Chapter Text
There’s a ball of ice in his belly. Always been there, but some days it’s bigger ‘n’ harder ‘n’ colder than others. The first time it grew so big that it choked him was back when he was nine, and his daddy was laughing at a man in a ditch, holding Ennis by the neck so he couldn’t look away.
Since then, it’s like his tongue were froze. Weren’t enough room in his body for his lungs to breathe, for food to fit in his belly. Some days that ball twisted and cracked, and every movement he made was careful not to flex so it’d shatter and freeze him all over. He’d make small nods, look at his feet, put his hands in his pockets and slouch in hopes no one would notice. He’d bundle himself up around it, praying some part of him was warm enough that it’d melt a bit.
First time he felt warm all over was with Jack. They talked in the bar, and it was like a little spark struck from flint and steel. Landed on a pile of tinder, then the two of them was carefully breathing it to life, adding twigs and small sticks. Jack boasted and bitched and each time he spoke, was like adding a piece of wood to dry next to the fire. That li’l ball of ice got wedged in some deep corner, small enough that Ennis could ignore it. His tongue unstuck in his mouth, and he said some of his thoughts aloud, the ones only ever earn him a smack and comments about having attitude. But Jack would smile and laugh like Ennis was clever, like his words were worth something. Like he was worth something.
Ennis liked feeling like that.
Soon he was talking so much, he doubted anyone he knew would recognize him. Jack would bitch, and Ennis’d tease ‘im. Jack would play that harmonica and wouldn’t care he sounded god-awful, and after Ennis told ‘im as much, he’d a bet his other shirt that Jack started playing more just to get a rise out of him. They talked about the Pentecost and what it meant to sinners. Ennis felt a shiny l’il bubble rise up, giddy as could be, and suddenly he’s tellin’ Jack he ain’t never had the opportunity to sin before, and Jack just chuckled and passed the whiskey like it weren’t nothing what mattered.
He couldn’t recall a time that ball ever felt so small before.
Then when he got too drunk to stand, let alone do that commute to the sheep, Jack invited him to the tent. That li’l ball of ice crackled, and Ennis just said “yeah” and curled under a spare blanket outside. Jack left him all right, and Ennis hoped that warmth from the whiskey and the fire and Jack thinkin’ he was worth something would keep him going through the night.
It didn’t, and Jack hollered to invite him to the tent a second time, moved over so Ennis could have the warm spot where his body had been. Ennis slept warmer and better than he could ever remember.
When he woke with a hand pressing his palm against jeans that weren’t his, his fingers wrapped around a dick that weren’t his, the ball of ice grew spikes to try and stab him. But it had no power in the face of the bonfire that flared up, like all them dried logs tumbled in at once. Ennis’s body flew upward from weightlessness, his eyes and head foggy. All he could see were eyes bluer than the sky, deeper and wider than Yellowstone Lake, and warmer than they had any right to be. He couldn’t do nothing, his body felt so warm and free. Was like he’d forgotten how to move without trying to balance that ball inside.
Jack started moving, taking off his coat in the tent. That didn’t make no sense, only heat in the tent was flaring up in Ennis, and he had no idea how to give it to Jack. “What are ya doin’?” he asked.
Jack’s hands reached up for his neck, and his face came close, and Ennis’s hands grabbed what they could, trying to keep nothing from changing as he came to terms with the fire inside him trying to rip him apart.
They held each others' faces in place, Jack’s about falling into his. Ennis’s fingers clutched short hair. The stuttering of an oversized belt buckle coming undone unraveled any sense he had left, and Ennis learned what it was to be a sinner.
To sin was to be warm.
Seemed an awful lot like how he imagined Heaven, those few times his Mama drug him to church.
He awoke with a hangover stabbing his eyes, his jeans around his knees, and that frozen ball so big it was squeezing out his guts and throat, leaving him no room for words or coffee or even a pull from a cigarette. Jack up and talkin’ about supper only had Ennis showing him the whites of his eyes ‘fore he rode off.
Maybe it was the Pentecost come early, that his misspent night required God give him a disemboweled sheep. Ennis blinked, and it was Earl on the mountain, his dick ripped off and guts hanging out the hole. He blinked again, and it was Jack’s body layin’ there, mouth open with longing. He blinked again, and it was himself.
Ennis dealt with the sheep, moving carefully so that ball didn’t lodge itself further in his throat. Needed to breathe to do what he needed to do.
