Work Text:
Flowing western ambrosia captured in a glass, where immortality was granted in ignorance, and somewhat in audacity. Ennis took another sip. The alcohol burned his throat, making him acutely aware of his inebriation and pleading for him not to worsen it. The wool of his jacket snagged on the dead log he leaned against. The dead grass conformed to the pushing force in his heel. The chipper call of mating crickets harmonized with a crackle of flame. He kept a soaked towel over his previous injury. The crimson spots shone through what was once a dishcloth. It had been a week, and there had been minimal improvement in the healing. Jack blamed no one but Ennis.
Ennis only joined him by the fire to drink. He left for the tent once the whisky ran short, or until he physically couldn’t remain on the log he perched on. The portion of the bean remained in the pan. They were disregarded into the soil, every night, no missing days. Apriticy had been their only blessing, nay their guiding motivation, as neither worked well in the winter months
“Fucking tired of beans…” He’d murmur. It’d become his greeting. Jack had heard it so many times, that he could interject before he got past his huff of air.
“Can’t be tired of something you ain’t eating,” He reasoned. His eyebrows rose as he glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but his attention was stolen by the spatter of bean sludge resulting from a poorly used can opener. He shook the can to loosen the contents. Then, carefully, he turned the can upside down. The beans gathered tightly together and oozed out from the rusty tin. The bean phlegm sizzled as it hit the pan. Timid and reluctant, it stayed in a cohesive mass, almost seeming to pulsate within itself. Ennis’s face scrunched. Whisky grumbled in his guts; it enriched the stomach acid and the resulting nausea.
The sight of Jack always filled him with a sense of revulsion that crawled up his throat. He tried to rid himself of the feeling by licking his teeth, but it didn't help. Turning to whisky for solace, he took another swig, but his tonsils rebelled against swallowing. In a desperate attempt, he tilted his head back and forced the liquid down his esophagus with gravity.
Jack gazed at the man before him, a worried expression etched on his face. The other man appeared to have always been ill-equipped to take care of himself, but Jack couldn't help but feel a growing sense of concern the more Ennis withered away. The pallor of his skin suggested a loss of vitality, its tautness betraying any trace of youthful teen vigor. Deep, dark circles underlined his eyes, creating an unsettling contrast to his otherwise weary visage. His hands trembled incessantly and ironically worsened when Ennis was by the fire, getting drunk. Even mundane tasks such as mounting his horse or lighting a cigarette appeared to pose a challenge. Jack struggled with the urge to offer a hand, fully aware that Ennis cherished his independence and would only withdraw further if he felt pitied.
The silence was burst by Ennis’s delayed response, “If that bear wasn’t there…” He looked to the ground and shook his head. He had abandoned the whisky glass. It sat, empty, by his crossed feet. His arms crossed in an ill attempt to hide his trembles. Jack chewed the inside of his mouth. Four prongs forcefully separated the beans into a thin film of half-edible brown sludge.
Ennis wasn’t going to listen on his own. His pride would be the death of him, in a literal sense. Jack swished his saliva around in his mouth. He knew what he had to do and what he needed to make Ennis feel. He recalled ages ago, stumbling upon the weakened boy in the tent, not quite himself. Not the defensive stoic man he always was. He was silent, quivering, on the edge of tears. He embraced Jack, and the rest became a blur of domestic bliss, or as close as they’d ever get to it out in the forest. The only way to help Ennis was to get him out of his own head. Jack could do that for Ennis, even if he’d be disgusted with him come morning
“It isn’t your fault, little guy,” Jack’s tone was tender, affectionate, and loving. It always was. He knew he should feel bad for taking advantage of a *little* quirk Ennis had, but if it ensured his health, he had no qualms about it. Ennis opened his mouth, no doubt to fight the nickname, but Jack cut him off.
