Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2006 02:22:07 -0600
From: Avy MacGregor <avymac@hotmail.com>
Subject: Jake's Cowboy Part 10

DISCLAIMER: You are about to read a story that is strictly FAN FICTION and
in no way represents true accounts. I do not - nor do I wish to imply that -
I know Jake Gyllenhaal, his private life or his sexual preferences. This is
also true of all other celebrities represented in this story. This is a work
of fiction based in homo-eroticism, so if you are not of legal age, or if
this type of content might offend you, please move onto something else.

For everyone else - ENJOY!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
I won't go into a long spiel here - just the usual thanks to everyone for
reading and providing feedback and just simply corresponding with me. It's
been great.

Everyone's welcome at my group:
http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew . Stop by, check it
out, join up, participate in discussions or just look for sneak peeks and
excerpts from Jake stories.

Email: avymac@hotmail.com - drop me a line, say hello, voice your concerns,
share your suggestions, or just chat with me.

And now . . . PART 10 . . .
--------------------------------------------------------------------

	I was sprawled sideways across the bed, lying on my belly, one arm dangling
over the edge of the mattress, slobber from my partially-opened mouth
soaking down into the comforter. I was so completely dead to the world that
I didn't hear Travis calling my name or even feel his hand shaking me until
he was pulling on the collar of my shirt, practically choking me. I awoke
with a start, disoriented, and rolled over onto my back.
	"What?" I demanded groggily, rubbing my eyes.
	Travis was dressed in jeans and the gray Nike" t-shirt I'd packed for him,
his feet clad only in white socks. "You gotta come next door," he insisted,
taking a hold of my hand and attempting to pull me from the bed.
	"Why?" I groaned discontentedly. I freed my hand from his grip and sat up,
glancing around the room. It was dark except for one lamp and the gas
fireplace burning. "What time is it?" I asked. Swung my legs over the side
of the bed and rubbed my face with my hands. Realized that I must have been
sleeping for an eternity. "You should have woken me earlier," I complained.
	We'd had a few drinks out on the main patio; talked and watched the skiers
in the late afternoon sun; returned to my room and drowsily made-out for
awhile, snuggling together on the bed, each of us becoming more and more
tired, sleepless nights finally catching up with us.
	"I just woke up myself," he said, grabbing both of my wrists, hoisting me
up to my feet. "You gotta see what Maggie and Peter are watching in their
room," he urged. 	I realized that the connecting door between the rooms was
wide open, and that the television from inside the adjoining room was
blaring. "Is it porno?" I muttered.
	"Come on." Travis took me by the hand and led my across the room, pulling
me through the connecting doorway before I could protest.
	Maggie was sitting on the plush burgundy bench at the end of the bed,
facing the T.V. armoire, remote control in hand, legs crossed. As I entered,
she crooned, "Hey, little brother."
	"Hey," I responded, running a hand through my hair.
	Travis propelled me further into the room, causing me to trip over my feet,
and I reached out to brace myself against the edge of the bed. Then I
glanced at the television screen and saw myself - standing at attention, my
head shaved, my voice shouting affirmatives to an angry drill sergeant who
was screaming in my face.
	My heart skipped at the realization of what it was. "They're playing
'Jarhead'?" I said in disbelief.
	Maggie was chuckling. "Yeah, it was on the hotel pay-per-movie menu."
	Travis was standing with his hands on his hips, looking at the television,
grinning from ear-to-ear. I watched his expression for a second, noting the
excitement in his face, the sparkle in his eyes. He was thoroughly enjoying
watching me on the screen.
	Suddenly, the toilet flushed from inside the bathroom, and Peter emerged,
beer bottle in hand. He glanced at the T.V., sighed loudly, and hobbled over
to turn it off, leaving both Maggie and Travis groaning in disappointment.
	"I told you, nobody wants to watch that shit right now," he bellowed. He
looked at me and winked, and I grinned. Similar to me, Peter didn't
particularly enjoy watching his own movies.
	"Travis might want to see it," Maggie whined. "He hasn't seen a Jake movie
yet. Right Travis?"
	Travis nodded. "Right."
	But Peter was indignant. "It's just a bunch of sissy-boys running around
the desert in camouflage. You aren't missing anything, Travis. Besides, Jake
sucks butt in that movie."
	I playfully smacked him on the arm, sending him off-balance. "I may have
sucked butt," I said, "but you were the one sucking dick." I was outwardly
smiling, but inwardly regretting. Somehow, voicing a gay joke no longer held
the same amount of humor for me as it had a few days ago.
