Date: Sat, 24 Nov 2007 00:36:24 -0700
From: Avy MacGregor <avymac@hotmail.com>
Subject: Jake's Cowboy Part 20

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!

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Yes, it's true, after only...7 months?...I am presenting a new chapter!
Gratitude goes out to readers and friends alike who continued to email and
encourage me, even though I wasn't certain I'd write anything more. It's
been an interesting road, but - as I've always said - Jake and Travis have
never been far from my mind.

If you haven't yet done so, I encourage you to visit The Gyllenhaal
Chronicles. There are some really great stories on there, by some really
great authors. http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew.

As always, you can email me at avymac@hotmail.com, or chat with me under
the same MSN name. Comments are always welcomed and appreciated.

And now, PART 20, with Jake as narrator once more . . .

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	Clouds had gathered, brewing in a dark, gloomy mass above the high
mountains, blanketing the peaks in a tumultuous grey. What had once been a
warm, sunny afternoon was now cool and ominous - a rush of wind kicking up
dirt and sand, sending the unwanted mixture swirling through the arena in
angry tufts.
	From beneath the protective brim of my baseball cap, I squinted out
at the madness before me - a wild, bucking bronco jerking and plunging,
protesting the saddleless rider who held fast atop his back, the man's head
dangerously close to smacking the horse's rump with each and every buck. It
was but a few seconds and the cowboy was thrown, plummeting to the ground
in a whirlwind of arms and legs and Stetson hat, the wild horse not giving
him a second glance as he tore down the length of the arena - seeming to
revel in his freedom as he shook his head to and fro, the crowd clapping
and cheering as the pick-up riders raced to catch him.
	"Man, that's so fucking nuts," I mumbled, speaking more to myself
than to anyone. I watched as the cowboy crawled back to his feet and
stooped to retrieve his hat before limping away, his head bowed, his fancy
red and black leather chaps slapping against his legs with each step, dirt
kicking up around his heals.
	"Yeah . . ." Travis said in response. "It's a gamble each time you
get on."
	I shoved another handful of kettle corn into my mouth and watched
as the next bareback rider broke through the gate, the crowd going wild,
AC/DC's "Back in Black" blaring over the P.A. system. This cowboy was
immediately thrown, not even three seconds clicking on the timer, the horse
nearly trampling the boy before he could roll out of harm's way.
	These cowboys are more crazy than half of the lunatics in
Hollywood, I thought to myself.
	It seemed a lifetime that we'd been at the county rodeo, arriving
early to transport Katy and her prized quarter horse to the fairgrounds for
the crowning of rodeo queen. Although not chosen for the coveted queen
title, she'd received a runner-up position, which made her lady-in-waiting
or maid-of-honor or some such secondary title, of which I had absolutely no
clue and could have cared less about.
	Although there could be no denying that she looked absolutely
stunning in her pink satin rhinestone western shirt and sleek cowboy hat,
it was difficult to imagine how she'd fooled the judges into believing that
she was a real cowgirl.
	For Katy Cooper was anything but a cowgirl, real or otherwise.
	She'd circled through the arena on her horse earlier in the day,
waving a large Colorado flag to inaugurate the upcoming events, appearing
both elegant and bashful, flashing her bright, beautiful smile and wooing
the crowd as she'd passed. All I could think of while watching her was how
unfortunate it was that she relied so much on her outward appearance and
cared nothing at all for kindness or human compassion - aspects which I
doubted she even possessed. Ever since my arrival at the ranch, she'd
continued to be obstinate, flirtatious, conniving and mean. Despite her
sweet smile and pretty face, she was constantly undermining my relationship
with Travis, trying to find an avenue with which to separate us. It was
never-ending, immature sibling rivalry - one which I guess would forever
mystify me.
	To the right of me, Travis sat finishing off the last bit of foamy
beer from a plastic cup. Despite the heat of the day, he was dressed
handsomely in an indigo and white striped denim shirt and blue jeans, his
weathered boots buffed to a near shine, his goatee neatly trimmed, his
blonde hair just barely peeking out in wisps from beneath the Resistol
perched on his head.
	Sometimes, stealing glances at him was a powerful experience. More
often than not, I found myself trying to focus on other thoughts while
simultaneously feeling my dick grow within the confines of my pants -
helplessly getting aroused from the mere act of watching Travis slide a
forkful of food into his mouth; light a cigarette; rinse shampoo from his
hair. Simple, everyday acts which further added to my already-insatiable
desire for him.
	But the attraction went far beyond his rugged good looks - far
beyond the animal magnetism he unwittingly possessed. It was his
intelligence, his compassion, the sincerity he exuded. The way he kissed
his mother every morning. The way he held me in his arms every night. The
way the world seemed to be content in his presence, as though nothing were
amiss, as though a slice of utopia really could exist despite my own
nagging doubts.
	I was suddenly reminded of this morning - how he'd plopped his
father's straw Stetson on my head and declared, "Wear this," as though the
fact that it had been his father's was the least of importance to him. I'd
declined, claiming that it was too big for me, preferring to wear my
baseball cap instead - feeling uncomfortable adorned in cowboy gear at all
- especially something of his father's. Although I'd been helping out on
the ranch and living the life of a ranch hand for several weeks, it just
didn't feel right showing up at the local rodeo dressed to the nines as a
cowboy - like I hadn't yet earned the right - which, in the entire scheme
of things, I really hadn't.