“When was the last time you ate, huh?” Jack stood in front of the roaring fire, his gaze fixated on the bubbling pot of beans. With his legs spread apart, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he concentrated on preventing the beans from scorching. As he shifted the pot from side to side, he nervously bounced his left leg, causing his stirring hand to veer off course. Inadvertently, a sizzling droplet of hot liquid leaped from the pot, instantly evaporating as it made contact with the flames.
“Doesn’t matter…. My stomach is full.” He kicked the whisky bottle away. It rattled into the stones that surrounded the fire. The sudden shock of heat caused webs of shatters. The glass bled its fermented insides into the well-drunken soil. He was a disturbance to nature but so natural in his destruction. An anthology of beautiful mistakes; the tome he carried with him, one day to be read.
“You need more than that, baby.” The golden cast of warmth illuminated the thin sheen of tears protecting Ennis’s eyes. Neither wished to look at each other, nay catch each other’s gaze.
“Don’t call me that…” He was frantically searching for whisky. There was no urgency behind the twisting of his body. It was a facade with no purpose, neither wanted Ennis to drink, but they had grown timidly apathetic to the routine to expect change. Abase kept his stomach gorged. Damnation started early for Ennis. He gave up gluttony for the chance to love Jack, and it didn’t seem the other understood that.
He cursed Eden for the sweetest apple being the hardest to digest. His guts gave a churn, no doubt repenting with him.
“You can’t grow big and tall if you don’t eat, lamb.” He disguised the flavorless slop with a thin dusting of salt. He prayed it would magically fix the sloppy mess left before him.
“Just look at you… Have you always been that small, huh?” A chuckle rumbled in his throat. Ennis felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as appetency seized the disorientation. The flickering yellow reflection dulled on his face, before abandoning him completely. Ennis’s cold shadows made a jagged barrier between Jack’s orange glow.
“... Know what you’re doin’”
He ignored Ennis. Jack reached out and caressed his face. The lightest wrinkles of confusion crossed his face. Dots of once-saturated freckles sunk into his flesh. His cowboy hat sat low on his head, giving Jack the rare sight of the green that rimmed his pupils and leaked into the turpentine he was used to seeing.
“Dada just wants to help you, lamb…” He moved his hand closer to his palm. It was roughed from the months of working out in the cold, grasping ropes, and burning himself in an attempt to cook. It was familiar, despite the discomfort, and made him sink closer to him, and further from the weight of sin.
“Dada’s gonna make you feel better. I Bet that poor tummy is in so much pain.” Ennis was much too young to ponder the future or contemplate his regrets in retrospect. All he understood was ache, and that in the now, Jack was going to be his savior. No sense of regret could penetrate the bubbling warmth of need. His bottom lip trembled.
Ennis attempt to grab Jack’s hand was futile. It drifted back to the trashy cuisine in front of them. He smooshed it against the bottom, bursting the light pink innards from their brown cocoon.
“Soft and mushy… safe for a baby,” he whispered, just loud enough so that Ennis could hear. He rose his knees to his chest and rested his chin on the new surface. His heels dug into the dried bark. The tip of his boots bounced up and down, alternating their height from each other. His mouth chewed on the plaid sleeve hidden behind his jacket. He sucked in quickly. Jack hid his smirk from the audible slurping on the fabric.
He took the beans off the fire. He transferred the pureed food back into the can and threw the pan to the side, where the rest of their stuff rested. Neither of them was organized, or clean. They tidied when they had the time (which was never). He grasped the top. The coiled tin warmed to the touch. He got to his feet and accompanied the curled-up blondie.
“Can you stop chewing on that for me? I have something else for you, lambie…” He tapped his fork against the can. It echoed through the chasm, then drowned in the insulation. Ennis let his soaked sleeve fall from his slightly yellowed teeth. The hand followed with, hitting the leather of his boots.
With a characteristically old grunt, Jack pats his spread lap, after setting the can down on the log. Ennis got the hint. He was much bigger, and much heavier than his partner, leading to a timidness even regression couldn’t stomp out. He settled himself on one thigh. The soles of his shoes raised to the other thigh. He leaned into Jack’s body to keep his balance. He had the constant need to be curled up; it was the most comfortable position. It made him feel, and look, smaller.
