Work Text:
The ramshackle house under the mountain ranges became a temporary refuge for outlaws, who constantly violating any laws. The Blackwater incident was the end of their dishonest existence and messy life.
A woman presses boy to her breast, he has a blush nose and red cheeks, but she was staring at the frozen body on the wooden cot, appreciatively and in her manner gently talking, repeatly says how pathetic John is and how he dreadfully stupid, like a donkey. And he is forced to listening to it, even almost not paying attention, so in their society such words can be considered almost a compliment if punch doesn't come in the face after that, or what is even better - a bullet.
...Sitting on a shoal of fully snowed mountain, John didn’t think he would leave this place alive. Or even can make this by dead. He was bleeding, frozen to the bone, without a horse - all of this mean his imminent death, as he staring at the whirring of snow over the precipice. The loud gunshot broke his thinks, John screamed loudly, feeling his throat burning. And then they came. Arthur, and he... Absolutely exotic, it feels so far away and unearthly that to touch is scary but tempting. It hurts just as much to imagine him as to not think of him. John prefers to think, after all (even if you can’t tell that he’s thinking at all).
Nose catch icy smell of wood, dampness and dirty rags. Somewhere on way out, the Pastor reads the Bible surrounded by silent women, and he again look at the clouds, swallowing the cold metallic taste. The bandages were frozen and stuck to the sweaty skin, covered with bleeding wounds, even the move of a brow becomes painful. Through the decrepit planks and across the roof of the house, there was a snuggled silence; it seemed that everyone had gone. And the gaze, toned by pain, keeps catching the puffy clouds of smoke somewhere outside the walls of his house. It seems they are preparing to eat.
Didn’t hear or want to hear, and didn’t even see until the heated gloves touched John's neck.
Such a pleasure.
John immediately gave a look, clinging to the dark skin, the black hair and the long poncho, barely touching his cheek for the figure he had above over him. The air seems to be getting warmer, and it’s not because John's face was instantly buried in a traditionally embroidery and warm poncho. Every thread is imbued with a mixture of his scents - metal, sweat, musk and smoke.
Warm gloves massaging the stiff neck, with the thumb running on the cheek and applying pressure to the jaw line. John feels so good; he wants to raise his hand and grab him so that he doesn’t leave, and then John remembers how much pain his position actually has. Closes his nose in the formed folds of the thick cloth, his neck feeling cold again as a man next to him breathes in gloves, heating them. He did it not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Because John never looked as helpless as he does now. His puppy eyes when he doesn’t understand anything, his way of making a joke and not taking any responsibility is annoying. As well as John, the silence of Javier, his stony expression, and his skittish jokes are annoying. But it would be bad to hide the fact that each of these details gives a pleasant feeling of painful feel in stomach, making every muscle in body tense up before letting go.
During another quiet sigh, Javier puts dark and warm gloves on John’s white skin, leaving one on his cheek and the other on his chest under a blanket.
Silence hangs in the room as long as one touches the other, and the second droops into thoughts and breathless. Behind the walls, snow choked and women’s and men’s became louder, slowly approaching and trembling with cold. As Javier appeared, so Javier disappeared. Before realizing it, a few seconds pass, and after half-open eyelids, it was Jack’s plump cheeks and Abigail’s stare.