	But I knew that Travis would never have viewed it that way. Knew
that, as far as he was concerned, I was his equal, no need to even think
twice about it. It was yet another reason I was so drawn to him - like a
moth to a flame or a sea to a shore or some such metaphor I had heard
countless times but never understood the true meaning of until now. It made
me realize how utterly lost and desolate I had been for so long - years
wasted searching for something unattainable, not even knowing what it was I
missing or needing until he'd entered into my life.
	And then, like a patch of light in a dark room - hope once more.
	The slap of Travis' hands against his thighs jolted me from of my
reverie, and my eyes followed him upwards as he stood and stretched, his
shirt pulling tight across his chest. "Think it's time for the boys' room,"
he stated.
	"I'll come," I said, standing up as well, suddenly feeling the need
to go.
	Mrs. Cooper, sharing a funnel cake with Arturo, squinted up at us
and requested that we check on Katy. In response, Travis dropped his arms
and frowned down at her. "Ma," he mumbled in protest, "Katy can take care
of herself . . ."
	"Just do it, Travis," she insisted.
	And, like the obedient son that he was, quietly he acquiesced.
	We awkwardly made our way down the line of crowded bleachers,
unable to avoid tripping over feet along the way, forced to mumble
apologies. Before even reaching the bottom of the stairs, people were
greeting Travis, shaking his hand, asking him about his mother, the ranch,
the drought, some new type of vaccine or other - just as they had been
doing all day long. And it was apparent that my presence, for the first
time in a very long time, was irrelevant - a strange, yet not altogether
displeasing, sensation.
	So many people knew Travis, so many people sought him out for
ranching advice, so many people simply liked and respected him. I couldn't
seem to prevent the one constant question which continued to swirl through
my head, nagging at me: Did everyone know that he was gay? It didn't seem
possible, and yet no one ever mentioned it. What miraculous luck did he
possess to be accepted as a gay man in this rural, almost backwoods,
community?
	As we jumped down from the bleachers and made our way towards the
portable toilets on the other side of the fairgrounds, I decided to quietly
ask him.
	He grinned at me, those green eyes sparkling from beneath the brim
of his hat. "Oh, the majority of them don't know," he assured me,
chuckling. He continued on, dodging effortlessly through the crowd.
	I caught up with him, containing the urge to grab his elbow. "How
could they not know?" I asked, still keeping my voice low. "I mean, no one
questions why you're not dating . . .? Not marrying . . .? Not having
babies . . .?"
	The inquiries seemed absurd rolling from my tongue, yet I felt an
almost indescribable desperation to know.
	Travis chuckled at me once more, this time shaking his head
slightly. "Oh, I'm sure they do more often than I hear." We stopped to join
the long line at the portable toilets, and he continued quietly, "It
doesn't change anything. I'm still a Cooper boy, my heritage is long in
this community. No one would dare start any rumors about me lest they be
chastised themselves."
	Sometimes, his choice of words humored me. Through a smile, I
contemplated my retort, trying to think of something grand and
Shakespearian-sounding that might equal his use of the word "chastised,"
but my thoughts were interrupted by Doug suddenly appearing from out of
nowhere, leaping up onto Travis' back and practically toppling him
over. Together, they stumbled, Travis attempting to grab Doug's legs from
behind, the air filled with a mixture of cursing and laughter.
	Doug was clad in faded blue jeans and a worn flak jacket, a set of
cowhide gloves stuffed into his back pocket, a black hat perched on his
head. "Hey, I'm ridin' soon," he said breathlessly, smacking Travis on the
arm with a grin.
	Like a light, Travis' jovial mood suddenly switched off. With eyes
narrowed, he muttered, "Well, good for fucking you . . ."
	Then silence fell, thicker than the rain clouds gathering above our
heads.
	I knew that Doug had signed-up for the bull riding competition. I
also knew that it annoyed the hell out of Travis. What I didn't know was
why - only that, for whatever reason, Travis thought Doug shouldn't be
getting on the back of a bull.
	From beneath the brim of my baseball cap, I caught sight of Doug's
expression; eyes drawn to the ground, he was biting the inside of his cheek
in quiet agitation.
	I had yet to figure Doug out. Although he was friendly enough, for
the most part he kept his distance when I was around - whether out of
respect for Travis' relationship with me, or from annoyance that I was in
the picture, I had no clue. I knew that he and Travis had once been lovers,
knew that he'd traveled the rodeo circuit for awhile. But outside of this
very limited information and my own personal observations, he remained a
mystery to me.
	"Well," he stated, breaking the silence, slapping both of us on the
back. "Wish me luck, gentlemen."
	"Good luck," I said sincerely.
	"Yeah, don't get yourself killed . . ." was Travis' grumbled
response before he ducked into an empty port-o-potty, slamming the door
shut.