	Peter, not sensing my hesitation, continued with the banter by grabbing me
in a chokehold, a few drops of his beer spilling out onto the front of my
shirt.
	We wrestled briefly, and then Maggie hollered, "All right, boys!" before
standing up and tossing the remote to the bed.
	Peter and I struggled for a moment longer, but then pulled apart,
straightening ourselves out.
	"I have an idea," Maggie said. "Let's all get dressed into something proper
and head down to The Montagna for dinner. I'm in the mood for trout
tonight."
	I glanced at Travis, wanting to know his opinion. He looked back at me,
shrugging his shoulders as if to say, "It's up to you."
	A large part of me wanted to stay in, order room service, and keep Travis
all to myself for the remainder of the night. But another part of me thought
that Travis might enjoy a meal in a fancy restaurant - probably not
something he did very often, if ever. "All right," I said. "We'll meet you
guys in five minutes."
	Travis and I retreated to my room, and after closing the connecting door
behind us, I pulled him close and said, "Are you sure it's okay that we have
dinner with Peter and Maggie?"
	He grinned. "Of course it is, babe."
	Again, that word, melting something inside me.
	"I should be taking you out proper," I said. "On a real date. Not with my
sister and future brother-in-law."
	He chuckled. "It will be a date . . . just with chaperones."
	I laughed and pulled him in tight, pressing my face into his neck, inhaling
him. The crisp mountain scent was gone from him, but the aroma of soap and
damp hay still lingered faintly on his skin. Again, I was tempted to keep
him captive in the room, stripping him naked, feeding him bites of steak
from a room service tray. But I pulled myself together and released him,
stepping back. "We should get changed," I stated.
	Travis only had his jeans and button-up shirt to wear, so I loaned him my
black v-neck sweater. He put it on, looking instantly attractive, his
dusty-blonde hair contrasting with the dark hue of the cashmere. I chose to
wear denim as well, slipping into a clean pair of indigo carpenter jeans,
pulling on a navy-blue mock turtleneck in the hopes of covering my hickey,
well aware that the paparazzi was never very far away.
	At the bathroom mirror, Travis and I combed our hair, eyes fixed on one
another instead of on the task at hand.
	Travis smiled and said, "You sure looked sexy with that buzz cut and those
cammies on."
	I grinned back. Said in my most seductive voice, "You haven't seen me in
the santa hat yet."
	He raised an eyebrow at my reflection. "Should I be staying in to watch
this movie?"
	I set my brush down. "You can watch it any time after I'm gone. Tonight I
want you all to myself."
	He smiled. Picked lint from my turtleneck. "I wouldn't want it any other
way."
	We emerged from the room to meet Maggie and Peter in the hallway. Maggie
was beautifully dressed in a simple red scoop-neck dress and black pumps.
Peter had changed into khaki pants and white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled
to his elbows; deciding to leave the crutch behind, he limped along rather
effortlessly beside us as we made our way to the elevators.
	The Montagna Restaurant was upscale, catering to the Aspen crowd, offering
exceptional cuisine and an amazing view of Aspen Mountain. When we entered
into the main foyer, I was disheartened at the sight of the large crowd
already dining inside. And, like us, there were already several groups of
people waiting for an available table, some standing, some sitting on the
plush benches.
	"We should have made reservations," I mumbled. "We might be waiting
awhile."
	The hostess was a young, slim girl with auburn hair swept up into a bun. As
she approached her podium, she smiled and greeted us warmly, her eyes
immediately resting on me, recognition apparent, her lips slightly parting.
	"We don't have a reservation," Maggie informed her right away.
	"That's perfectly fine," the girl said, grabbing menus from the podium.
"I'll show you to your table. Follow me, please."
	We trailed behind her through the maze of tables, and I noticed several
people pausing their meal or stopping their conversation to watch us pass.
Being a celebrity definitely had its perks - being immediately seated at a
crowded restaurant was certainly one of them. But even so, I couldn't help
but feel a little guilty receiving special treatment when others were still
waiting in the foyer.
	Our table was situated directly before the wall of windows overlooking
Aspen Mountain, the last rays of sunlight illuminating its snow-covered
summit. The gondola was busy trekking people up the slope, while dozens of
skiers were swerving down the mountainside, appearing like small moving dots
on the landscape.
	"That's a view," Travis stated, taking a seat facing the windows.
	The hostess presented each one of us a menu while a server poured water
into our glasses. When everyone had gone, we took a moment to glance over
the selection of entrees.
	Travis leaned into me and whispered, "It reads like Greek to me. What do
you recommend?"
