Author's Note: This is something I wrote awhile ago. I could have sworn I uploaded it but when I looked at my stories list it was nowhere to be found—here's hoping I'm not really dumb and this is a repeat.
Stick It Out
"Yeah, well, stick this out, Ennis 'I can sit on my horse and supervise separatin' the sheep' del Mar," Jack grumbled, making a vow then and there that no matter what kind of persuasion Ennis tried to use tonight, he wasn't havin' none a it, and he could damn well stick it out with his right hand for all Jack cared. He hurled another sheep into their area of the pasture, kicking at the grass and muttering all sorts of curses onto Ennis, Aguirre, the fuckin' Shelayans, and most of all, the sheep, such piss-poor excuses for animals that Jack kept telling them they'd be lucky if all he did was eat 'em at the end of the day.
Stick it out. Like hell
His resolve, seemingly so rock hard hours earlier, began to fade as he watched Ennis atop his horse, a sight that he didn't often get to observe uninterrupted. He maneuvered Cigar Butt with a gentle confidence, thighs bunching tight underneath his jeans. He also couldn't help but notice the way the wind tousled Ennis's curls, unruly from the constant wind, or how the muscles in his neck tensed when he yelled at the Shelayans. The sheen of sweat on his skin was enough to make Jack lick his lips.
Damned if he'd give in that easy, though.
At dinner he was still going strong, unable to wash the stink of the sheep off his hands and damned if he hadn't learned a few words a Spanish while he was at it, too. He looked studiously into his can of beans. And he thought he was sick a them before—lookin' at 'em this close just made him realize how nasty these things really were. Bettermost his ass. Better than piles a sheep shit, maybe. He could practically feel Ennis shooting him glances, wonderin' what his problem was. Let 'im stew.
He'd wait another half hour at least.
Ten minutes later, Ennis walked over to Cigar Butt, mumbling something about getting back up to the sheep to get 'em bedded down.
"'Kay, I'll see ya in the mornin'," Jack said, casual-like, licking his spoon very slowly and unnecessarily. He could see Ennis kick the ground, hunched his shoulders a little, and gave Jack one last look before turning to his horse.
"Aw, hell," Jack muttered, smiling. "Never was no good at stickin' things out." Ennis didn't even have time to turn around before he was tackled.