	Again, I caught sight of Doug biting the inside of his cheek, as
though it was a struggle to contain his irritation. As I searched for some
sort of conciliatory comment, something to smooth over the moment, his
demeanor suddenly, inexplicably, dissolved; he shrugged his shoulders as
though he hadn't a care in the world and said to me, "He used to love it
when I rode the bulls, you know? Thought I was the shit. Now . . . he just
loves you."
	His grin was nothing short of devilish as he stood there, waiting
for my response; I managed only a half-smile, not even remotely sure where
the hell he was coming from. Then suddenly he turned and trotted off,
pulling the gloves from his back pocket to slap them against the palm of
his hand.
	As I stood there with the dust billowing up around me, waiting for
an available portable toilet stall to open, breathing in the rank scent of
old hot dogs, cotton candy and livestock manure, I considered Doug's
comment and realized that it hadn't been made in any sort of malice or
hatred. He hadn't intended to be accusatory or mean with his words - simply
honest.
	And this placed him in a whole knew perspective for me - although I
still wasn't certain what that perspective was.
	When the next available stall opened, I stepped inside, steeling
myself against the heavy stench of piss and body odor that permeated the
small cubicle. I completed my task as swiftly as possible to avoid having
to inhale too much, then, simultaneously zipping up my fly while pushing
the door back open, I stepped out into droplets of rain, gasping for fresh
air.
	Oddly, Travis was nowhere to be found. I took a few steps back and
waited, thinking that perhaps he'd had more to do than just piss - which,
if was the case, made me feel genuinely sorry for him.
	In the meanwhile, a couple of teenage girls approached, requesting
photographs, telling me how great I was and inquiring what I was doing at
the rodeo - rehearsing for another cowboy movie? A sequel to `Brokeback'?
	"There is no sequel to `Brokeback'," I stated
matter-of-factly. "Jack's dead."
	They both giggled, finding my comment humorous, as though I'd been
joking.
	I signed one of the girls' hats with a ballpoint pen and then
excused myself, glancing around the grounds for any sign of Travis. Yet
still, he was nowhere to be found.
	"Odd . . ." I mumbled to myself, then began the search for him.
	Rain continued to lightly fall. Snatches of sunshine struggled to
poke through the clouds overhead. Off in the distance, carnival rides were
swirling, colorful lights blinking against a backdrop of ominous dark skies
as the cacophony of children screeching in both fear and delight filled the
air.
	I noticed Katy's quarter horse tied to a fence nearby, his reins
dangling loosely as if tossed there in haste. I stepped over, speaking
softly to him, and tightened the leather straps to the post while glancing
around, hoping for sight of a familiar face but finding none.
	I ended up wandering down a dirt path that stretched behind the
bleachers and past the chutes of livestock, gargantuan bulls lazily eyeing
me as I walked by. I glanced at my watch, absently wondering if we would
miss Doug's ride, then overheard voices raised in argument. Rounding the
corner of an old, dilapidated horse stable, I found Travis; he was standing
with his hands wrapped around the neck of a man who appeared to be in his
mid-twenties, dressed in Carrhart pants and a khaki shirt, his face turning
multiple shades of red that matched the copper-colored hair peeking out
from beneath his hat. A trickle of blood oozed from his lips.
	Katy stood nearby with tightly clenched fists, obscenities spewing
from her mouth like raging hot lava as she screamed for Travis to release
the man.
	"Hey, whoa . . ." I called out, stepping forward, uncertain as to
how to proceed, feeling as though I'd just stepped into a bad dream.
	Travis slowly turned his face to look at me; anger emanated from
him like a living, breathing animal. I immediately felt a lump in my
throat. "What's going on?" I managed to speak.
	"Travis is being a total fucking SHITHEAD, that's what!" Katy
screamed in response. "Tell him to let him go, Jake!"
	Travis returned his gaze to the man he was holding and gave him a
quick yet effective shake, smacking his head against the clapboard siding
of the old building.
	"Travis," I said, taking another step forward, wondering how I was
going to intervene - not even certain that I should - not even believing
what I was witnessing.
	It seemed an eternity before Travis finally mumbled something to
the man and released him. In a whirlwind, the man's fist came up and
cracked Travis' jaw, sending him sideways. I immediately rushed forward to
tackle him to the ground, but Travis beat me to it. Together, they wrestled
in the dirt for a time, each man grunting, hats flying, the rain continuing
to spit down on us. Travis was fairly quick to gain the upper hand and was
soon punching the hell out of the man before mustering enough
self-restraint to call it quits. He rolled from the man's chest and got to
his feet, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, struggling for breath.
	Katy immediately rushed forward, slapping him on the arms and
chest, kicking him in the shins with her pretty pink boots, screaming, "How
dare you fucking do that! He's not yours anymore, asshole!"
	In one swift motion, I detached her from him, swinging her aside,
holding her around the waist as she continued to lash out, tears of mascara
streaming down her face, her hair matted to her moist cheeks.
	The man on the ground groaned and hoisted himself up to lean
against the side of the building, his legs twisted awkwardly beneath him,
his face red and swollen. He, too, was struggling to regain his breath, yet
somehow he managed to speak. "Shit, Cooper," he muttered. "I'd heard rumors
you were with Jake, but I figured that was just some bad joke."