Jack came up when he heard the rifle, his boots dripping. Ennis’s body lit up like the Fourth of July when he saw that black hat appear over the ridge. That icy ball of his suddenly had competition again, and his guts roiled like a summer storm. But for a wonder Jack didn’t say nothin’, just brought him some late breakfast and made sure the woolies stayed together as Ennis sought his retribution. Kept his distance like Ennis were a spooked horse.
Got himself two coyotes to dangle from a dead snag, hoped they’d take it as a sign it weren’t no all-you-can-eat.
Ennis come over when his guts settled, the violence he wrought calming him in a way he wasn’t sure was Methodist or Pentecostal. But he had a flock to protect. He remembered the Bible had an awful lot to say about sheep, so he reckoned he was doin’ somethin’ right.
Ennis popped a squat, and Jack still said nothin’, just waited like Ennis’s words was more important than anything else.
The fire in Ennis’s belly flared. He gave in to it. Tossed some kindling on. “This is a one-shot thing we got goin’ on here.”
“It’s nobody’s business but ours.” Jack’s voice was soft. Softer'n Ennis ever heard it. And Ennis believed for a moment that he was right. Here on Brokeback, he was right. Nobody’s business but ours.
“You know I ain’t queer,” Ennis couldn’t help saying. He’d heard of queers before. Heard they was perverted, spread their perversions around like some sort of plague, tempting folks like that snake in the garden. This weren’t going further than Brokeback Mountain, no further than Jack. Ennis ain’t spreading nothin’ nowhere.
He might be a sinner now, but that didn’t mean nothing. Didn’t change nothing. Didn’t change who he was, not at the center of himself where that ball of ice and the l’il fire worked out some sort of agreement between them.
One-shot things weren’t forever.
The ball of ice crackled.
“Me neither,” Jack said. And Ennis exhaled. Two not-queer men just doing what they had to during a long summer of shepherding. Didn’t mean nothing.
‘Sides, if Ennis was a sinner, he reckoned the Bible prefer he take his sinnin’ to Jack than to the sheep, but he ain’t read it cover to cover.
After a day of shootin’ them coyotes, Ennis trusted they wouldn’t be back that night—they feasted the night before anyhow. A part of him said that it was shameful not to sleep with the sheep twice in a row, but that bonfire in him grew and the ice ball froze, and he knew one a them was gonna win.
And. Well. Ennis had spent too many years with only the cold for company.
Didn’t stop his hands from wrangling though. He was pinned to his log by the fire like a dolly sat on a shelf, but ain’t no one gonna pick him up to play. He knew Jack was in the tent, waitin’ for Ennis to make a decision. Ennis’d need to pick himself up if he wanted to play.
Movement pulled Ennis’s eyes off his hands, and it was like the direction of down shifted towards the tent. He stood slowly and walked slowly, trying for balance, tugged forward like a moth to flame. Jack’s light shone so much brighter than the campfire. Ennis opened the tent flap and was blinded by it.
He didn’t know where to look. What to do with his hands. Jack was shirtless and sitting up, looking at him like he was the full moon in the night sky. He didn’t howl, just brought his hand to Ennis’s wrist while Ennis wobbled. The storm in his guts was back, and he was in the middle of it, lost in the rain. His gaze kept flicking around, looking for a dry place to land, and each time it landed on Jack’s eyes, he was sent spinning once more. Jack’s hand moved to his face, the back of his neck, and Ennis’s eyes had nowhere else to go.
He'd kissed Alma a few times. Her lips were soft, and she giggled. He felt a little sparkle that she giggled. Meant he did a good job, did what he was supposed to do. He always liked a job well done.
When Jack went to kiss him, Ennis flinched. Once. Twice. But Jack’s lips didn’t go nowhere, and his face was so warm where it pressed his cheek, and that little ball of ice got smaller and smaller. When their lips touched, Ennis felt like he’d finally come home. A fireplace was lit, and the storm couldn’t touch him here.
“I’m sorry.”
The words tumbled from his mouth. Whether he was apologizing to Jack for running away this morning, to God for giving in to sin once more, or to the sheep that died last night, he had no idea. He didn’t know who to say sorry to that the direction of north shifted in his heart, and it pointed not towards duty or Alma or even God. North pointed to Jack now.
Just a one-off thing.
He’d fix his compass after.
“It’s all right,” Jack whispered, his nose bobbing against Ennis’s. “It’s all right.” His arms wrapped around Ennis, hand cupping his jaw so carefully, holding him like he was important, like he was precious. Ennis had never been precious before. “Lie back, come on.”