	I chuckled. He was so damn cute. "Are you in the mood for meat or seafood
or pasta or what?" I asked him.
	"Just something simple," he replied.
	I read through the menu again. There was nothing simple. "How about this
Beef Ribeye Tagliata?" I suggested, figuring that he was a red meat kind of
guy. "It's skillet seared, though, not grilled. Served with artichokes and
arugula."
	He just looked at me, his bangs falling across his forehead.
	"Or there's halibut," I said.
	"Is that with artichokes and arugula as well?" he asked, now expressing
sarcasm.
	I returned the sarcasm. "Artichokes," I said. "No arugula."
	He chuckled. "Okay. I think I'll just have the black bass." Then he leaned
closer and added, "It comes with eggplant. No artichokes."
	Total smartass.
	"You have something against artichokes?" I asked.
	He grinned. "Not a goddamn thing." His hand found my knee under the table,
and I grabbed onto it, giving his fingers a tight squeeze.
	Our server was a balding, rather effeminate man named Nathan who greeted us
warmly. After he explained the specials to us, he commented on what an honor
it was to have celebrities such as ourselves dining in The Montagna,
specifically congratulating me on my Oscarâ nomination. Then he noticed
Travis, and his expression swiftly changed to one of bewilderment. "Cooper?"
he said, his voice suddenly tinged with an irritating high lilt. "Is that
you?"
	My eyes immediately darted to Travis, my hand still holding his under the
table.
	"Hey, Nate," he said casually, just a hint of a grin on his lips. "How's it
going?"
	"I'm great!" Nathan replied. "Wow, it's been . . . what? About a million
years?"
	"Yeah, something like that."
	"And I see you've made some new friends." Nathan's hand went to his hip. "
I'm very impressed."
	Travis nodded, still slightly grinning, a hint of red in his face despite
the dim lighting.
	Thankfully, Nathan was professional enough to know when to end a personal
conversation. But as he took our orders, he seemed to dote over Travis a
little too long, and irritation crept in. I squeezed Travis's fingers
tightly beneath the security of the tablecloth, and he winced silently.
	"I'll be back shortly with your appetizers and wine," Nathan said before
dashing off, his tight little ass sashaying between the tables.
	After he'd gone, I leaned into Travis and whispered, "Who is that guy?"
	"Just an acquaintance," he replied. "A friend of a friend kind of thing. I
don't really know him very well."
	"Well, he certainly seemed to like you. Should I go tell him to fuck off?"
I was half joking, half not.
	Travis chuckled. Whispered, "What - are you going to fight over me now?"
	I smiled. "If it came to that." I was teasing, but at the same time, I was
being honest. Realized that a small part of me probably would have punched
Nathan if the situation had called for it. That was a whole new feeling for
me - one I'd never experienced in any of my other relationships. Made me
realize just how deep I really was.
	Our appetizers arrived, along with the wine, but thankfully Nathan didn't
linger around this time. We munched on chilled prawns and mixed green salad
while discussing the flight out tomorrow and what Maggie, Peter and I were
going to do once we were back in L.A. and New York. It was a depressing
conversation, but I did my best to muster enthusiasm, not wanting to exude
gloom and doom.
	With the sun now fully set, the lights on Aspen Mountain were glowing
bright, illuminating the skiers as they descended the slopes. I watched the
scene for a moment, sipping on my wine, lost in my own thoughts until
someone said my name and a hand gripped my shoulder.
	Startled, I turned in my chair and glanced up to find Kevin Costner and his
wife, Christine, standing there.
	Still gripping my shoulder, Kevin said, "How's it going?"
	I found my voice. "Good. Great. How are you?"
	We firmly shook hands. "Doing great," he replied, glancing around the
table. He greeted Peter and Maggie as well, shaking each of their hands.
When his eyes fell on Travis, he paused, his mind searching for recognition.
	"Uh, this is Travis," I stammered, gesturing to him. "He's . . . a friend
of ours. Owns a ranch over in Buena Vista."
	Travis smiled his fabulous smile, white teeth flashing, green eyes alight.
He held out his hand and said, "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Costner. I loved
'Open Range'."
	So he'd seen at least one movie . . . a western, no less. Not surprising.
	Kevin shook Travis's hand amiably. "Thanks," he said, still grinning.
"You're a rancher, huh?"
	Travis nodded. "My whole life."
	Kevin pulled Christine closer, introducing her to everyone. "We've got a
ranch just north of here," he explained, more to Travis than to anyone else.
"Horses mainly."
