Blue Smoke by elomelo
Smoke curled in haphazard wisps, grey-blue in the pink light spilling across the stretch of sky before dissappearing into nothingness. Like the moments between them.
Ennis took one last drag of the cigaratte, the very same Jack had thrown at him in the morning before retreating into the tent. They bickered, yes, Jack accounting for more than a healthy amount of the complaining but it usually didn't go past a certain point. They would fight, glare, launch at each other and roll around, and then proceed to kiss the living daylights out of each other. But today was different; there was only a tired sigh of resignation, on Jack's part, after the fight and the glare.
It was a stupid, stupid argument. Over those damn beans, again. Well, it had started off as that. Somehow the heated conversation had taken a turn towards Jack's inability to cook anything worth a damn and then Ennis's utter failure at putting up a decent tent. They were both shouting. Ennis ended it with a growl - "Jack fuckin' Twist, a cigarette would be better than being here talkin to you anyday." As soon as Ennis had said those words, he wished he could take back. It was almost comical how far Jack could drop that stubbled jaw of his or how wide those blue eyes could get.
He dropped the cancer stick to the ground, grinding his heel a bit harder than necessary to put it out. He hated when they fought like this, their pride getting the better of them. Jack had an ego, a considerably large one if Ennis had any say in it, but that wasn't to say it was something the blonde haired cowboy lacked. When they kissed, it was a battle for dominance, tongues claiming, teeth gnashing. But it was Jack who, whilst smashing his lips against Ennis's and drawing blood for all he knew, stroked his jaw so gently, it was ironic.
Sometimes just looking at the man drove Ennis crazy. How could someone be that beautiful and completely unaware of it? He wouldn't say it to Jack, not to his face, but he hated it when Jack hurt himself, even if it were a small cut or scratch. It was unacceptable in his eyes. Only him, only Ennis could leave any marks on that taut skin. Which he did with vigour, branding Jack, leaving the marks like the loveletters he could never bring himself to write. These were unsaid agreements between them, silent whispers between gasps and moans and smiles and glares and huffs and chuckles.
The sun was melting into the sky, its yellow light bleeding into the pink and purple hues of the skies. Stars glimmered high above. Jack loved stars, saw shapes between the bright dots; cowboys and clouds and jars and things Ennis didn't. But he nodded all the same, smiling and holding him tighter.
"It's gettin colder, cowboy," a soft voice broke through his reverie, "so git in here before this fuckup has to haul your ass in."
Apparently all was forgiven.
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There might be a sequel of sorts, if I muster the energy. Must. Drink. Caffeine.