It had been a miserable five days of wading through sheep, trying to make sense of the faded paint brands, trying to understand the Chilean sheepherder's broken English. By the end of it, neither Jack nor Ennis felt much like talking, irritated and bone-tired, but neither of them felt much like riding out alone and sleeping in the piss-smelling pup-tent either.

They set up camp on a hill overlooking their now-mixed flock of sheep. The dogs and the sheep lay out there in the grass, sleeping, almost blending in with the glowing white meadow stones. The stars slowly winked into existence overhead. The mountains seemed to loom up and surround them, giant sentries in the dark.

"Aguirre's goin a shit himself when he sees the sheep," Jack mumbled around the lip of the whiskey bottle. He stuck his boots closer to the fire, trying to get some warmth into his toes.

"He ain't goin a notice nothin. Got the count right, didn't we? What the hell else can we do?" Ennis had a scrubbing brush in one hand, cleaning off the mud caked onto his boots. The brush bristles against the worn leather made a gentle shick-shick-shick sound in the night, accompanying the crackle and pop of the fire.

"Yeah. 'Spose Chilean sheep are about the same as American ones."

Ennis only grunted in response and scrubbed harder, working the brush against his boot like it had wronged him somehow.

Jack watched him do this for a few minutes, said, "You sore at me, you could just tell me."

At which Ennis grunted again, but added, "Not you. Been a long fuckin five days."

"Fair enough." Jack took another pull from the bottle and leaned back, resting his elbows on a log, tilting his hat brim back to look up at the sky. The stars over their heads shimmered and faint clouds trailed through the black sky like ghosts.

"My granddaddy used a tell me how come they called it Lightning Flat," said Jack, musing, remembering the old man with the gummy smile and diamond sharp eyes. "'Fore they built it up, it was just dirt and dust. A whole lot a nothin. Could see for miles around; so far that you could see lightning strike in Montana. My granddaddy used a tell me � Jack, it was like you could see the ends a the earth."

Ennis didn't say anything in response, still scrubbing away at his boots, but Jack didn't expect him to. He knew Ennis was listening. Jack leaned his head farther back and let his hat fall off his head. It tumbled onto the ground somewhere behind him.

Eventually, Ennis said, "Stop hoggin the whiskey."

Feeling stupid and contrary, Jack just grinned and drank some more.

Ennis set down his brush and boot and put his hands on his knees, turning his head to stare at Jack, mouth fixed in a hard line.

Jack smiled around the mouthful of whiskey, burning on his tongue, and waved his hand, beckoning Ennis closer. For a moment, Ennis just continued to give him that hard look, all icy blue irritation, but Jack just waited, and slowly, Ennis leaned forward.

When Ennis got close enough, Jack grabbed a hold of Ennis's coat with one hand and mashed their mouths together. Ennis grunted and gasped, and the warm whiskey spilled out of Jack's mouth and into Ennis's, dribbling some onto their chins, onto their coats.

Jack licked into Ennis's mouth, and Ennis's throat compressed around Jack's tongue as Ennis swallowed the liquor down. Jack's cock woke up in sympathy to the squeezing pressure on his tongue. Jack groaned, low and deep, and his body flushed all over, temperature rocketing up.

Interrupting the kiss, Jack tried to lean back and take another drink, but Ennis made a noise and tugged him back forward, kissing him roughly. Jack couldn't say he minded.

Once they started this, once Ennis started touching him like this, Jack had no real idea how to stop. He couldn't let go. It was like finding air after being underwater. It was so good and you were so desperate for it, sucking it in by greedy lungfuls. Can't ever stop. Can't ever get enough.

Jack worked Ennis's belt buckle loose and ripped Ennis's zipper open, tugging down his jeans. He pushed Ennis back long enough to bend forward. Get on his knees.

"What're you doin?" Ennis said, scooting backwards, trying to back up a little, antsy like a startled horse.

Jack murmured "shh" and smoothed his hands over the soft denim covering Ennis's thighs. "Shh." Jack fisted Ennis's erect cock in one hand, gripping him at the base, and covered the tip with his mouth.

Ennis let out his breath in one long shuddering gasp, folding in on himself. Jack looked up and had a glimpse of blue eyes blown wide and dilated before Ennis squeezed them shut.

Swallowing convulsively, Jack took Ennis's cock deeper, sucking with his mouth and stroking with his hand. Ennis didn't say a word, but took Jack by the shoulders and clasped them so hard that Jack was sure they'd be bruised come morning.

Ennis's breathing grew more ragged and desperate, and Ennis pushed at Jack urgently. Jack held on, and he closed his eyes when Ennis finally hissed "fu-fuck" and spilled into Jack's mouth.

"Fuck," repeated Ennis breathlessly, while Jack turned his head and spat into the shadows beyond the circle of the campfire.

Before Jack even had time to wipe his mouth, Ennis surged up and pushed at Jack's shoulders, sending him sprawling backwards into the dirt. Ennis covered Jack and kissed him sloppily, all over his mouth and jaw and throat, and Ennis palmed Jack's hard dick through his jeans.

"Oh shit." Jack gasped, bucking up, nearly throwing Ennis off of him. "Oh Christ."

Ennis only gripped him harder, gave him rougher kisses, mouth bruising Jack's lips. Jack rocked into Ennis's hand a few more times before coming in his pants, shaking and groaning.

For a long while, Jack couldn't make himself move, lying there and trying to breathe normal. Ennis stayed where he was, hands gripping Jack's forearms, head bowed down and touching Jack's chest.

Jack slid his arm out of Ennis's grip and reached up to touch Ennis's cheek, which seemed to startle him. Ennis shook his head and rolled off of Jack so they were lying on their backs, side by side.

"Where'd the whiskey go?" Jack said after a moment. His shoulders ached now, and he could feel the ghosts of Ennis's fingers digging into him. Hell yeah he was going to be bruised come morning.

"Hell if I know. You had it," said Ennis. He yawned and mumbled something that sounded like "goddamn sheep" before getting up. He stretched, putting his hands over his head and straightening his caliper legs, popping his spine. His feet were bare, half-cleaned boots lying by the fire.

Jack folded his hands behind his head. Felt content in a way that he had never really felt before in his life, Chilean sheep and all.

Ennis tugged the tent flaps open and glanced at Jack. "You goin a fuckin freeze if you stay out here," he said, before crawling inside.

Smiling to himself, Jack kicked some dirt onto the fire and followed Ennis into the tent. Before the flap even closed behind him, Ennis gripped Jack's arm, pulling Jack down to him.

The night continued on, and a crisp wind blew through the mountains. The end of summer was coming.

The End