Ennis stood on the porch of Don Wroe's cabin and smoked like a man with nothing to do and all day to do it. In fact, he'd already seen to the horses, put away the groceries, stowed the guns, turned the bedding and moved his heap around to the back. He'd done everything; all that was left was waiting for Jack.

Ennis's habitual frown deepened, cutting gullies into a weathered landscape. There was no hard and fast rule, but Jack generally arrived before Ennis. Somewhere in his armor-plated heart, Ennis had always let himself believe it was because Jack couldn't wait to see him. If that were true, maybe Jack just wasn't as anxious as usual.

Ennis chewed his thumbnail and watched the hornets add paper to a nest the size of a walnut up under the eaves. He tried not to think about all the reasons Jack might be late, but they came back just like the wasps each time he waved them away. Bypassing all the mundane reasons for delay, such as flat tires, or something coming up at work, Ennis's morbid imagination went straight for the red zone.

He pictured Jack … the Jack that drew the eye like a high dollar stud horse on the auction block. Jack Twist had a shine to him, and all kinds of ugly things are attracted to a glow like bugs to a lantern. It was hard to blame the lantern for what it couldn't help, but Ennis did, though he never let himself become aware of the source of his sometime resentment. Jack's unabashed sensual nature was just one more thing Ennis had to stand.

Like the way Jack had looked at him the last time they'd seen each other.

Jack had swung out of the cab of the pickup before it stopped moving, the grin on his face making Ennis's lips twitch in sympathy, eyes alight with joy, waving that post card, so sure that all his dreams were coming true at last. The sight of him so happy had almost moved Ennis to a rash act, but at the last second he remembered his girls waiting in the truck. Letting go of Jack, Ennis had said what he had to say and crushed Jack's hopes.

Sad as a party balloon with all the air let out of it, Jack sagged as though acknowledging gravity as a force for the first time. He stared at Ennis in stunned disbelief for a long moment, tongue flicking out over his lower lip, wanting him so bad he could almost taste it, knowing now that he'd never really had him, and likely never would. Ennis would always have the power in their relationship, because Ennis had the strength to deny himself.

All Ennis could think of was the ten people in Riverton Jack had asked for his address. The way the girls were craning their necks to get a good look at daddy's handsome friend. That white pickup that slowed down as it drove past. He felt real bad about hurting Jack, but he'd told him a long time ago that it wasn't going to be the way Jack wanted it to be.

Ennis felt like fish hooks had been set in every square inch of his skin, the invisible filaments running between him and Jack snapping tight as Jack climbed back in his truck and drove away. What else could he do? Ripping, tearing agony made Ennis take an involuntary half step forward, wanting to call Jack back and somehow make it all right. But he couldn't see any way to do that. Couldn't give Jack any more than he already had.

In fact, Ennis had given Jack all he could that first summer up on Brokeback. There they had been two Adams that had never tasted an apple. They lived in the world now, and there were severe penalties when a man slipped up down here. Ennis didn't have to imagine them; his daddy had made damn sure of that.

Ennis tried to stave off the lurid image of Jack in the wet grass of a shallow ditch with red, red blood running from his ruined nose and mouth. The thin cruel shadow of the tire iron bisected the pulped face just before it struck again, and Ennis jerked in response. He clutched the rail, squeezing so hard the weathered wood creaked in his hands.

He didn't want to see these things, but he knew that he deserved all the misery they caused him. This could easily be Jack's fate, or his, and all because they couldn't leave one another alone. If Ennis were any kind of man at all, he would have told Jack in Riverton that it was over, that they wouldn't be seeing each other again.

But Ennis was weak. Something in him craved what only Jack could give him. It was for this unnamable thing that Ennis had wrecked his marriage, his relationship with his daughters, and pretty much his entire life. And some day, he was going to get Jack killed. He knew this with the certainty of a man standing on a land mine. It wasn't a question of whether it would go off, but when.

And still, Ennis wanted him. Wanted him and tried not to look too hard at why. Didn't ask himself if he really went to all this trouble just to come inside Jack a few times a year. The answer was yes, and no, and he didn't want to explore it any further.

All he really wanted for the rest of their lives was to be able to meet up with Jack in a place where there was only the two of them. However, he wasn't sure if it could ever be the same again since he'd turned Jack away. No indeed, the look on Jack's face as he'd driven away clearly said, "No more beans."

Ennis couldn't begin to let himself speculate on that one. If he ever so much as thought that Jack was doing it with other men, he'd … but what right did he have to be jealous? Had he ever called Jack his where Jack could hear him? Or did he just expect Jack to know that he was wearing Ennis's brand?

Ennis shook his head again to dispel the disquieting thoughts. Foolishness, that's all it was. Jack would come driving up the gravel road any minute, his smile the whitest thing in all the world, and the old familiar tension would tighten a notch in Ennis's groin. Jack would fly out of the truck and into Ennis's arms and Ennis would be holding the wild and silly nineteen year old that had roped him all those years ago, hard as wood in about three seconds.

And none of the rest of it would mean anything once they were together. The world could burn down around them and they would likely not even notice. They stood outside time when they embraced, and if all else crumbled to dust, they wouldn't miss it.