	And suddenly he and Travis were talking ranch talk, leaving Maggie, Peter
and I in a somewhat awkward, out-of-place silence. Then Kevin slapped my
shoulder and said, "You should reconsider reading for 'High Stakes', Jake.
Could be another Oscarâ-nominating role for you."
	I looked up at him in astonishment. "How do you know about that?"
	'High Stakes' was a script I'd been introduced to about a year ago
centering around a despondent young artist who struggles to overcome
addiction and face his neuroses. The story was fairly brutal, involving
heavy drug use and suicide, and although I wasn't one to be intimidated by
that, I'd already decided to pass on it. As far as I knew, it was nowhere
near production.
	Kevin leaned in closer and whispered, "I'm the executive producer."
	I stared at him with wide-eyes. "No shit?" I cringed at my choice of
language.
	He grinned and nodded. Patted my shoulder. "Read the script again, Jake,"
he urged. "Give me a call." And with that he bid us farewell, turning to
make his way out of the restaurant, the palm of his hand gently resting
against Christine's slender back.
	We watched his departure. Noticed much of the dining clientele also
watching his departure. A few patrons glanced over to our table, whispering
to one another, but thankfully no one made a move to venture over.
	Peter leaned forward on his elbows and said, "Sounds like you ought to
reconsider that film, buddy."
	"Isn't Quentin Tarantino directing it?" Maggie queried.
	I shook my head. Shifted in my chair. "Naw, last I heard it was Bernardo
Bertolucci."
	"That Italian guy?" Peter said.
	"Yeah."
	"I liked 'The Dreamers'," Maggie said. "Sexy."
	"Yeah." But I felt uncomfortable discussing it. Twirled my fork around on
my salad plate, sending an olive-oil-drenched sprig of lettuce falling onto
the tablecloth, leaving a mark. I didn't want to talk shop when Travis was
around - didn't want him to feel excluded from the conversation.
	"I can't believe you're friends with Kevin Costner," he suddenly muttered.
I glanced over at him. He appeared star struck, elbows pressed against the
edge of the table.
	"I wouldn't call him a friend," I said matter-of-factly. "Just business."
	"Well, not a bad business to be in, then," he quipped, grinning at me.
	Our entrees arrived, and Nathan took special care in presenting Travis with
his bass, explaining the chef's delicate precision in preparing it. Travis
seemed to take it in stride, but even so, I quickly slammed down the
remainder of wine from my glass.
	"Enjoy your meal!" Nathan crooned before sauntering off to another table,
hips purposely swaying beneath his white apron strings.
	"Could he be any more obvious?" I muttered.
	Travis snickered, cutting into his fish. Said mockingly, loud enough for
the whole table to hear, "Are you jealous, darling?"
	Both Maggie and Peter stifled laughter, and I chuckled, too, but only
half-heartedly. I knew that Travis had a past, but now that I was with him I
couldn't stomach the thought of someone actually flirting with him that way.
	We ate for awhile and shared more wine, and every now and then Travis
rubbed his leg against my calf as if reassuring me; eventually, I relaxed
again. During the main course, Nathan only stopped by once to check on us.
Travis barely even acknowledged him.
	After finishing our entrees, we ordered tiramisu and cappuccino laced with
Bailey's" and sat back to gaze out at the skiers and gondolas traveling the
artificially-lit mountain. After a time, I sat forward and casually slid my
hand onto Travis's thigh. Although he didn't look at me, I noticed a slight
grin crease his face. I sat forward even more, shifting in my chair to lean
in close, my lips practically touching his ear as I whispered, "How 'bout
you and I head to the hot tub after this?"
	He turned to me with raised eyebrow. "Your fancy-shit hotel has a hot tub,
too?" he whispered.
	I paused. Mumbled, "God, even your sarcasm is sexy, Cooper."
	"Yeah?"
	"Yeah. Everything about you."
	"Hmm . . ."
	And suddenly the restaurant was a million miles away. Just he and I,
breathing.
	Maggie broke the spell. " . . . slide into a nice warm bubble bath,
myself."
	I looked over at her. "What?"
	She chuckled. "Nothing, loverboy." She set her napkin on the table and
stood up. "I was just saying that it's time to go."
	I was embarrassed. Thankful for the dim lighting of the restaurant.
	After arranging for the bill to be placed on my room tab, we left the
restaurant and sauntered casually through the lobby, heading over to the
elevators, Peter and Maggie arm-in-arm, Travis and I just barely brushing
elbows.
	"I should check for faxes," I commented, redirecting myself towards the
front desk, Travis following along behind me.
