(no subject)

[e_delmar]

What do you do when your b- the guy you l- the guy you're fucking your friend and you get into a fight? You get yourself good and fucking trashed. It's a long held tradition, and Ennis don't see no reason to change it now. That would be going against the natural fucking order of things, wouldn't it? So shit if Ennis don't just get himself a few bottles of whiskey and slowly - or not so slowly - and surely works his way through them. He almost made it all the way through, too, but that sixth time he got up to piss he couldn't stand too good and figured he ought to go back to the room before he passed out in the middle of the fucking bar. Room. Room bed. Bed soft room soft room good.

There's some loud cursing as Ennis fiddles with the lock, and a few bangs on the door before he manages to swing it open, a loud crash as it hits the wall on the other side, and another loud crash as Ennis trips over something - possibly the floor - and goes sprawling onto his knees. That ain't so bad, though, because that way he can move around without falling. The room's dark, and he can't find his own nose in this fucking place and if he could only find the bed, all would be well with the world.

Comments

[jack_f_twist]

There's a minute of stillness, and then hands grab the back of Ennis' shirt and hoist him to his stumbling feet before he gets pushed onto something a hell of a lot softer than the floor. The hands leave, and there's the ghost of someone in a white undershirt who goes to close the door, swearing softly to himself.

The door closes, and the hands are back, pulling off Ennis' boots and tossing them to one side, and then they leave again, apparently uncaring whether Ennis passes out in his jeans and workshirt or not. There's a creak as the bed dips to Ennis' side, where Jack sits slouched over, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes.

[e_delmar]

Ennis kicks and swats at the hands ineffectually, reaching out for the darkness after Jack gets up. By the time he's returns, the flailing has stopped for the most part, replaced by incoherent grumbling and muttering under his breath; something, perhaps, about sheep and the fuckers who deserve them, and he turns towards the warmth, the heat, before realizing exactly what it means.

"Sheeeeeeeeeet."

The word is drawn out, almost comical in its drunken stupidity.

[jack_f_twist]

"Yeah, shit's just 'bout right," Jack mutters. He leans over to sniff, and sits back, shaking his head, feeling as tense as Ennis is loose, right now. His hand leaves his eye to scrub at his face.

"Jesus, you reek. How much you drink?"

[e_delmar]

He pulls up his fingers, starting at one and working his way up. A few times, he makes it all the way to seven, but that's not right, and he finally settles somewhere between two and three, holding the wavering fingers up for Jack to see.

"Not t'much. Just nuff."

[jack_f_twist]

"Yeah, right."

He pushes Ennis' hand back down.

"You puke, I ain't cleanin' it up," he says, warningly. His voice has lost much of its hardness, though there's still a thread of annoyance underneath.

[e_delmar]

The hand comes back up, batting at Jack's own hand, not hard, just playfully.

"Ain't gonna- don't puke, not me, no no no not me."

[jack_f_twist]

"Yeah, nope, not you. You just do stupid-ass things instead."

But he doesn't stop Ennis from batting at his hand, just catches it now and again so it doesn't flail too far.

[e_delmar]

If he catches it, well, maybe one of those times Ennis squeezes it. Eyes shut, the hand's the only thing that doesn't seem to be moving. Funny, that.

"Do what."

The demand in his voice is low and rusty and doesn't sound half so drunk as he is.

[jack_f_twist]

He squeezes the hand back, pad of his thumb moving across Ennis' palm.

"Stupid things."

Like coming into the tent all dizzy drunk and freezing his ass off, instead of riding back to the sheep. Like loosening up, like laughing.

'Course, these are all only stupid things when Jack's the other one involved in them.

[e_delmar]

"Mmm, stupid."

And there's a voice somewhere in the back of his head that says that he's mad at Jack, that Jack's the one doing stupid things, and Jack's the stupid one, but he dove into that whiskey trying to get that voice to shut up, and damn if it didn't work at least a little. There's a lopsided drunken grin on his face, and he sits up suddenly, as if realizing something.

[jack_f_twist]

"Whoa, there." Jack's hand leaves Ennis', comes up to Ennis' back to steady him, sitting up a little straighter himself.