Jack wrapped his arm around his neck. Ennis tilted his head back and to the side, nuzzling into his shoulder. His cheek squished into the rest of his features, and for a second Jack pondered how he even still had fat on his cheeks. He hadn’t seen the other eat in days. With a clawed hand, he moved the can closer and retrieved the handle of the fork. A glob of mushed beans stuck to the spikes. Ennis turned his head away and pursed his lips.
“Come on, Ennis…-” Undoubtedly a grave matter, Jack scarcely used his name- “You need to eat. You want to feel better, don’t you?” Inquisitively, he opened one eye and turned his head. His cheeks remained puffed. Inside the gloom of his brain, he could remember he *hated* what was in that can. Jack bumped the fork against his lips. His eyes were crushed shut again. The blonde blubbered through the tight seal of his lips.
“Just eat it! You like this! It’s *good* for you!” The repeated ramming and cooing forced a momentary lapse in judgment, where his mouth opened to more properly babble complaints. Not wasting a second, he thrust the fork between his teeth. He scraped the mush off. Without much thought, he curled his lips around the fork. His tongue mindlessly lapped at the underside of the fork, merely to have something to teeth on.
“Atta boy….” He removed the fork. Astoundingly, Ennis’s mouth pried open, expecting more. A low hum of approval came from his stomach. The instant relief was addicting, and while his taste buds were tired of the maple saccharine medley, his body couldn’t refuse the comfort, nor the loving manner of care displayed by Jack. He tapped his hands on his thighs; he needed to get his excitement out somehow, and his mouth was busy eating.
Jack gently kissed the top of his companion's head, being careful not to disturb the cloth covering the injury. He scooped up another mouthful of beans from the can. A playful confidence guided his actions as he swirled the spoon through the air, making airplane noises with his lips and playfully purring, "Here comes the airplane~"
Ennis had an amused look on his face that made Jack's theatrics worth it. Jack pushed Ennis closer to him as he fed him. Ennis lazily chewed the food without mashing it up too much, making Jack glad that he had baby-proofed it, even if he had initially done it for principle.
Ennis sensed the relentless headache that had plagued him day and night beginning to fade. His stomach rumbled in protest as if bewildered by anything other than whisky entering his system. A sense of relief washed over him, and a hint of color returned to his cheeks, signaling a welcome resurgence. Jack quietly acknowledged his adept problem-solving abilities before resuming his efforts to feed Ennis.
Bite after bite. Ennis’s nibbling got sloppy. His eyelids struggled to stay open. It had been ages since he had felt *safe* from pain. His hands remained still in his lap, the only exception being the occasional fiddling. Jack leaned in close to Ennis's face, then reached for his sleeve edge to swipe away the lingering splatters of juice from his lips and chin.
"You're so messy…" That earned a sheepish giggle from the blonde cowboy. He pressed his nose into Jack's neck, feeling the steady pulse against his lips and inhaling the comforting scent of his heartbeat. The palpable evidence of Jack's existence brought Ennis a sense of stability, and he soughed with contentment. As he shifted in Jack's lap to get comfortable, a flying boot accidentally knocked the nearly empty can of beans from his hand.
The tin can had been a hindrance, so he felt a wave of relief when it was suddenly kicked out of his hand. Its absence now allowed him to express a tenderness that had often been discouraged by Ennis. No longer obscured by any tent walls or curtains of leaves, he enfoldingly wrapped his arms around Ennis, drawing their bodies into intimate contact. As they huddled together, he could discern even the most inconspicuous bulge of flesh over Ennis's jeans. Gazing into the cascade of golden-blond hair, he couldn't help but smile as he lost himself in its embrace.
"You'll feel even better in the morning," he vowed. Better, or bigger, either way, he wasn't going to hear the end of it. He closed his eyes and savored the momentary standstill of tension.