The Time Traveler's Lover : Jack at 19 (2)
Inspired by The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.
The characters belong to Annie Proulx.
Jack travels back and forth in time during the course of his life and encounters Ennis and himself - visits that change everything and almost nothing.
This one is for Valentine's Day 2012. It's paired with an earlier one, when Jack was 8, that was written for Valentine's Day 2011.
To read from the beginning, go to the front page of my LJ and scroll down to find links to all the chapters of this story.
July 15th, 1963
Jack made sure Ennis could see him coming from a long way off. He rode slowly, puffing quickly and steadily on the cigarette between his lips so that clouds of smoke drifted above his head. His herding partner sat stoically on Cigar Butt with his arms folded, staring in Jack’s direction, not making a move away from the milling sheep. When he was actually up here, Ennis took his duties seriously.
The Basque had forgotten their cigarette order the previous week, or so he claimed - Jack thought he just took perverse pleasure in depriving them of one essential item each time. They'd had to ration the smokes, and even so they'd run out two nights earlier. Last night Jack had been so cranky that Ennis left to return to the sheep right after supper, instead of lingering by the fire.
Today the soup they’d ordered was missing, but Jack had hardly cared, as long as the carton of smokes was in the mix.
"Got you Marlboros," the Basque had said, running the consonants together so it came out marbows. "No Lucky Strikes."
Jack had snapped, "Don't give a shit what they’re called, long as they burn," as he peeled the cellophane from a pack.
"Me, I don't touch. They will make you sick someday."
Maybe it was hearing the guy's accent that sent Jack off to Mexico as soon as the truck was out of sight. Well, he assumed he'd been somewhere south of Texas, from the voices and the cooking smells drifting in through the open window. One moment he'd been settling into the saddle, the next he was sitting naked on a wobbly wooden chair in a hot, dark room. The humidity had been a shock to his lungs, used to thin, dry air. Neither the overhead nor the bedside lamp was on, but the light from the blinking bar sign across the street gave him a clear view of the action. He'd been there less than a minute but what he saw had occupied his mind for hours after his return.
Would he ever tell Ennis his secret? This thing he did - that happened to him - once or twice a year that only his mother knew about? He saw Ennis lift the reins and urge his horse into a walk down the slope toward him. Could Ennis handle more than one secret in his life?
Don't even think about it.
Ennis’ horse had broken into a trot. Jack pulled the pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.
"Hey gimme one, Jack!" Ennis called out when he was in shouting distance.
Jack smirked around his cigarette. "All gone," he drawled when Ennis rode up. He squinted at him through the smoke. "You'll get yours at supper."
Ennis pulled alongside him, the horses nickering their greeting. "Fuck you, Twist," he growled. The riders’ left legs brushed together, denim ruffing and the leather saddles creaking as their mounts shifted beneath them.
Jack grunted a laugh as Ennis leaned toward him and grabbed his arm, shoving his hand under his jacket, feeling for the cigarette pack.
"Know you got 'em." Ennis kept scrabbling his fingers all over Jack's chest, long after it was clear the smokes weren't in either shirt pocket, making him squirm and snort with pleasure. They'd both sleep in the tent that night, for sure.
Jack leaned toward Ennis, splaying his fingers over his friend's thigh as he reached into his jacket pocket with his other hand. Impatient, Ennis plucked the cigarette from between Jack's lips and put it between his own. His eyes closed in pleasure and relief as he sucked the smoke into his lungs.
Jack squeezed Ennis’ thigh, felt the hard muscles flex beneath his fingers. "Wish I could be that cigarette right now," he said low.
Ennis looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then colored.
Good.
At first Jack hadn't looked at the face of the half-naked man sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, just six feet away. His eyes had gone straight to the bent head of the guy kneeling between his legs, lips and tongue playing along the engorged cock of the seated man, whose long pale fingers gripped and pulled at black hair. His tongue darted and swirled energetically around the head as one hand stroked the man’s shaft and the other fondled his balls. The man getting blown groaned his pleasure. Within seconds Jack had an erection. That tongue, fuck… That was… instructive. If he did it like that to Ennis, would he finally…
The very second he thought of his companion, the panting man hissed and sighed: “Ennisss fuuuuck.”
His first thought when he jerked his gaze up to the man's profile was: It's me, older. He looked back down to verify: It’s not Ennis.
He returned his gaze to his own face and a second later his older self abruptly turned his head and looked straight at him. For two heartbeats their eyes locked and then he was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, blinking in the bright sunlight. His horse was grazing a few yards away with Jack's jeans and shirt draped over the saddle; his jacket and boots were on the ground.
Why had he been in Mexico? Vacation? Rodeo? The sight of a wisp of smoke rising from the pine needles where his cigarette had fallen cut short his musings. Even after he'd kicked dirt over the flames, dressed, located the pack mule, remounted and headed back up, the brief scene he'd witnessed remained vivid in his mind's eye. He couldn't tell how old he'd been, but Ennis was clearly still on his mind. Maybe they were together. Maybe he'd never managed to convince Ennis to suck him off and had to go elsewhere for that.
Yeah, sure.
Still braced on Ennis’ thigh, Jack fished a cigarette out of the pack of Marlboros in his jacket pocket and put it between his own lips. He grabbed hold of Ennis’ collar and drew him close, no yanking needed because the man leaned in willingly, even tipping Jack’s hat back so his cigarette’s glowing tip could touch the other. Jack sucked in his cheeks, looking Ennis in the eyes as the end ignited. He smoothed his palm down to Ennis' knee as he straightened up.
"They're sayin these can kill ya, you smoke too much," Jack said on the exhale.
"Ain’t gonna worry 'bout that just yet." Ennis took a long, deep drag, blew out to the side, away from Jack.
Jack let out a perfect smoke ring, his mouth a big O, and watched it hang in the air.
Ennis blew one of his own, not as fine as Jack's. Jack made another ring, and as soon as it was out of his mouth he touched the top with his index finger. For a few seconds a smoky heart floated in the thin air.
Ennis grunted, impressed. He tried to do the same, but the smoke ring just wobbled and broke up.
"Some old guy showed me that when I was a kid," Jack said. He gazed into the distance, trying to recall the details of that visit. It had been snowing there that day.
Ennis grimaced, stubbed out the butt on the pommel and flicked it away. He turned in the saddle and looked back up toward the sheep. "Better get on back," he muttered.
Shit, he means me, too. Fuck him. Jack bit out, "You practice, by Valentine's Day you can make one for-"
"Shut up." Ennis grabbed Jack's wrist and brought his hand to his own mouth. He took a drag from the cigarette between Jack’s fingers; Jack could feel the brush of his lips and the warmth of Ennis' face on his palm but couldn’t see his eyes, hidden by his hat brim.
Ennis pulled back and looked away but didn't let go of Jack's hand, gripping it hard. "Gonna stay up here with me?"
Guess I will forever, one way or another.
Jack waited until Ennis met his gaze, then he smiled. "Yeah. You bet."
<< Jack at 19 (1) | Jack at 19 (3) >>