	Two women approached from my left, crooning hello, asking if they could
have their picture taken with me. They were all giggles and bleach-blonde
hair and too much eye shadow, no older than nineteen or twenty. I amicably
obliged, pulling them in against me while Travis graciously offered to take
the photo. I smiled broadly, and each girl stood on tiptoe to kiss me on the
cheek.
	"I loved you in 'Brokeback'," one of them said as I released her.
	"Thanks," I muttered.
	The other girl hugged me tight, her hand just barely brushing against my
ass, and said, "We're staying in room 220, if you and your friend want to
come visit." Then they both walked off, heading into the lounge, their hips
swaying in exaggeration in tight-fitting skirts.
	Travis and I exchanged glances, snickering, and I approached the front desk
to check for Melissa's faxes. If anything, I could read some of them on the
plane ride home tomorrow. The agent disappeared and then returned to hand me
about 300 pages of paper. "Jesus," I mumbled, hoisting the stack into my
arms. "Thank you." When I turned back around, I caught sight of Nathan
slipping Travis a piece of paper before rushing back into the restaurant. I
stood, momentarily stunned, watching Travis shove the paper in the front
pocket of his jeans. He hadn't notice that I'd turned around, and I headed
straight for the elevators, ignoring him, forcing him to catch up with me.
	Peter and Maggie were wrapped in each other's arms, talking quietly,
patiently waiting for us. "Got a novel there?" Peter teased.
	"Ha, ha," I said, pushing the elevator button with a finger, trying not to
spill any of the papers. When the doors to the car finally pulled open, I
stepped inside. Stood silent as we ascended to the third floor. Once
reaching the hallway, I marched straight for our rooms.
	"Everything all right?" Maggie asked from behind.
	"Fine," I said. I tried to fish my keycard from my pocket but ended up
spilling the stack of papers everywhere. "Shit!" I cursed, dropping down to
my knees, attempting to gather them all up, pissed that I would never be
able to put them back in order again. Pissed that I didn't know what the
hell had transpired between Travis and Nathan.
	Travis mumbled something to Peter and Maggie. They responded with a quiet
good night, and a moment later I heard their door open and close. Then
Travis knelt down beside me, helping to gather the papers. "What's wrong?"
he asked.
	"Nothing." I continued to shove the papers back into a pile, managing to
crumple the majority of them. Then I leaned back on my haunches and stood
up, balancing the mess of papers against my chest as I slid the keycard into
the door and pushed it open. I marched straight over to the mahogany desk
and slammed the faxes down, almost causing the stack to fall on the floor
again.
	Travis shut the door and stood in the entryway, thumbs hooked in his belt
loops. "If this is about Nathan . . ."
	Anger sizzled through me; I struggled to control my urge to shout. "I just
want to know what the hell was going on down there."
	"I told you," he said. "He's just a friend of a friend."
	My fingertips were digging into the flesh of my fisted palms. "A friend of
a friend . . ." I echoed.
	"Yes."  Travis stepped forward. Attempted to grab me by the arms, but I
yanked away. "Jake . . ." he said, reaching out for me again.
	I steered clear of him, crossing the room. "What did he give you in the
lobby?"
	Travis didn't hesitate to dig in his pocket and pull out the crumpled wad
of paper. He held it up between two fingers and said sternly, "You mean
this?"
	The mere sight of the paper infuriated me. "Yeah. That."
	He re-crumpled it and tossed it to the floor. "That was his phone number.
And I'd already planned on throwing it away."
	"Why the fuck is he giving you his phone number, Travis?" I demanded, my
voice rising in steadying degrees.
	Travis's expression suddenly contorted. He threw his hands up in the air.
Shouted in a booming voice, "Shit, Jake, I don't know! Maybe he wants me to
suck his dick or something! What the fuck do you want me to say?"
	I recoiled. Headed for the door and pulled it open, racing down the
hallway, my body quaking with rage. At the stairwell, I pushed the door open
and bounded down the first flight of stairs. Then suddenly Travis was on me,
bouncing me into the wall, my chest slamming against the hard cement. I let
out a loud grunt, the wind knocked out of me.
	"Shit," Travis cursed breathlessly, stepping back. "I'm sorry."
	I tried to compose myself, panting, untwisting my turtleneck. Travis just
stood there, running a hand through his hair, staring at me.
	I leaned my hands down on my knees and took several deep breaths,
collecting my thoughts. Then I mumbled, "I don't know if this is gonna work
out, Travis," jealousy and frustration still running through me.
	"Jake . . ." He reached out for my arm. "Come on."
	I straightened up and looked at him. His face was etched with sorrow, lips
drawn. "I can't believe you'd think Nathan . . ." he started to say, but
then his voice trailed off.
