e_delmar | (no subject)

Current Mood: angry

(no subject)

[OOM: After this.]

He'd go to the stables, but he'd have to go through all the people to get there. He'd go-

well, shit, he'd go just about anywhere, really, but he can't. So he's in his fucking shithole of a room at the fucking shithole of the end of the universe, where a fucking shithole tried to kiss him-

they know, they know, they all know

and SHIT if he doesn't just punch the fucking wall.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Holding him like he can, pushing him like he can. Pushing him like he needs. There's a sob of breath as Jack pulls back, and Ennis is reaching up for him, grabbing his shoulders, fingers running along the hard muscles as he grabs Jack, pulling him close, kissing him hard.

Jack pushes into him, a leg between Ennis', holding and kissing, his breath coming fast, his hand running over slope of shoulder and neck and up into hair to tug.

"Okay," he mumbles, into Ennis' mouth, "'s okay."

I'm here.

That part doesn't get said, hell, that's just common sense--Ennis needs him, and Jack's there. No question about it.

Jack's always there, and Ennis sure as fuck ain't sure what he'd do with himself if he fell and Jack wasn't. So he don't think about that none, he just lets himself fall up into Jack, leaning back, pulling Jack down this him, 'cause Jack's always there to catch his fall.

There's Jack's arm strong across his back, and Jack standing there sturdy right in front of him, and Jack presses a kiss to Ennis' neck before he pulls him over towards the bed, pulling them both down on top of it and letting his hand smooth over Ennis' forehead, his neck, his shoulder and chest, waits to see if Ennis has calmed down any.

Ennis is skittish, that's for damn sure. Skittish like a colt, but he ain't lashing out no more. He closes his eyes, letting Jack's hand wash over him, letting Jack calm him down.

There's word people say, moments like this, and Jack's said 'em without ever really meaning them, but he can't say them now and instead lets them exist only in the touch of his fingers to Ennis' neck.

"Hey," he says, like he always does, soft. He licks his lip, tastes Ennis there. "You alright?"

Ennis opens his eyes and nods his head, even though what he means is no, what he means is never, what he means is I'll always be wrong.

Ain't wrong if it feel right, Jack would say, except he only nods, and watches Ennis, letting his fingers slip through the hair at the nape of Ennis' neck. Licks his lips, leans forward and kisses him again, softer.

And Ennis might agree, if'n he could just get that voice that sounds so much like his daddy to shut the hell up. Instead he leans forward, kissing Jack back, letting him lead in a way he don't never do with Jack.

Not since the beginning, anyway--when Ennis didn't know what to do, though he figured it out soon enough--and Jack shifts closer, runs his hand down Ennis' side and tugs at his shirt, hoping to find skin. He can taste brandy and smoke on Ennis' mouth, the salt of sweat, and it makes something twist in his stomach to realize that someone else could have kissed Ennis like he's doing now.

Ennis' stomach twists like that every time he thinks of Jack and- anybody, really, though he can't never say anything about it. He swallows, swallowing the bitter memory of Lawrence on his lips, breathing in Jack, feeling Jack's hands on his skin and closing his eyes against something that feels so damn good.

If there's one thing Jack hates, it's letting his mind dwell on things he can't do nothin' about, and he knows Ennis dwells, so he grasps Ennis' waist, leans their foreheads together.

"Forget about it," he says, quiet. "It don't mean nothin', Ennis."

None of it means anything, except this.

This is everything.

Nothing means anything but the scrape of Jack's hands on his skin, the feel of Jack's breath on his neck, the taste of Jack on his lips. He leans up and forward, breathing hard, doing something, anything, to get closer.

Jack pulls him close, thigh and groin and stomach pressing together, kisses him again and again, like it's the first time he's ever kissed Ennis, like it's been four fuckin' years all over again. He closes his eyes, there's a sound like a groan at the back of his throat when he tugs Ennis closer, his fingers tangling in Ennis' hair.

A jolt goes through Ennis and it's like he's back in the tent, not knowing what to do or even what the fuck's going on. He gasps for breath and when he looks up into Jack's eyes, he's nervous, wild, calm, oh so calm, and he needs, moaning at the pull that comes with Jack's fingers caught in his hair.

Jack makes a sound that's half a curse and half a groan and pushes Ennis onto his back, sliding in on top of him with muscles in his back tensing while he presses down on him. His hands touch where they can, finding something new even though he knows this by heart, has memorized every angle and plane of Ennis' body. His mouth moves hotly down Ennis' neck while they tangle together.

Ennis tries to breathe as he squirms, tries to move tries to get up tries to lay down tries to lay back and let Jack's mouth do its thing and make the voices in his head shut the hell up and then Jack does something right there and he squirms again, but not trying to get free this time, and he chokes back something; a cry or a moan or maybe something in between.

Jack looks up, his eyes hot and dark hair all rumpled up around his face and he'd tell those voices to shut the fuck up if he could. And damn if he doesn't like making Ennis lose control, so he does it again, right there, pushes Ennis because Ennis can push back, moves against him, heated skin and breath coming hard.

Sometimes it seems the harder Ennis tries to hold on, the quicker he loses control, and when Jack pushes, he can't help but push back, panting and swallowing and groaning as he moves down and Ennis reaches up with his hands, grasping for skin wherever he can get it.

Jack fumbles between them with clothing and buttons and belts, his mouth at Ennis' throat, feeling the pulse come quicker. He's breathing too hard and his kisses come sporadically, but there's skin against skin and rough cloth and Ennis' mouth hot against his own, and that is good.

Ennis helps him much as he can, hands clawing at clothes, pushing at shoes and wrists and skin and Ennis arches up, trying to touch, to feel.

"Ennis," says Jack, low and rough, and moves slow, moves down, trying to get closer, like he's trying to get in Ennis' skin because anything else just ins't close enough, not nearly close enough.

Ennis says Jack, or at least he thinks he does, but it's lost over the roaring in his ears and oh god oh god oh good god in heaven he swallows, his throat dry, too dry, and his nails dig into Jack's skin as they move.

Nothing but this, nothing ever ever but this, want and need and love, which sounds stupid when Lureen says it but Jack can't even think it now, just knows it's there like Ennis is there. His head drops to Ennis' shoulder, one hand gripping at Ennis' waist and fuck and everything starts to fracture, a little, except for the movement and the feel of Ennis beneath him.

Ennis doesn't know love and wouldn't know it if it hit him upside the head. But he knows how Jack makes him feel, knows that low rumbling in his stomach and the way it feels like he's being fucking electrocuted, like all the energy in the room's going through Jack and into him, and he's almost surprised when the clock's still running on the bedside table.

Shit, he says, and he groans it out, moving, now, needing, wanting, needing Jack.