heat felt good, and Jack regretted that he and Ennis had never-
"Jeez Jack, can't you stop thinking about him for one minute and just enjoy this?" Matt teased as he positioned Jack to face him. Matt's blond hair was very soon wet and dark as he stood in the spray and soaped Jack's shoulders and chest; he noticed the boy's erection hadn't flagged. But Jack didn't reach for him. How was it he knew when Ennis was on his mind? He let Matt turn him around so he could run the soap over his back. Then he felt his hands sliding over his ass and between his thighs. Jack widened his stance as Matt knelt down to glide his slippery hands up and down his right leg and then his left, taking care not to apply pressure to the bruised skin. Still kneeling, Matt reached up between Jack's thighs and massaged his balls with his soapy fingers while kissing the small of his back. Jack gasped sharply, all his attention instantly focused there. Before he could obey the urge to turn around, Matt rose to his feet. Jack felt him wrap his arms around his waist and take his swelling dick in his fist while sliding his own fully hard one between Jack's thighs again.
"I know what you like," Matt murmured in his ear, "and I'm ready. I've been wishing I could have a chance with you for almost three years." In a tiny corner of his brain Jack wondered about that timeline but quickly gave himself up to the nerve shocking feel of a man's practiced hand shuttling smoothly along his shaft while a long dick glided between his thighs, brushing his balls and sending jolts of pleasure through him. Jack brought his feet close together and heard a breathy groan in his ear, wordless thanks for the friction. After a moment Matt drew back and Jack felt soap slick fingers ease between his buttocks and a foot nudge his ankle. He got the message and spread his legs, bracing his hands on the tiles. But a jabbing pain in his shoulder made him flinch and he felt Matt freeze.
"Let's get on the bed," Matt murmured. Jack straightened up and nodded, though he felt disconcerted, even a bit annoyed, to be with someone so completely attuned to his thoughts and feelings. Matt pulled him a step back so he was under the spray and when the soap was gone turned off the water. They stepped out of the steamy stall and Matt flicked a towel from the rod and began rubbing Jack with it to dry him off. But he wanted none of that friendly intimacy just then. It felt like months since his last good fuck instead of less than a week; felt like a lifetime. Jack yanked the towel away and tossed it to the floor, then pulled Matt the few steps toward the bed. They tumbled onto it still wet, Jack stifling a gasp when his bad shoulder hit the mattress. He rolled onto his back; Matt crawled on top of him and kissed Jack tentatively, then passionately when he responded with his tongue and his arms. This felt nice and familiar: wet skin smacking and squeaking, water dripping from their hair like the times they'd bathed in the river and then afterwards... He stopped thinking and let lust take over, reveling in the luxury of a mattress under him and a hard body against his, a velvet tongue to wind his own around. Keeping his eyes closed he let his hands explore this new back, a thin rather than lean one. Matt was soon kissing along his jaw and then sucking the side of his neck while he thrust against him. Jack felt he couldn't take much more of this maddeningly erratic friction. He started to reach for the Vaseline on the nightstand but it was his bad shoulder; he squirmed against Matt and murmured into his hair "Lift my legs and slick us both up." Matt drew back onto his knees and reached for the jar. Then he only bent Jack's right knee, leaving his foot on the mattress, and pushed his left leg up, ankle in the air, watching Jack's face all the while.
"Does this hurt? We can do it another way if-"
Christ, at least Ennis was decisive in moments like this. "I thought you were tired of being nice!" Jack exclaimed, trying to make his voice teasing but he was beginning to chafe at this boy's solicitousness, so different from Ennis' desperate urgency that he... now one finger in, then two. Just stop thinking!
"God yeeaahh!" Matt groaned as he eased in slowly, Jack's calf braced against his shoulder. "Tell me if this-"
"Ssshhh! Don't talk."
Jack was lying on his back on soft, damp moss in their favorite spot near the edge of the stand of firs, his eyes closed against the late morning sunlight. His hands were crossed over his bare chest and Ennis' head was resting on his thighs, warming them. He wanted to reach down to caress Ennis' face but his hands were trapped. When Jack opened his eyes his face was turned to the wall. The sheet was draped over the length of his body right up to his chin and tucked tightly around him. Sunlight streamed through the window and lay in a brilliant hot rectangle across the white cotton over his legs, and continued up the plaster, where it was dappled with pale gray, leaves from the tree outside breaking up the light. He was alone in the bed. Alone felt normal, until he shifted and felt a different, familiar ache. The gray-light hours came back to him, along with the memory of other limbs against his; of vibrations traveling through the mattress from slender, trembling arms braced on either side of his torso; of his left foot in the air, waving forward and back as a collarbone pushed rhythmically against his leg. He recalled with satisfaction the long-craved sensation of being filled, and the moans and whispers of this strange, gentle caregiver as he thrust almost gracefully, playing Jack like a country fiddle until they both cried out.
He heard a clink and turned toward the sound. Matt was sitting at the table, in jeans but shirtless, stirring coffee in a white mug. When he saw Jack watching him, he smiled.
"I brought your bag in," he said, nodding toward the floor. "Hope you have some cleaner clothes." He rose, stepped over to the bed and sat on the edge next to Jack.
"Coffee?"
"Not just now." He wanted to lie there a little while longer under the sun-warmed sheet.
"Will you be able to ride again in Laramie? Tomorrow's the last day."
"Naw. Think I'll head out for Colorado and New Mexico and then over to Texas. Hit a few rodeos along the way."
Matt sat in silence for a moment, shoulders slumping and his hands clasped around the mug in his lap.
"Be careful," he said quietly.
Jack snorted. "Course I'm careful, but bullriders gotta take chances, too. This ain't a job for-"
"I mean other times." Matt brushed his fingers over the sheet where it covered Jack's chest and hands, fixing his gaze there. "In bars. Who you talk to. How you talk. Who you leave with."
Jack was silent, wondering if he was hearing timidity or the voice of experience.
"And don't let yourself be seduced by any pretty cowgirls," Matt said with a smirk.
"Huh, not likely."
"Right."
"I'll take that coffee now."
"On one condition."
"What?"
"You let me come with you to Texas."
Jack resisted the impulse to say no immediately. "Why?"
"I haven't been out of Laramie in a long time. I've never been to Texas. I want to... well, I'd just like to go there. Don't worry, I have a bit of money. I won't be a burden. Please?"
Jack remembered the feeling of being slowly suffocated by Lightening Flat, the desperation to get away. It seemed heartless to leave this poor kid idling his time here, at the mercy of fickle writers. He wondered if he could train him to be less... nice. Who knows, maybe Matt would become a friend, even if he didn't expect it.
"Alright."