	"Shut up," Travis commanded. He stooped to retrieve his hat with a
shaky hand.
	I noticed the man's malevolent smirk as he looked up at Travis,
noticed the unmistakable cruelty in his eyes. And suddenly, it dawned on me
that this was no ordinary asshole sprawled on the ground - this was Eric.
	I released Katy, forewarning her with a sharp tongue and a stiff
finger to keep her distance. Then I approached Travis, gesturing to the
man, and said, "Is this him?"
	Travis didn't respond. Merely turned on his heels and walked a few
paces away, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. In the meanwhile,
Katy rushed to Eric's side, squatting beside him to inquire if he was all
right, actually wiping the blood from his face with her fingers.
	He didn't acknowledge the young girl nursing him. Instead, he
looked up at me and stated, "He's a handful, that Cooper. You gotta keep
him on a tight leash."
	I felt blood rise to my face. "Shut the fuck up."
	Eric was amused by my reaction. He cocked his head to one side and
said, "Defending your man . . . how very noble of you, Gyllenhaal."
	I almost swung a foot at his head. Might have done so had he
continued even one more word. But he didn't, and awkwardly Katy helped him
to his feet, retrieving his dust-covered Stetson from the ground to place
it back atop his head. Together, they began to walk away, Katy's arm
clutching Eric's waist, his own arm draped across her slender shoulders.
	"Katy!" I called out after her, protesting her departure with
him. But Travis solemnly muttered, "Just fucking let her go."
	I turned to face him. Saw tears in his eyes. "Travis . . ." I
began, slowly approaching him, unsure of what to say or do.
	He immediately held up a hand to silence me, as if knowing what I
was about to say. "Not now," he insisted. And, with that, he began to walk
away, striding right past me without a second glance.
	But I wasn't giving up that easily - not now, not ever. I stepped
forward and grabbed his wrist, half-spinning him around. "What just
happened, Travis?"
	A muscle twitched in his jaw as he looked at me. "Let's just get
the fuck out of here," he said, wrenching his hand free from mine to head
off, disappearing into the crowd. Not a moment later, the heavens opened up
and a torrential rain poured down upon the fairgrounds, like a
perfectly-timed Hollywood special effect.
	In irritation, I pulled the brim of my baseball cap lower across my
face and briskly jogged off, determined not to let Travis get away, wishing
then that I'd taken the damned Stetson he'd offered me after all.


* * * * *


	The open cell phone glowed in the palm of my hand, illuminating the
text message which I'd read and re-read half a dozen times since first
receiving it: "Will be arriving in Vail tomorrow. Come to dinner."
	The longer I stared at the simple yet imposing message, the more
the letters began to blur and blend together, slowly dissolving into
nothingness, like a blank screen. I blinked hard a couple of times, trying
to clear the haze from my mind while also trying to erase my brief yet
highly-dysfunctional phone conversation with Maggie earlier - how I'd
demanded that she prevent Mom and Dad from coming to Colorado, because
their arrival could only mean one thing: confrontation. It was the last
thing I fucking needed.
	I'd yelled at Maggie. Shouted at her as though everything was her
fault and she was obligated to fix it. It had been pure misplaced
aggression, and she'd promptly disconnected my call, not even bothering to
comment on my insolence. Although it had been what I'd deserved, as of yet
I still hadn't called her back to apologize; for the moment, Travis, and
only Travis, was my priority. Not even the text message from my mother
could displace that.
	From out of the darkness of the trees, I watched him emerge now, a
plume of cigarette smoke wafting above his head. Moonlight illuminated the
sorrow etched onto his face - the lines so deep I could have traced them
with my fingers.
	A knot twisted around my heart again, wrenching it tightly. I
snapped my phone shut and returned it to my pocket, feeling that there was
no purpose or necessity in sharing the information of my parents' imminent
arrival while Travis was still so miserable.
	He stumbled across the rocky ground with head low and shoulders
hunched, fingers fumbling to clasp his belt buckle closed, his feet
tripping over loose rocks. I called out to him amiably, "Don't fall,
cowboy!" as if it might lighten the mood - but it didn't. It warranted no
response from him at all. He'd barely spoken three words since we'd left
the rodeo, dropped off Katy's horse and driven deep into the recesses of
the mountain forest. I'd been patient . . . very patient . . . because I'd
sensed that it was what he'd needed, but even so, the anticipation of
conversation was killing me.
	Empty beer cans tumbled to the ground as he landed beside me on the
open tailgate of the Ford, his hand immediately grabbing for the bottle of
whiskey that we'd both been sharing after the beer had run out. Plucking
the cigarette from his lips, he took a long pull from the bottle, his body
shivering slightly from the affects of the hard liquor.
	He flicked the ashes of his cigarette away, and I noticed a lone,
unexpected teardrop traveling down the curve of his bruised
cheekbone. Without a thought, I reached out and wiped it away. My touch
startled him, and he flinched, turning to look at me with wide, unseeing
eyes.
	"Hey, it's just me, babe," I assured him, dropping my hand to his
thigh, fingers scratching the coarse denim of his jeans.
