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.

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"Jesus."

Jack's eyebrows come together, and he walks over quickly, reaching out to stop Ennis from shaking the hand. His own fingers run over bruised knuckles.

"What the hell happened, Ennis?"

Jack's fingers on his hand are like a lightning bolt, and he pulls his hand away, tucking it against his chest.

Jack's hand hovers in the air, like he can't make up his mind whether he's going to try to touch Ennis again or not, and the crease between his eyebrows is getting deeper by the second. Confusion, annoyance, and worry all roughen his voice.

"The fuck is goin' on?"

Clutching his hand to his chest Ennis- well, he doesn't pace. Ain't never been a man to pace. But he mutters, that's for sure. God damned fool of a fucking queer, over and over, under his breath.

Something in Jack's face twists, but he keeps his mouth shut and only turns to walk across the room to the bathroom, picking up a bandanna along the way. There's the sound of running water, and then Jack comes back, the bandanna cool and wet in his hand, and he hesitates, tries to get it in contact with Ennis' bruised knuckles.

But he doesn't say a damned word.

Ennis doesn't see it, really, hardly notices Jack's presence, but for the way he doesn't feel quite so agitated, the way he don't quite feel like he's about to explode all over the place. And when Jack comes back with the wet bandana, the water is cool on his skin, though he pulls back slightly at the pressure, and Jack's hand feels good on his, and he closes his eyes, trying to remember that he's back in the room now.

He keeps the pressure on Ennis' hand, and shakes his head, but when Ennis pulls back, Jack moves forward, doesn't give an inch. His voice is low, and sounds like maybe he's been talking this whole time. That Jack, he never shuts up.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Ennis. The hell's gotten into you, huh? Least you're punchin' walls now, 'stead a people."

"Shouldapunchedhim."

And maybe all the words run together like that, and maybe his mouth is too pinched for it to make much sense, but what he knows is he can't stay angry like this forever, not with Jack there.

'cepting for when he's angry with Jack, but that ain't the case, now is it?

"What, that drunk asshole again?"

But if someone was drunk, maybe it wasn't the asshole after all, because this close to him, Jack can smell alcohol on Ennis' breath. It's been there often enough for him to be able to tell, anyway.

His eyes move up to Ennis' face, and then drop back down to concentrate on his hand.

"He wasn't fucking drunk. Doesn't like to impair his senses."

Ennis says the last words in a sing-song mocking voice.

The bandanna's starting to warm up from Ennis' hand, and Jack takes it away, looks at the hand and brushes a thumb over the bruised knuckles, lightly, before he drops his hand down to his hip.

"You gonna tell me what happened, or what?"

"Fucker kissed me."

He kissed him and it ain't fucking right and it ain't fucking Jack, and he has to keep from pulling his hand away again, angry.

"Shit."

This part's said softly, quietly, as he leans forward.

What, again? Jack doesn't say, likely saving himself from the same fate the wall to (their) the room had suffered.

He does look up, though, and he looks mostly confused and more than a little angry himself, but it's hard enough just to try and meet Ennis' eyes.

"How the hell'd that come about?" He thinks back to the first week he'd been here, Ennis angry and that guy--what was his name?--on the floor.

"That guy from before? Made another mistake?"

Ennis shakes his head, hung low, wanting to meet Jack's eyes and just not able to.

Jack falls silent. There's a bitter taste in his mouth--anger and jealousy--and a hand at his side clenches, but the one that he brings up to Ennis' shoulder is soft.

Ennis leans into the touch, wanting it there, wanting to shove it away; wanting something soft, wanting to hit something.

Wanting to be hit.

"Shit," Jack says, in that tone that means that he's angry enough to do something stupid.

His hand tightens, slightly, moves to the side of Ennis' neck. It's a gesture half of comfort, half of claiming. He pictures some other guy kissing Ennis and it makes him feel sick.

Ennis looks up, then, taking his hat off of his head, and meets Jack's eyes. His own are soft. Soft, and angry, and wanting-

something, as he shakes his head against what, even he doesn't know.

Jack wants to kill him, the bastard that tried this, but instead of pacing like he wants, and yelling like he wants, he moves his hand up Ennis' neck and rubs his thumb over the tense muscles there, takes a step closer. He reaches up, and takes Ennis' hat from his hand, puts it down.

"Hey," he says, quiet-like. "It's alright."

it isn't, of course. Not really. But that's what Jack's decided and he's going to make it so if it kills him.

Ennis reaches up, pushing out - not the way he pushed Lawrence, not to get Jack to step away, just to push, to fight, to feel something - as his chokes a breath out, hands clenching despite the pain. There's a low grumble in his throat that could be anger, could be need. Most likely both.

Jack pushes back, fisting his other hand in Ennis' shirt, pulling him closer and pushing him away at the same time, rough. He gets pushed off-balance, regains it and steps back into Ennis just as quickly. Something in his eyes is hard, and hot, jealous and wanting.

He swallows again, groaning. Can't get out what he wants to say, what he can't never ever say because that makes it too real and all he wants is to get away from people, from the world, from everything but Jack. Curls up against him like he can.

Jack wraps an arm around him, pulls him close as he can, breath hot against Ennis' ear.

"Don't you," he says, low, "even think about it," and kisses him, grabbing hold of Ennis' collar, to burn away the feel of that other man with his own breath and his own mouth.

And Ennis goes for it like a fish goes for water. Like Jack's kisses can turn back the clock to the beginning of the night, beginning of the day, hell, beginning of the fucking day before he showed up in this godforsaken place where the only fucking good thing is sitting here holding him.

He lets go of Ennis' collar, grabs the back of Ennis' neck instead, holding him like he can. Ennis needs to be pushed and Jack pushes him, but Jack's got that arm there around Ennis' waist, just in case.

He pulls back far enough to take a breath, his forehead against Ennis', rubs his thumb over Ennis' cheek.