Out of old habit, Ennis pinched out his cigarette and putt the butt in his breast pocket. His eyes strayed to the road again. Where in the hell are you, Jack fuckin' Twist?

Jack banged his forehead against the big steering wheel of the pickup and berated himself under his breath. "Jack fuckin' Twist! Why're you sittin' here like a man with cold feet on his weddin' day? Put the goddamn truck in gear and drive your dumb ass up there. What the hell's a matter with ya?"

Jack asked the question aloud, but he already knew the answer. He was afraid Ennis would smell it on him, taste it on his tongue, feel it on his skin. Somehow Ennis would know just by looking at Jack that something had changed. Once more, the urge to drive on struck Jack.

He could just keep driving, take another long weekend south of the border, drown himself in tequila and dark flesh. He could get what he needed and go back home until the craving became too great again. He didn't need Ennis Del Mar. All Ennis had ever done was break Jack's heart a little more each time they met. The last time should have been the last time.

Jack slammed his head harder against the wheel. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up," he whispered in a rapid undertone.

No matter how much Ennis hurt him, Jack knew he could never quit him. Ennis was imbedded in Jack's soul like the grit in a pearl formed layer-by-layer, alternating bittersweet comfort with a longing that ate him to the bone like lye. Ennis was the one. Never a doubt from the first time Jack set eyes on him.

Who was he kidding, sitting here like he had a choice, like there was a decision to be made? He would let the clutch out and drive up to the cabin because he couldn't do anything else knowing that Ennis was there. Even if he knew Ennis would beat him within an inch of his life, or just past it, when he found out about the trips to Mexico.

And in a way it would be a relief. Ennis would finally know just how bad it got and Jack would get the punishment he deserved for tomcatting around. But damn it, it was hard to get by on the bones Ennis tossed him and it wasn't like Jack cared anything for the whores he visited. It was a chore, like milking a cow, and you felt better afterward.

And you felt worse, if you were Jack Twist, in love with a man that had never uttered the word aloud, unable to stay away from him though he knew he should.

Drawing a shuddering breath and dragging a sleeve across his eyes, Jack sat up and shifted into first. No sense stalling any longer. If Ennis brought up Mexico, Jack would own up and let the chips fall where they would. Maybe it was time to drag a few things out into the light. And if things between them changed, well maybe it was high time.

Believing none of it, Jack drove into the yard and saw Ennis standing on the porch like he'd always been there, waiting for Jack. All the unruly overwhelming feelings that had consumed him in the summer of nineteen sixty-three came crashing through him like an avalanche of snow roaring through the pines.

Swept up and forward, Jack found himself in Ennis's arms, being squeezed with too much force, and not caring if he could breathe or not. He could smell the old sweat soaked into Ennis's hatband and a faint whiff of Old Spice from the morning shave. Ennis's night deep voice murmured in his ear and Jack was home.

"Thought ya'd never get here."

The two men drew back far enough to look into one another's eyes and both knew Jack would unpack the truck later. The embers that never completely died out flared to ardent life again as their lips met in a bruising kiss. The caress smoothed out as it continued, tongues sliding slickly, hands roaming, reacquainting themselves with favorite spots.

"C'mon in," Ennis said thickly, tugging on Jack's arm.

And Jack went, following Ennis into the cabin, marveling at the miracle that was occurring. For the first time since they'd met, Ennis was more eager than Jack to get down to business. The novelty was so breathtaking that Jack stood unmoving in the center of the room as Ennis shucked his jeans.

Toeing off his boots, Ennis rucked the suede soft Levi's down the floor. He looked up to see Jack still fully clothed and the line between his brows grew more pronounced. Jack stared back at Ennis, standing wide-legged in his holey socks, a thin string of honey drooling from the tip of his cock, with an unspoken plea in his bewildered gaze.

With shock, Jack heard the words tumble out of his mouth. "Guess it suits you to fuck me now, huh?"

"Jack?"

Jack bit his lip. The pain he'd felt when Ennis rejected him surfaced as raw as the day it had happened. How could Ennis expect Jack to just take up with him again like he hadn't been crushed flat? How could Jack do this and keep his self-respect?

Because Jack loved Ennis Del Mar more than he loved himself. And that would never change. Jack might some day be able to walk away from Ennis, but he would love him until the day he died, and probably for a while after, this thing was that powerful.

So powerful it propelled him across the room to join the only partner he ever really wanted in the oldest dance in the world. Swaying and rocking together, Ennis and Jack pushed and pulled at one another until they realigned things enough to keep going a while longer. Each was aware that the other was making allowances though they didn't acknowledge it in words.

Ennis grasped Jack by the biceps and took his lips hungrily. Jack surrendered his mouth, letting Ennis have control. Sensing what Jack needed, Ennis tightened his grip. Jack knew he'd have bruises tomorrow, and he'd wear them like a scarlet letter. They were no more than he deserved for his betrayal and deception.

"Sorry…sorry," Ennis mumbled and Jack didn't ask what he was sorry for.