	He blinked, frowned, then ran a hand down his face as if trying to
rub the cobwebs away.  I continued to lightly squeeze his thigh. "Maybe we
should head back to the ranch soon," I spoke. My voice seemed loud,
obtrusive in the night air.
	Travis shook his head, taking one last drag of his cigarette before
flicking it away, the burning ember landing among the stones; it was the
first time I had ever seen him litter. "I can't go home," he mumbled, a low
belch escaping his lips. "Not now. Not yet."
	I sat back a notch and eyed him quizzically. "You aren't planning
on staying out here all night." It was a statement - not a question.
	He shrugged. "Maybe."
	I removed the whiskey bottle from his hand and screwed the top back
on, placing it behind me on the truck bed; it was time to put the alcohol,
and any other hindrances, away, and concentrate on the moment at hand. I
moved to stand before him, nudging his knees with my legs, trying to gain
his attention. "Travis," I said quietly. "Please talk to me."
	When he finally looked up, his tired eyes were brimming with tears
again.
	"Come here . . ." I whispered, moving forward to enfold him in my
arms, his face pressed tightly against my chest. "It's all right."
	I repeated this simple three-word phrase . . . twice . . . three
times . . . "It's all right . . ." kissing the top of his head, breathing
in the scent of his hair, slowly moving my hands up and down his back,
feeling like Jack trying to reassure Ennis that everything would be all
right - that the world would be all right. Trying to convince myself that
it would be all right as well.
	Travis' body shook slightly as he hugged me close. He made no
sound, and we stood this way for quite some time, the stillness of the damp
night surrounding us, everything calm and quiet. Then I slowly released him
and took a step back, keeping my hands on his shoulders. As he looked up at
me, I could see turmoil simmering just beneath the surface.
	"I just can't believe he appeared like that . . ." he whispered in
a choke. "I wasn't expecting . . ."
	"I know," I muttered.
	" . . . and then to hear him say that I never knew my place," he
continued. ". . . and that at least Katy would just lie back and take it
. . ."
	Shock ran through me like an electric current, and I stared at him
in disbelief. "What?"
	"Apparently I wasn't the only one Eric was fucking . . ." he
mumbled.
	I felt winded. Punched in the gut. "What?" It was the only word I
could seem to utter, the only word remotely capable of expressing my shock.
	He reached out and pulled me back to him, burying his face in my
chest once more. "She was only fifteen fucking years old," he muttered, his
hands clutching at the back of my shirt. "I had no idea . . . I would never
have . . . and Boston . . ."
	"Shit, Travis," I said, hugging him close. "You don't think . . .?"
The image of Katy enduring a similar experience as Boston sent shivers
straight through me. No matter how malicious, no matter how unbearable she
could be, she'd never deserve that kind of cruelty.
	"I can't imagine she'd still be so crazy about him if he had,"
Travis whispered disparagingly. "God . . . I don't even know what to
think."
 	"Shit," I mumbled, shaking my head in exasperation. "I would have
helped you kick his ass if I'd known what the fuck was going on, Travis."
	He untangled himself from my arms and looked up at me, eyes wet,
face stricken. "What difference would that have made - except to prove that
we could both beat a man senseless? Besides," he shook his head, wiping his
face with his shirtsleeve, "I think I kicked his ass pretty good on my
own. Nothing more to be done."
	I nodded, running my knuckles over his bruised cheek. He seemed so
vulnerable to me just then, and yet so strong all at the same time. I felt
an overwhelming urge to hold him tight against me and never let him go. To
give him everything that he needed and desired and longed for without him
ever having to utter a word.
	He reached up and held my hand close to his face, nuzzling his
cheek into my open palm, brushing his lips against my skin, reading my
thoughts. "I'm glad that you're here," he whispered.
	I snaked my fingers through his hair. "Me, too," I whispered in
return. "Me, too . . ."
	He turned his face up to mine, mouth slightly puckered, and as I
bent down to touch my lips to his, I could taste the saltiness of his
tears. Eventually, he pulled me down, his legs wrapping themselves around
my hips, his hands rubbing along my back, his tongue slithering deep into
my mouth. With my feet still rooted to the ground, I leaned down to
reciprocate his kiss. Hardly a speck of time passed before we were both
sporting erections, our denim-covered crotches grinding against each other.
	Travis snaked a hand down to squeeze my hardening bulge, and I
moaned deep within his mouth. Despite the abysmal events of the day,
despite our somber conversation, the constant longing we had for one
another remained intact; our physical connection was something that simply
never faltered, no matter what the circumstance.
	"Go get the blanket," he whispered, fingers deftly unzipping my fly
to slither inside.
	I resumed kissing him, reluctant to leave, but eventually I managed
to pull myself away to retrieve the large woolen blanket from within the
cab. Before returning, I stopped for a moment to gaze at the moon; it was
near full, bright as bright could be, with only a few tufts of light clouds
passing by it. It was funny how I'd never taken much notice of the moon
before meeting Travis.
	"Where are you?" he called out.
	I tossed the blanket over my shoulder and walked back to find him
laying there with shirt open, jeans and boxers pulled down around his
calves, and his fist wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking.
