The characters are Annie's, and I make no profits.

Thanks to jackfingtwist (Max) for the beta.

The Stroke
Jack wasn't prepared for the pain; it had a quality and magnitude he'd never experienced, and was on the edge of a breathless crying out when Ennis, unheeding, drove in further. Jack come to find this was a good thing. There was some threshhold inside; when Ennis passed through it, all pain stopped. Or if it was still there, he didn't notice. His heart was trying to explode. His hands shivered, but not with cold or exhaustion. Everything felt open, something inside of him feeling like it was finally right, and he found himself diving back against Ennis's dick with the full weight of a bullrider's body. Each thrust felt like heaven had swallowed him whole, each stroke hitting something deep and needy. His breath gone from his body, Jack was proud of his grunts, the best he could muster under the soul-deep torment of bliss. His tongue lolled about unmastered. He came hard and untouched, feeling every muscle in his body react, his bowels clench, his thighs quake, his back arch, his arms brace, his eyes roll backwards, his tongue go rigid, his stomach pull up, and his heart groan. Everything seemed to have happened all at once. He didn't even think to wonder whether Ennis had come or what sort of pleasure Ennis got. Jack had slipped to his elbows at some point and was shaking from something that wasn't exhaustion or fear. He'd seen heaven and was slowly being laid back to earth. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't stop the pounding heart, and couldn't understand that other sensation situated round about his belly and squeezing the life out of him. Caught in a balance between giggling and crying, just about to pass out butt-up with something that wasn't tiredness, but a need to dream, a hand caught his air. The hand pressed one rough, cold finger along his inner thigh, running it down his leg, wrapped its digits on the trunk of leg just above the knee, thumb pressing firm. It squeezed, then patted, then was gone.

When he could calm himself enough to move and see and land back on the earth, he turned to see Ennis lying angelic on the tent floor, pants still down, cock resting and sated and drying with fluids-- mix of fluids, Jack and Ennis. So that's what happened. Play. Poking. Fun. Didn't mean shit. The flutter in his belly flopped at that one.

Jack wondered if this would be repeated, if he'd get a chance to see what Ennis had felt, if it felt like sex with a girl. But he didn't care too much since the part he'd played tonight had made him feel fucking wonderful. That would be good too. They were just playing. Maybe do it again. Maybe not. The flutter didn't like that too much neither.

Jack watched Ennis's chest rise and fall a couple times. He looked cold, and Jack remembered the coldness of that hand on his thigh. He reached out and gathered a generous portion of bedroll to throw over his-- that man. Didn't mean nothing. Just common decency.

Jack curled up, sliding back until his ass butted against Ennis's hip, needing touch. The flutter settled to a soothing hum. None of this meant nothing.

But the echo of that one cold hand, the stroke-squeeze-tap of it, screamed otherwise at him from across widening valleys. Had he dreamt it? No, it had been real. And it sure as hell meant something.

The flutter-hum blossomed into warm tightness across his chest, and Jack knew for sure it sure as hell meant something.