And Ennis grabbed Jack like a raft, his needy hand touching rough skin, tracing the tendons of Jack’s neck. He groped the stubble of Jack’s jaw, the muscled planes of a flat chest. Little hairs caught the calluses on Ennis’s palm. The tips of his fingers found the divots between Jack’s ribs.
The fire in his belly grew so white and hot that he could hardly see, melted the ball of ice inside, burned his eyes with tears. Jack held him, kissed his head like he mattered, rolled onto him, his weight pressing Ennis down like a blanket. Their lips pressed together like if they tried hard enough, they could suck up the other’s soul, swallow it down, and keep it safe inside. Like maybe each of their bodies could wrap around the other’s soul, gentle and form-fitting as a shirt.
Last night was fast. Over and done, a blur of lust and grunts and grabbing. Impatient hands ripping off jeans, a quick spit for a semblance of kindness.
This night was different. One-off things between two not-queers just doin’ what they had to weren’t supposed to feature gentle hands, whispered kindnesses, and breathing the same air because their lips didn’t go far between kisses. Weren’t supposed to mean Ennis was being held as he cried, his hands grabbing vaguely for Jack’s arms, too overwhelmed to do anything else.
Buttons opened up to cool Ennis down, the sparks of Jack’s fingers dancing down his chest and belly. Lips followed, butterfly soft, hot tongue leaving cold trails as Jack moved downward. His hands kept going to Ennis’ button and fly, his lips and tongue following without hesitation. Ennis sprang out of his zipper, and Jack’s hands tugged Ennis’s pants and boots off.
Ennis’s hand rose of its own accord to sink into dark hair. Jack’s eyes blazed at him, dark pinpricks of want roving from Ennis’s face to his dick like Ennis were a feast, and Jack hadn’t eaten in days. A warm exhale stirred Ennis’s pubic hairs, and he groaned like he was punched, the first noise either of them had made that night that was bigger than the tent. Maybe all of Brokeback heard it, horses, coyotes, and sheep alike.
The crickets chirped in response, glad of the addition, and Jack licked a streak up Ennis’ erection. The flames in Ennis’ chest grew too big for noise at all, let alone words, his mouth moving soundlessly like a fish. Jack swallowed him practically whole, his tongue working his length like all his blabbering was just practice. Ennis’s hands tangled loosely in Jack’s hair, felt the bob of his head, and Ennis’ eyes clamped shut like lookin’ would make it more real or maybe make it less. Might be he would open his eyes, and it’d all be a dream. Ennis would wake up with wet sheets, wet pillow, and a sense of longing. Didn’t want to know for sure.
Jack pulled off, and Ennis’s eyes flew open to reality. Felt like he was awake for the first time in his life. Jack was fiddling with that belt buckle of his, and Ennis sat up to shrug out of his shirt, brought his fingers to the buckle like more hands would help the situation. Jack leaned back, content to watch Ennis struggle, a smile splitting his face.
“Damn thing’s not meant to open,” Ennis mumbled under his breath, and when it came undone, he opened button and fly as well, Jack’s dick flying out like a bull escaping a pen. Ennis swallowed, felt his veins freeze over and his dick taking any blood it didn’t already have. Jack shuffled out of his jeans, and then they’re both naked, looking at each other with fire in their eyes.
“It’s all right,” Jack whispered again, his hands coming up to cradle Ennis’s jaw, mouths coming together for another kiss. Tongue slipped between Ennis’s lips like that was where it belonged. Ennis’ hands flailed about before landing on Jack’s legs, the coarse hair flattening, going smooth as his palms pressed down and fingers dug into muscle. Jack straddled Ennis, his dick bobbing indecisively between their bellies, while Ennis’s cock was only too excited to align with the crack of Jack’s ass. Ennis’ hands floated upwards on the thermal rising off the pair o’ them, fluttered a bit before wrapping around Jack’s back, pressing their chests together. One of Ennis’s hands drifted back down, smearing Jack’s skin on a winding journey towards that hole he felt the other night.
Jack’s lips don’t move off Ennis’s as he leaned to the side, his hand going for something in the corner of the tent. A clatter and then an oily smell, that tallow Jack made from the venison in some damn fool notion he’d mix it with some of the fire’s ashes to make soap. Heated the fat over the fire for a full night and day ‘til it was clear, and he strained it through a bandana into a clean bean can.