	I slowly shook my head and sighed. "I don't know what to think, Travis.
Having that dream last night, and now some man giving you his phone number .
.. ."
	"And women don't give you their phone numbers?" he chided, crossing his
arms. "Don't give me that crap, Jake. If you want to be jealous of Nathan, I
could be just as jealous of the two girls in the lobby giving you their room
number."
	"That's different."
	"Is it?"
	God, I so didn't want to argue with him. And he had a valid point, so I
really had no foot to stand on. But still I felt despondent about the whole
thing. "I just don't know how to make it work, Cooper - you here ranching,
me in L.A. If I can't handle some . . . fag slipping you his phone number,
how am I supposed to handle a million miles of distance between us?"
	He stepped forward. Green eyes sincere. "I meant it when I said I'd come
out to visit you. First chance I get."
	I looked at him. "And then what? I'll fly out to Colorado again? We'll try
to maintain some sort of back-and-forth, long-distance relationship thing?"
	"Sure," he said. "Unless you've got a better idea?"
	I didn't. But I couldn't imagine saying goodbye in the morning knowing that
I'd never see him again.
	I sighed and stepped away, slumping down onto the stairs, feeling drained.
"How are you always so optimistic?" I muttered.
	He took a seat beside me, sliding an arm around my shoulders. "I'm not
usually very optimistic at all," he said. "But I'm already out-of-my-head
crazy about you, Jake, and I don't think we should sit here and waste even
one more minute arguing improbabilities. Life's too fucking short.
Remember?"
	I didn't say anything. Just nodded and looked at him, a surge of something
overwhelming me, yearning and desperation taking over as I pulled him into a
kiss. Then I slid my mouth down, sucking lightly on his jaw, my hand leaning
him back slightly then traveling up the cashmere sweater to touch his chest.
"You're absolutely right, Cooper," I muttered. "We shouldn't waste any more
time . . ." Then I returned my lips to his welcoming mouth and pushed him
back against the stairs, my body straddling above his torso, our tongues
colliding, teeth scraping, a burst of mutual desire and desperate longing
overtaking both of us.

*	*	*	*	*

	We barely made it back to my room - breath ragged, belts unbuckled, shirts
askew, hoping not to run into anyone along the way. As tempting as it was to
stay on the stairwell, the risk of discovery far-outweighed the temptation.
	I couldn't get my keycard into the door quick enough. Ended up dropping it,
Travis and I almost banging heads to retrieve it. Once inside, I slammed
Travis up against the wall, drowning him in a wet kiss while my hands
frantically worked to unbutton his jeans. I'd already started giving him
head on the stairs, so he was rock-hard, his long cock popping out to greet
me as I yanked his pants and boxers down around his ankles.
	"Fuck, Jake," he panted when I took him back in my mouth, running my tongue
up and down his length, slapping the tip against my lips, opening up to
swallow as much of him as I could, rubbing at the bulge in my own jeans.
	His fingers entangled in my hair as his breath deepened. Without warning, I
suddenly released him, stood up, and stepped back, my hand still rubbing my
denim-covered cock, my eyes roaming his body. "Get undressed," I instructed.
	He obliged, kicking off his boots, pulling my sweater over his head,
stepping out of the puddle of pants at his feet. Clad only in his white
socks, he stood there, his erection saluting me. "You're turn," he half-
grinned.
	"Did you bring any condoms?" I asked - knew that I had some in my luggage
but didn't want to take the time to dig them out.
	He pointed to his crumpled jeans on the floor.
	"Good." I retrieved the pants and fished around in the pockets, finding
two. I took one out and then pointed to the ottoman of the over-stuffed
armchair near the gas-lit fireplace. "Over there. On it."
	He looked at me with hesitation in his eyes, his grin fading. It was
obvious he wasn't used to being told what to do. Obvious that he liked to be
the one in control - the top, not the bottom, which is what I had already
suspected about him; had enough basic knowledge to understand that there was
a difference. But since I hadn't experimented enough to know which category
I fell into yet, I intended to explore my options. I just hoped he'd be
receptive to the idea.
	He moved over to the ottoman and knelt, laying face-down on it, his arms
and legs straddling the sides, his cheek resting against the cushion. "Get
some hand lotion or something," he mumbled.
	This vague yet apparent consent sent a new surge of excitement through me,
and I quickly stripped, my clothes flying off in every direction. He laid
prone on the ottoman with eyes shut, his body slightly tense. I knelt beside
him and began sucking on his neck, moving down to his back, my fingers
massaging his muscles.