	"Jesus . . ." I mumbled. I dropped the blanket beside him and
immediately leaned down to run my tongue right over his piss-slit, no
preamble necessary, a dollop of his sweet precum hitting my tongue. He
shivered and moaned and arched up, spreading his legs open a little, and I
pushed his hand away to replace it with my own, my fingers gripping his
base as I encompassed his dick in my mouth. His fingers curled in my
hair. Every vein of his cock seemed to pulsate against my tongue as I
worked on him.
	"Jake . . ." he whispered after awhile, tugging on my hair.
	"Mmmm . . ." I swallowed more of him, gagging as his cockhead hit
the back of my throat. It frustrated me that I still couldn't deep-throat
him; no matter how often I practiced, no matter how hard I concentrated, my
gag reflex was just too powerful.
	"Jake . . ." he repeated, tugging on my hair a little harder, his
legs moving as though trying to wrap themselves around me, ". . . Get up
here . . . and fuck me. . ."
	I stopped mid-slurp and released his cock from my mouth, looking up
at him in surprise. He was looking right back at me, eyes narrow, mouth
slightly open. There was an echo of silence, and then he began to shrug out
of his jeans, trying to kick off his boots.  "I need you to," he
grumbled. "Want you to."
	It took a moment for me to process his request. Over the course of
our relationship, we had fallen into a natural pattern of top and bottom;
it was something that had never even warranted a conversation between us -
simply was what it was. He fucked me, always, except for that one night in
Aspen. But seeing him tugging at his clothing in longing and desperation
pushed all thoughts of natural pattern from my mind. Grabbing a boot, I
assisted in yanking it off, letting it fall to the ground before grabbing
for the other. I then pulled his jeans and boxers off and stood looking at
his naked body in the moonlight.
	I couldn't imagine a time that my desire for him would cease to
exist.
	Without comment, he hooked his feet up on the edge of the tailgate,
opening himself up to me while his hand returned to stroking his cock. I
licked the saliva from my lips and placed my hands on the backs of his
thighs, pushing his legs back, exposing his ass to me even more. I leaned
down to run my tongue down his perineum, pausing at his inner thigh,
inhaling his rich, musky scent, feeling my dick swell even more. There was
something magical about eating a man's asshole that was comparable to
nothing.
	Travis' breath quickened with unspoken anticipation. He lifted his
buttocks slightly and I dove in, licking his puckered hole with pure
enthusiasm, my hands spreading him open more so that I could plunge in
deeper. He tasted so good, I thought that I could feast on him for
eternity. But my cock was longing to be inside of him, and I knew that he
was longing to have me there, and so with my mouth still clamped on his
hole, I pushed both my jeans and boxer briefs down until they fell around
my ankles. The cool night air hit my cock and sent a shiver through me.
	Spitting into my palm a few times, I rubbed the saliva along the
length of my cock, coating it thoroughly before lining myself up. Travis
scooted closer to the edge of the open tailgate and stuffed the blanket
under his hips, trying to get comfortable. "Come here," he commanded,
beckoning me down for a kiss. Our tongues slid together as my cock slowly
pushed against his sphincter. I felt him tense, his mouth humming against
mine. Standing higher on my toes to drive in deeper, I moved my mouth down
to the crook of his neck, lightly kissing and sucking on the spot that I
knew drove him crazy. He shuddered beneath me and wrapped his legs tighter
around my waist, whispering for me to get in as deep as I could.
	My balls reached his ass, and we both moaned simultaneously.
	"Jake . . ." he gasped, fingers curling in my shirt.
	I slid out and plunged back in. Once. Twice. Half a dozen
times. Slow and deep.
	"Jake . . ." he repeated.
	I moved my face up to gaze into his eyes. There was an unfamiliar
expression there - one that I couldn't place.
	"I want you to fuck me hard," he stated with surprising
clarity. "Hard and fast until I can't move anymore."
	I wasn't certain what to think, but I didn't hesitate in
responding. Leaning back a fraction, I grabbed the crook of his knee and
held fast as I began to thrust in and out of him with a force and speed so
great that the sound of my balls slapping his skin filled the night air, my
heavy grunts buzzing in harmony with his long, drawn-out groans. His chute
was so warm and tight around my cock that it felt as though his entire body
was enveloping me, squeezing me tight.
	He slid a hand up the hem of my shirt, fingers reaching for skin
despite the jostling motion of my fucking. In one swift motion, I hooked my
shirt up over my head, exposing my chest to the night air. He immediately
pressed the palm of his warm hand against my abdomen, fingers sliding
upwards to pinch my nipple. Ecstasy rocketed through me, and I tossed my
head back, groaning. Moonlight pierced my eyes. Heat circulated through my
body despite the chill.
	During this time, Travis' cock had gone untouched, unattended to,
and I suddenly noticed that he was only at half-erection, his dick quite
lifeless bouncing there. Feeling foolish for having ignored him this way, I
encircled my hand around his shaft and attempted to jerk him off. But in so
doing, the rhythm of my penetration slowed down, and Travis brushed my hand
away and growled in irritation, "Just fucking pound me, Gyllenhaal. `Til I
fucking see stars."