Once again they were leaving so many things unsaid, content that they'd wrenched themselves back into place for now. Ennis was relieved and grateful that Jack was willing to pretend that things were the way they were before. Jack was relieved and grateful that Ennis hadn't asked what he'd been up to since he'd seen him last.

If Jack hadn't shown up, Ennis would've plodded on with his life, but with a howling emptiness at his center. He might never say so in words, but Jack Twist was the one bright spark in the vast darkness of his life, and though he knew he must one day give him up, he was thankful that today was not that day.

"You must be hornier'n hell, boy," Jack said cheerfully and was rewarded by the slight softening of Ennis's features. "I know I am. Got about a dozen speedin' tickets between here and Childress."

Ennis gave a little shake of his head, lips warping into his almost-smile. He knew he had disappointed Jack again, just as he'd disappointed everyone that ever cared about him, but at least there was one thing he could give Jack. And it was something Jack professed to want very much. This one thing Ennis was good at.

"You ain't all there," Ennis said, taking the opening Jack offered.

"Well, this is all you gonna get, and it won't be on offer all day," Jack teased.

"Sumbitch."

Ennis lunged, but Jack pivoted on his boot heel and bolted left around the couch. On opposite sides of the battered leather sofa, they grinned like Huck and Tom daring each other to another glorious, calamitous escapade. The artless joy that lit Ennis's eyes so rarely melted Jack's susceptible heart. And he gave in, submitting his will to this man's as he had never readily done since he learned to say no.

Jack had no defenses against Ennis, never had.

When Ennis came over the back of the couch, Jack dodged a fraction too slow, and both men tumbled onto the big piece of furniture. As always, Ennis's impatience at this stage of things kindled the same unbridled passion in Jack. Love rampant reared on high, possessing Jack and Ennis body and soul, setting all else at naught as it ran riot, snarling and laughing, a single beast with two hearts.

Jack tried as always to savor the moment Ennis entered him, but it was always too quick, just a little too quick. If he were paying for this pleasure, he'd have no qualms about speaking up, but he and Ennis never talked about this stuff. Jack knew at his core that if the sex became too real for Ennis, it would stop. And Jack surely didn't want that.

Instead, Jack groaned like a heifer giving birth and felt Ennis's callused hands settle on his hips. With his chin on the arm of the couch, one knee bent, the other foot on the floor, Jack braced himself to provide resistance for Ennis's hammer stroke. With small touches, squeezes and pats, Ennis instinctively gentled Jack as you would any creature made for riding, and Jack reveled in the token caresses, making them stretch just enough.

Ennis's lust was riddled with guilt and the concessions he made to it surprised and pleased Jack. The stoic cowboy's attempts to make it up to Jack in the form of increased tenderness did not go unnoticed. Jack and Ennis had broadened their scope in regards to sex, but it was still a rushed and vivid collision and the caresses Ennis now offered were evening rain on wilting flowers.

"Damn you, Ennis," Jack panted and came the way he'd come that first night when the world blew apart and flew back together in a vastly different shape.

Ennis leaned over Jack, clutching at Jack's shoulders, nuzzling the warm, damp skin, the sated scent of Jack suffusing him with peace. Little darlin', he murmured, or thought he did, and his cock jerked deep inside Jack, his seed spooling out to become part of Jack. And if Ennis could only do the same, all his trials would be over.

But it was never going to be that way. Ennis knew it and accepted it, and he wished to God that Jack did, too. But that was as likely as one of Jack's whiskey springs. Wrapping his arms tight around Jack's ribcage, Ennis rolled them sideways to lie together on the sofa.

They stayed there for a long time in the classic position of drowsy lovers everywhere while Ennis softened and began to slide out. And still Ennis held Jack close to his heart. For the first time he was unwilling to let go first. Nose buried in Jack's thick hair, he hummed a little, his sternum vibrating against Jack's shoulder blade, in a lover's lullaby.

Beguiled, Jack laced his fingers with Ennis's and brought the hand to his heart. Jack didn't rodeo anymore, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten how to stay on, and he reckoned he'd ride this one a mite longer. With a sigh, he settled closer to Ennis and drifted off. The sound of Jack's breathing, familiar as the winds on Brokeback, beckoned Ennis into a dream.

They slept on, cocooned in this fleeting measure of happiness. Outside the sun was still shining. The river flowed on, restless and complaining in its stony bed. The sentinel pines leaned over the cabin, murmuring in the mint fresh breeze. Beautiful and impartial, the mountains gave Jack and Ennis sanctuary once more.

Life goes on; time goes by. And inevitably, all those things Jack and Ennis put off saying would became too heavy to carry around and they would spill out, like the innards of a gutted deer. But not today, and not tomorrow, and maybe not the day after.

For now, and little while longer, they would punish themselves with each other and the St. Elmo's fire of perfect love, once tasted, never forgotten, and pursued with a craving beyond that of any addict. For some unspecified amount of time to come, they would be one another's fantasy, ideal, reward, the thing that makes all the rest of it tolerable. They would hang on until it threw them, breaking them apart.

And they would never call by its true name.

The end.