	He began to relax, and I slid my fingers over the bones of his spine, my
tongue following along, leaving a wet trail on his skin. When my fingers and
mouth traveled down farther, he shivered, goose bumps rising along his
thighs.
	I had never experimented with rimming - had never considered myself an ass
guy, even with girls - but somehow the thought of licking Travis down sent
another huge surge of excitement through me, and I shifted my position to
kneel directly behind him, my fingers continuing to trace his skin, my mouth
moving across the hard mounds of his perfect ass.
	He moaned in anticipation and started stroking his cock, but I pushed his
hand away, grabbing his dick myself, pulling down on it like a cord, my
tongue playfully dipping into the top of his ass crack, then slowly
descending. He started to buck slightly, his hips moving against the
ottoman, his hands pressed into the carpet.
	Boldly, I dipped my tongue deeper, tasting the salty sweat of his hot skin,
his musky scent filling my nostrils. He moaned, trying to press back against
me, but I stopped him, spreading him open, revealing a tight hole surrounded
by downy blonde hair; I'd heard about guys shaving themselves down there and
was glad that Travis wasn't one of them - the natural look was much more
appealing to me.
	Travis moaned impatiently, wiggling his hips, and I licked everywhere but
where he wanted me to, purposely driving him crazy. Driving myself crazy,
because by then my dick was rock-hard and anxious to get inside him. So I
decided to quit teasing and just take the plunge, dipping my tongue into the
puckered flesh, wiggling around, slowly opening him up.
	"Urrrmph," he panted, burying his face into the ottoman cushion.
	I continued to lick and suck, spreading saliva everywhere, my fingers
pulling his cheeks wider so that I could dip the pointed tip of my tongue
inside the opening, his sphincter obliging my entry, the feel of warm muscle
against my tongue, the taste pungent and exhilarating.
	Travis started stroking himself again, and my own cock screamed for
attention. With each lick and plunge, I grew harder and harder, Travis's
muffled groaning adding to the intensity of the moment. I thought perhaps I
wouldn't be able to stand it much longer, and then Travis turned his head
and groaned, "I'm gonna fucking cum right now if you don't hurry," which I
interpreted as his way of telling me to get in him already.
	I grabbed the condom and ripped it open, fumbling with the thing, trying
too quickly to slide it on. Then I remembered about the hand lotion and
cursed, getting to my feet.
	"Forget about it," Travis growled. He spread himself open for me. "You made
me plenty wet down there."
	I dropped to my knees again, and, wanting to mimic what he had done to me
last night, I slid a finger into his hole. But he quickly yanked it out and
said, "There's no need for that now. Just get that cock of yours going."
	His words were extremely affecting. I scooted in behind him, wasting no
time, pushing the head of my engorged cock into his tight opening, already
feeling as though I was tearing into him, his muscles constricting around me
as he let out a loud hiss.
	Slowly, I moved my head in and out for a moment, trying to stay focused on
the task at hand, not wanting to lose control and plunge right in. When I
entered in farther, Travis groaned deeply and braced his hands against the
carpet. Growled, "Fuck . . . just . . . uugghh . . ." his whole body
tensing, toes curling.
	His chute was incredibly tight and warm, slowly expanding for me as I went
in deeper, my cock feeling as though it was being strangled. It felt fucking
amazing, and I grasped his hips as I went deeper, pushing myself to the
hilt, gasping "Fuuuck . . ." while Travis growled deep, his shoulders rising
and falling, his breath heavy. I slowly slid back to plunge in again, trying
to find a rhythm, trying to think in terms of fucking a pussy. But this
wasn't a pussy - and this wasn't a girl - this was Travis, and the sensation
was a thousand times better than anything else, ever.
	The heat permeating from the gas fireplace became stifling, and our bodies
swiftly slickened with sweat, my hand sliding up Travis's hip to run across
the damp flesh of his back, eventually gripping his shoulder, the added
leverage allowing me better thrusting. As he grunted and groaned, I
continued to sink in and out of him, picking up the pace, my cock beginning
to pulsate, my balls stiff with cum, my mind clouding over in a sort of
sensation-overkill.
	Travis was frantically trying to stroke himself, the ottoman posing an
obstacle as I pushed his body forward with each thrust. I leaned down and
slid a hand to his balls, gripping them in the palm of my hand while he
continued to masturbate. But it was an awkward position and detracted from
my rhythm, so I released his nuts and concentrated solely on my thrusting,
crooking one of my legs up to place a foot on the floor for better balance.