	His objective became clear to me, then. He wanted me to fuck the
misery out of him.
	I leaned down and brought my lips to his, stalling my rhythm to
kiss him deeply, my tongue wrapping around his. He was non-responsive at
first, his hands down at his sides, his entire body collapsed beneath me as
though he was disappointed. I moved my mouth down to gently kiss his
earlobe and whispered, "This is me, Travis. This is you and me. Nothing
else. No one else. Just us."
	After a time, he ran his hands up the length of my arms and
shoulders. "I know . . ." he muttered, clasping me tight.
	Awkwardly, I kicked off my shoes and shrugged out of my pants and
hoisted myself up onto the tailgate. We repositioned ourselves, and with
his ankles on my shoulders and his knees practically touching his ears, I
plunged down deep inside him once more. He moaned long and low, his hands
immediately gripping the backs of my thighs. I clamped my mouth to his, and
together we began to move, our bodies entwined in a sort of surreal
hypnotic movement, each of us covered in a sheen of sweat, breath ragged,
grunts and groans spilling out. It seemed with each and every thrust I
somehow managed to get deeper and deeper inside of him, and Travis
responded with mouth gasping and fingers digging, his body shuddering
beneath mine, my own body shuddering above his.
	And then I felt it - the searing wet heat of his cum shooting
between us, hitting both his chest and mine. It was a surprise even to him,
and he clutched at me, bucking almost uncontrollably, his chute clamping in
spasms around my cock. I saw stars myself then - every fiber of my being on
fire. I slowed my rhythm down. Rubbed my fingers through his cum and
brought it to my lips. Together, we shared his load, hungrily licking it
from my fingers and kissing one another.
	I picked up the rhythm of my thrusting once more and beckoned
Travis to look into my eyes as I prepared for release. He was breathing
hard, recovering from his orgasm still, his body heaving beneath
mine. Without a word, he let me know that it was okay, that I should fill
him up, and so I did - my balls riding up as I slid in one last time,
holding steady, my cock shooting rope after rope after rope of cum deep
inside him - more than I imagined possible.
	"Fuck, baby," he groaned, clutching me tight.
	We remained locked together, lungs heaving, the cool night air
chilling our sweat-covered bodies until eventually my cock softened inside
him, cum dripping out onto the blanket. Disentangling ourselves from the
pretzel-like position we'd been in was a challenge. I slid out from within
him and rolled aside to give him room to stretch, but he turned and pulled
me against him instead, wrapping his arms around me and kissing me softly.
	I hugged him close. Felt his remaining cum drying like glue between
our chests. "Love you, Cooper," I mumbled. My eyes began to droop. I felt
myself drifting away, my thoughts no longer quite cohesive, drowsiness
encompassing me like fog. The day had been long. "You and me, Cooper . . ."
I heard myself whisper, my voice seeming foreign, unattached to
me. "Everything all right . . . No one . . . Eric . . . parents . . ."
	Travis kissed my forehead. Tugged at the blanket until he could
wrap it around the both of us. He pulled me close against him again, and I
rested my cheek against his clammy chest, settling in, feeling my limbs go
numb, hearing nothing more, thinking nothing more. Drifting off into an
exhaustive, comfortable sleep.


* * * * *


	The coffee was only lukewarm, with far too much sugar, but I gulped
it down anyway, needing to shake the sleep from my head. A hazy pre-dawn
sky was developing, seeping into quiet streams of orange and yellow just
above the tips of the summits as we passed under the pine log gate of the
ranch, tires rattling over the cattle grate, dust coiling up in our
wake. Although it was early yet, Travis was eager to get home. "Shit
doesn't clean itself from the stalls," he'd muttered.
	We parked in the usual spot beneath the large cottonwood
tree. Travis killed the engine and merely sat for a moment, staring off at
the front porch - either in hesitation or expectation that someone might
walk out to greet us. I sensed that his enthusiasm for returning home had
waned as soon as we pulled up.
	"Let's go," I coaxed, nudging his knee, pushing my door open to
step out. I turned and stretched - my entire body aching from the night
spent on the uncomfortable ridges of the truck bed. Despite blanket and
body heat, it had grown cold out there, and even after groggily re-dressing
ourselves midway through the night, neither Travis nor I had had a very
restful sleep.
	It took a moment, but finally Travis emerged from within the
sanctuary of the truck and quietly shut the door, sliding his hand down the
window frame and across the cooling hood, all the while looking down at the
ground as though he wished to be anywhere but there all of a sudden. "I
wonder if she even came home last night," he spoke.
	I glanced up at the house. "I'm sure she did," I said.
	He took a step for the porch, as if wanting to check on Katy
himself, but I dissuaded him, steering him instead down the path towards
the bunkhouse. In order to face the day. . . whatever that might entail
. . . Katy, my parents, the aftermath of the fight. . . we both needed a
shower and a chance to clear our heads.
	Derry and Spartacus were upon us in no time, slathering and yelping
and harking our arrival to the entire world. We quieted them down and
entered into the bunkhouse. I immediately directed Travis to the bathroom,
pulling his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. "Shower, breakfast,
work," I stated.