“Was thinkin’ migh’ be better’n spit.” Jack mumbled into Ennis’s lips, his hand pressing the can into Ennis’ hand. “Hol’ this fer me?” Ennis’s hand clenched. Had a job to do and determined to do it well. Jack dipped his fingers into the can, then into himself, gasping for air.
Ennis tucked his face into Jack’s shoulder, licked and sucked a bruise there as he held onto Jack as he writhed. Brought his lips lower, tongue tasting the salt on the coarse hairs ‘round the nipple. Jack moaned, “God, yes, Ennis.” Jack’s fingers dipped into the can again, smearing tallow over Ennis’s erection. Leg muscles flexed, and Jack’s chest shoved into Ennis’s face, his mouth sucking the nipple like it too found a job to do.
Jack lined them up, didn’t wait before he started slowly sinking down. Ennis didn’t move a muscle, barely breathed as that fire within him blazed and threatened to choke him. Jack bottomed out with a groan. Ennis’s hand dropped the can, grabbed Jack’s hip and ground the two of them together like Ennis’s cock might somehow get deeper. Jack whimpered, his clean hand grabbing Ennis’s hair to crush their mouths together, a tallow-coated hand grabbing his dick between them.
“You feel perfect, Ennis,” Jack babbled. “I never felt so perfect before.”
And Ennis hadn’t felt so perfect before, so complete. No ball of ice squeezing his guts and freezing him up, just a ravenous wildfire eager for more, choking him with want and need.
He grunted agreement, tucked his face back into the shoulder. Learned how to move again. His hands grabbed Jack’s ass, and a minute tilt of his hips sent them both moaning. Jack took the hint, his muscles tensing and releasing, riding Ennis’s dick while Ennis’s hips worked in time to meet the movement. Tent filled with groans and gasps, whispered words that coulda come from either of them ‘bout how good it felt, and Ennis was so far gone in the heat and slick that he hardly noticed that a voice said his name in the same sentence and with more reverence as it said “God.”
“Fuck yes, right there. Jesus Christ.” Jack’s movements grew jerky, his fist speeding up while his hips stuttered. Ennis picked him up a moment, surged upwards and over so that Jack was on the bedroll below him, still inside somehow. Jack’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Fucking A, Ennis.”
Ennis fell onto his own forearms, his hips moving every which way so his dick could find that spot that sent Jack screaming. He set a pace that sent Jack’s eyes rolling back into his skull, Jack’s mouth open and saying nothing.
Ennis’s eyes closed, lost the warmth and sweat and heat, pounding his hips and nearing his limit. Jack cried out as he came, liquid fire shootin’ out of his dick to brand Ennis’s belly. His hole clutched Ennis like a snare, pulsing to bring him deeper into the trap. Ennis went willingly, his orgasm ripped out of him like a dam bursting, his cum filling Jack’s body like it wanted to claim him, no papers required.
Ennis’s breath stuttered and gasped, but warm hands brought his mouth to warm lips and warmer tongue. His inner compass knew it was pointing north, no doubt about it, and Ennis breathed easier knowing where he was.
“Nice ride, cowboy.” Jack’s eyes glittered, and his mouth had half a smirk.
“Lasted more than eight seconds, rodeo.” Ennis gave a small smile.
Jack hooted with laughter. “Both o’ us lasted lot longer’n eight seconds. Belt buckle for sure.” Gave Ennis a shove, and Ennis spilled outta him, flooding the bedroll. Dam bursting a second time, wet going everywhere.
Ennis snorted. “That’s your side o’ the tent tonight, bud.” Chucked his shirt at Jack ‘cause he was on laundry duty tomorrow anyways, and maybe it’d help.
Ennis didn’t bother stompin’ his boots on when he left the tent to piss by a tree. Shook himself dry, didn’t need to tuck nothing nowhere. Looked out to the ridge to see blobs of white and gray sheep across the way. The sky was clear for once, the stars bunched up like woolies in the sky.
Ennis took a deep breath, filled the very edges of his lungs in a way he barely remembered doing before. No ball of ice stopping him, only a tidy fire keepin’ him warm in the chill night air.
“Ennis?” Jack’s voice rang out across camp, gentler than it was the night before. “C’mon back to the tent. Gonna bring all that cold with ya if stay out much longer.”
Ennis smiled, lips fighting to contain his teeth. Jack didn’t know Ennis had a fire in him everywhere he went now, Jack’s presence casually chuckin’ a piece of wood on like they was gonna cook s’mores or somethin’.
“Yeah yeah, quit cher bitchin’.”
Ennis went back. No better place in the world to go.