	"Do it harder," Travis bellowed through tight jaws. "Fuckin' go deep and
hard, I'm gonna fuckin' cum  . . . "
	His words exploded in my ears, almost sending me straight to orgasm, and I
went nuts, pounding in and out of him. He growled deeper and louder, toes
curling, hands frantically gripping for carpet, his cock momentarily
unattended to, both of our bodies drenched in sweat.
	Then he gasped a muffled, "It's . . . now . . ." and grabbed for his cock
again, stroking himself only briefly before exploding into his fist, cum
hitting the side of the ottoman, falling down onto the carpet below while he
panted and groaned, bucking beneath me.
	The feel of his chute constricting around me was enough to send me over the
edge, and I shot my own load, my hand gripping the hair at the nape of his
neck while my dick was shoved deep inside him, the muscles of his ass
expanding and contracting around my throbbing member, copious amounts of cum
pumping into the condom.
	It took me a minute to come back down from the intense sensation, my ears
strangely buzzing, my dick still throbbing, my breath ragged. I slumped
forward, drained of all energy, and hooked my hands under Travis's armpits,
pressing my lips into his shoulder blade. We lay panting together, bodies
still except for the rise and fall of our heavy breathing, the room silent
around us.
	Then Travis twisted his face around and said through cracked voice, "Come
here." I leaned forward as far as I could to meet his mouth in a kiss, our
tongues sliding together.
	When we finally separated and I pulled out, it felt strange no longer being
engulfed inside of him. I stood up on shaky legs and retreated to the
bathroom, pulling the condom off, while Travis carefully lifted himself from
the ottoman, stretching his limbs, kicking out his feet, trying to
straighten his body back from the fold he'd been in.
	I exited the bathroom, approached him, and took him into my arms. We stood
there for a moment, our faces pressed into one another's necks, our sweating
bodies slick together, and then I mumbled, "That was fucking incredible."
	Travis's head nodded in the crook of my neck while his hands ran the length
of my back, and then he stepped back, an odd expression on his face.
	"What?" I asked.
	"I don't usually do that, you know."
	"What?"
	He gestured to the ottoman. "That."
	"I figured."
	He ran a hand through his hair, a slight smile barely touching his lips as
he said, "It was pretty good, though."
	"Yeah?"
	"Yeah. Makes me think you've done it before."
	I shook my head, grinning. "Only pussies."
	"Well, you certainly have the gift."
	"Thanks," I said. "I guess."
	"It's a compliment, Gyllenhaal," he sneered. "Your rimming was pretty
fucking amazing, too. That facial hair was driving me over the edge."
	 Color rose to my cheeks, his words stiffening my cock again. "You're gonna
give me another hard-on," I complained.
	"What's wrong with that?" he asked.
	"Nothing . . . but I need a rest. Briefly, at least."
	Travis stepped closer. "Didn't you mention something about taking me to the
hot tub?"
	"Now?" I said.
	He shrugged. "Why not? It's still open, isn't it?"
	I considered it. "Yeah, probably."
	Actually, it sounded pretty damn good. I crossed over to my suitcase and
pulled it open, digging through it until I found my blue Hawaiian-print
board shorts. "Let's do it," I said. "I'll see if Peter'll let you borrow
his swim trunks." I headed for the connecting door, ready to knock, when
Travis swiftly stopped me.
	"They might be sleeping," he stated.
	"That's okay," I said. "Peter won't care."
	Travis grabbed my hand. "You're naked, Jake," he pointed out. "I'M naked."
	I glanced down. Realized that I had been about to knock on the door without
any clothes on, my dick still semi-hard. "Shit," I muttered. "I must be
losing my mind."
	Travis grinned. "I'll just wear my boxers. No big deal. It's probably
somewhat dark down there, right?"
	"Yeah, but . . ."
	"Plus, celebrities can do whatever the hell they want, right? So if I'm
with you, that applies to me, too."
	I just looked at him. "I think you're the one who's crazy, Cooper."
	His grin widened into a smile. "Come on, let's get going. I don't want to
waste any more time debating. We've still got a full night ahead of us."
	I placed my hands on my hips. "You're gonna wear me out before I even make
it to the airport tomorrow."
	He gripped my shoulder. "That's the whole point, babe. Now let's get going.
The hot tub's a-waiting."

-------------------------------------------------------------------
As always, thanks for reading - feedback welcomed: avymac@hotmail.com
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Brokeback Mountain copyright 1997 by Dead Line, Ltd. / 2005 Focus Features
LLC
Jarhead copyright 2003 Anthony Swofford / 2005 Universal Studios Licensing
LLLP
--------------------------------------------------------------------