	The cascade of hot water felt like velvet running down our tired
and hungover bodies. As we stood together under the spray, I felt an
indescribable maternal-like instinct to coddle Travis - shampooing his
hair, getting his toothbrush, massaging his shoulders while whispering
sweet reassurances in his ear. He was nothing short of appreciative,
leaning his head back as my hands slithered through bubbles of soap down
his long torso.
	"Let's stay here all day," he whispered. "Fuck the chores."
	I chuckled and pulled him against me, nuzzling my face in the crook
of his neck. "Nice try, cowboy," I mumbled. "But like you said, shit
doesn't clean itself from the stalls."
	Reluctantly, we got out and dried off and dressed in the
semi-darkness of the morning, discussing the agenda for the day - mucking
out the stalls, checking the calves in the north pasture, mending fence
near the creek. There seemed no truer statement than the one about a
rancher's work never being done; I believed that Travis could work a
lifetime and still leave this earth without ever being finished.
	"I'll make more coffee," Travis suggested, rattling dishes in the
sink.
	"Sure." I slipped into my hiking boots and scooped up a stack of
`High Stakes' script before heading outside, the dogs following close at my
heels. It had been a challenge to find the right balance of ranch work,
script reading and Travis time, but so far I had been successful -
determination was a strong motivator. It was hard to believe that in only a
couple of weeks, I'd be back in Hollywood, embracing one of the most
challenging roles of my career.
	Taking a seat Indian-style in the cool grass, I opened up the
script in my lap and settled in, shooing a gnat from my face. The scent of
bacon drifted across the yard, hitting my nostrils, and as I glanced up to
the house, I noticed that the kitchen light was on - Travis' mom no doubt
preparing breakfast, just as she did every morning.
	The sight of a car winding its way down the dirt road caught my
attention - sunlight reflecting off of its windshield like a mirror. I
watched it approach for a moment, half-wondering if it could be my parents
arriving unannounced, oblivious to the time of day; it would not have been
altogether surprising if it had been. But as the vehicle drew nearer, I
realized that it was a patrol car.
	"Travis!" I called out. The dogs took off running. "Travis!"
	He pushed open the screen door, a dish towel draped over one
shoulder. "What?"
	But he didn't wait for a response - simply took off in a jog
towards the front drive. My pages of script fluttered to the ground as I
took off after him. Every morbid thought possible raced through my mind as
I ran and ran - Katy hurt, Katy raped, Katy dead.
	A young uniformed officer emerged from the car, removing his hat
and turning to face us, his expression devoid of any allusion as to his
presence. "Travis," he greeted solemnly.
	"Luke," Travis returned. "What brings you out here?"
	The deputy slowly twirled his hat in his hands. "You know a man
named Eric Spencer?" he asked.
	A muscle twitched in Travis' jaw. "Yes," he replied.
	"Are you aware that he was assaulted yesterday afternoon? At the
rodeo?"
	Travis crossed his arms.
	I shut my eyes for a moment, breathing in, breathing out. Wishing
that what was happening wasn't happening.
	As if on cue, Mrs. Cooper emerged from the house, an apron wrapped
around her waist, hair falling in wisps around her face. "What's going on
gentlemen?" she asked, looking to each of us.
	The officer tilted his head to her. "Ma'am."
	"It was self-defense," I suddenly blurted out. "Eric was
threatening Travis. And his sister."
	All eyes were on me. A brief, awkward silence followed my outburst,
and then the deputy returned his attention to Travis. "I'm afraid he's
pressing charges against you, Cooper."
	The world seemed to tilt sideways. I watched in disbelief as Travis
nodded, stepped forward and reached for the rear door handle of the patrol
car. "Fine," he stated. "But let's get the show on the road, I've got
cattle and horses to feed."
	"Jesus!" I exclaimed, rushing forward. "This is fucking nuts! He
didn't do anything!"
	The officer held up a hand to stop me from approaching any
further. Travis just looked at me and said, "It's okay, Jake. I'll be back
in no time. They can't hold me on anything. Just . . . be sure the horses
get fed. Curtis'll be here soon. Tell him about the fence." And with that,
he deposited himself into the backseat of the patrol car, slamming the door
shut behind him.
	I wanted to scream. I wanted to yank the door open and pull him
out. I wanted to beat the deputy senseless. But all I could do was watch
helplessly as the patrol car roared to life, shifted into reverse and
pulled out, that damn Colorado dust trailing behind it. Frustration roiled
through me. I turned towards the porch, wanting to explain the situation to
Travis' mom so that she wouldn't think for even one second that her son was
guilty of anything. Bail options flittered through my mind. I considered
placing a phone call to my attorney.
	Then I noticed Katy's profile in the front picture window, her
tired, pretty little face peeking out from behind the edge of the
curtain. I stopped in my tracks and locked eyes with hers, feeling more
emotion at that moment than I could possibly articulate. I saw fear in her,
then, or perhaps regret.
	Without a word, she dropped the curtain and disappeared from view.

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As always, thanks for reading - feedback welcomed: avymac@hotmail.com
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Brokeback Mountain copyright 1997 by Dead Line, Ltd. / 2005 Focus Features LLC
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