"Where's the fire, huh?"

[e_delmar]

Ennis sticks a finger out, pointing at something, pointing at nothing, moving over and pointing at Jack, poking a little bit at his chest, his lips pursed into a drunken mockery of a scowl.

"You-"

He falls silent.

[jack_f_twist]

Jack pushes the prodding finger away, shaking his head, though his other hand stays warm on Ennis' back.

"Yeah, that's me. All that whiskey and you still ain't come to your senses, huh?"

[e_delmar]

"Left 'em back home."

Though most would argue he never had them in the first place. Damn fool, after all, to get caught up with Jack Fucking Twist. Damn fool to let him get away. Damn fool's Ennis Del Mar and ain't nobody (even him) gonna argue it.

"What'm I sensing?"

[jack_f_twist]

"Seems like you don't need 'em much, anyway."

Jack's thumb moves absently over the muscles of Ennis' shoulder, and he figures that when Ennis is fall-over drunk is probably not the time to try and explain himself.

"Hell, it don't matter, does it?"

[e_delmar]

"Sometimes seems nothing does."

And hell if this isn't a time for him to get maudlin. He closes his eyes and leans back a bit, slowly, waiting for Jack's hand to move with him.

[jack_f_twist]

Jack's arm relaxes, lets Ennis lean back, and though Jack doesn't lean with him, the bed dips and creaks a bit when he shifts to watch Ennis. His expression is impossible to see above the dim white shape of his undershirt.

"Hey now, that's the whiskey talkin'. What've I told you 'bout shuttin' that bastard up, huh?" He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck.

"Stuff matters."

[e_delmar]

Ennis lays back and shifts uncomfortably in his work clothes.

"Yeah. Stuff like tractors and rings and wifes and birthdays and it don't."

And it's possible he's not even sure what he's on about now, if he knew to start with.

[jack_f_twist]

"Birthdays, huh?"

There's a connection somewhere. Jack knows there is. The problem is that he'd have to get himself hammered on what seems like a pint of whiskey in order to find it.

[e_delmar]

Ennis waves his hand around and grunts, trying to wipe it away, wipe the words away.

"Don't matter."

He says it stubbornly, as if making a point.

[jack_f_twist]

"Guess not."

They've never really mattered to Jack, anyway, though they matter to Lureen a great deal.

"Think I ain't quite followin' you, bud," he says, apologetically. It's a side effect of not being shitfaced.

[e_delmar]

"You do."

He nods his head, and if it's a bit wobbly, perhaps that's only to be expected.

[jack_f_twist]

Jack pauses.

"I do, huh?"

He wonders--briefly, because he doesn't like wondering about it--whether he's ever mattered to anyone before, and clears his throat, looking down.

[e_delmar]

"Mmmm."

He rolls to his side, wary of the moving bed, and reaches out with another finger to poke Jack. Jack who matters, Jack who follows, Jack.

[jack_f_twist]

Jack catches his hand--Ennis moves awful slow and clumsy when he's drunk--and pushes it lightly away. He runs his own hand over Ennis' side, resting it at his waist, and grins a little.

"You ain't gonna be in any kind a shape for chores tomorrow, bud."

[e_delmar]

"Will. Be up with the sun."

Maybe. If the sun rises at noon.

[jack_f_twist]

There's a low rumble of a laugh, and Jack's hand is steady on Ennis' waist, his thumb moving back and forth.

"Sure, and pigs'll fly."

[e_delmar]

"Saw it inna paper. Enquirer."

His eyes fall softly shut, and he leans into Jack's hand, Jack's heat, Jack.

[jack_f_twist]

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Jack shifts, leans down till he's propped up on one elbow, more on a level with Ennis. His hand slides slowly along Ennis' side, soothing.

[e_delmar]

Ennis yawns, his breath slowing, his body relaxing, and opens his eyes once more to look at Jack. Sleepy and drunk and wide, the skin around them crinkles as he smiles, before they close again. And if, in his sleep, he mutters something that sounds like "sorry," well, maybe it's because something doesn't not matter quite so much as he thought.