Sweet Apple Cider

Rendoc // Season 7 Dead Dog Gulch Arc

There’s a quiet hum to the saloon when it gets late enough, people tend to take off after a certain time leaving only a few patrons scattered around the foyer, the poor sod who has to hurt his damn back everyday over the piano left hours ago, and the bartender hasn’t really been serving drinks either.

There’s a secluded spot at the back of the saloon, it’s sectioned off from the rest of the building by a wooden beam and the bar, cutting its view from the rest of the patrons, a heavy shadow settling over the table letting the flame of a small candle jammed into an old mason jar dance freely against the wooden walls the table is pressed against.

It’s here Ren finds himself, his paws are up on the table, boots kicked off under there some hours ago, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a warm glass of bourbon having sweat itself dry against the table hours ago. He likes this corner of the saloon, and at these hours if he closes his eyes he can imagine he’s someplace else, someplace nicer than this dead end town, that he’d managed to scrape up enough money to take the train out of here and on to better places.

It never lasts for long though, there’s a quiet tap of metal against the wooden table that startles him out of his thoughts, letting his guard down is never a good thing in this town, but he’s never been bothered here before. It takes him a few seconds to right himself again, pull his hat up from over his eyes to see a face he’s still unsure he wants to see, or to punch until it’s swollen purple.

“This seat taken, Kid?” Holliday’s voice is deep, quiet, as if he doesn’t want to disturb anyone else in the saloon, as if there’s anyone here he could bother aside from Ren himself. Unless he just doesn’t want to be heard, either way, the man hasn’t pulled a gun on him yet, so he roughly nods to the chair nearest himself without thinking too hard about it.

Holliday at least gets that cue and drops himself down into the chair, a slight creak as the wood protests for a second until it settles under Holliday’s weight. The candle on the table adds a few more steps to its dance as the table jostles ever so slightly before returning to the rhythm it seems to have set for itself.

Holliday pulls out a flask from some pocket or another, gesturing with it towards Ren's mostly finished tumbler of bourbon on the table, eyebrow raised. It’s probably too warm to be pleasant to drink now, letting out a non commital grunt and watching as his table companion lifts the flask to his lips, eyes following the bob of Holliday’s throat as he takes a fairly big swig, Wiping his mouth on his paw once he’s done before holding the flask out to Ren, the metal rim where Holliday’s lips just were being hit with the light by the candle underneath it.

Ren has to think very hard about anything else as he drinks from it himself, trying to ignore the taste of the metal against his tongue, the fact that Holliday just drank from this thing seconds ago. It’s sweet cider, the taste shocking him for a few seconds. He didn’t think they’d even be able to get cider this far out. The heat wasn’t good for it or something like that, he wasn’t an expert, just knew the Saloon never had any, telling him that whenever he asked.

It’s fucking good too, but he stops himself from emptying the canteen, licking off the few drops left on his lips, savouring the sweet flavour before shoving the canteen back to Holliday. If he was a more hopeful man, if they weren’t trying to kill one another, he could probably let himself think the quick movement of Holliday’s eyes as he passed the canteen back were because the other man was looking at his lips.

They go back to that comfortable silence in their secluded corner of the saloon. Holliday pulls out a small whittling knife and sets to work on a piece of wood he seemingly gets from nowhere, the little knob too small for Ren to make out whatever he’s working on.

It’s peaceful again, and he knows he shouldn’t, but Holliday hasn’t given him any reason to be cautious right now, the man’s busy with his carving, so Ren let’s his head rest against the back of his chair, closing his eyes and letting himself sink back into his little daydream, the repetitive sounds of Holliday’s knife against the wood in his hand soothes him more than he’d like to admit, and if there’s a figure just out of his field of view whittling away at something in his daydream, he won’t complain.

He’s not sure how long it’s been since he closed his eyes, but there’s another sharp tap on the table that jostles him out of his thoughts, and when he opens his eyes he can see Holliday looking at him with his eyebrow raised, Ren must’ve blocked something out.

“What? I was havin’ a nice time just then” there’s no real bite in his voice, maybe it’s because he’s comfortable, maybe it’s because he likes having Holliday around, he’s not gonna admit to which it is.

“I asked if you wanted a light, that fag ain’t gonna get much use just sitting in your mouth there is it? Might as well light it, not against the rules out here, Kid” There’s a lighter being held aloft in front of him, and it’s a fuckin’ pretty one too; embossing of a goat on the metal casing, and a golden rim around the top.

“Sure, toss us the light then” he’s honestly surprised Holliday offered, Ren’s light ran out of wick the other day, and he’s too lazy to take the damn thing apart to put a new one in.

He expected the cool metal to hit the pad on his open paw, not the sound of the lighter clicking in Holidays hands, watching the open flame come up to the end of his cig, Holliday’s hand free hand held up around the end of it, as if to shield it from any wind, not that there is any, they’re inside. Holliday’s hand is so close to his face, it wouldn’t take much to lean forwards into it, to feel something against his cheek.

His cigarette is lit after a few seconds of faffing, a few seconds of looking Holliday’s eyes as the man concentrates on getting his lighter working. The first drag is always rough, Ren doesn’t even smoke that often, he just likes having something to chew at in his mouth and the cigarette makes him look tougher than he is, or he hopes it does anyways.

Holliday doesn’t lean back after he’s finished lighting Ren’s cigarette, staying close to him in a way that he’s only done during their fist fights, seemingly staring at a spot somewhere past Ren's face, before pulling out the little knob of wood and getting back to work, quickly making little knocks into the wood, getting lost in his work easily.

Ren was never good at carving; his hands weren’t steady enough for it, he’d always end up with knicks in his palms and deeper gashes in his fingers, so he’d stopped trying to learn how fairly quickly, mostly because he didn’t want to keep bandaging his hands up with nothing to show for it. Holliday’s hands were steady, the clockwork one probably helped that a little too. His cuts were precise but still looked Natural, organic, it was mesmerising watching him work, each scrape of the blade against wood adding just a bit more life to what was in his hands. Ren still couldn’t figure out what he was making and shrugging it off, he didn’t need to know.

It’s hard to take his eyes off Holliday’s paws, the motions they make, the flex of the muscles in his left as they strain ever so slightly, wondering how the brass would feel in his own, would it be warm, would he be able to feel the continuous clicking of its mechanisms if he pressed his palm to the casing. He has to snap himself out of watching the motions, clearing his throat and looking out to the rest of the room; it’s mostly empty now, hoping Holliday just assumes he’s trying to figure out what he’s carving, if he even noticed Ren’s staring.

“Drink as much of that flask as you want, I’ve got more back at home” Holliday’s deep voice startled him a little, his eyes haven’t taken themselves off his work, but the flask has been pushed across the table in Rens direction, and well, he’s not one to refuse a free drink. He lets out a quiet murmur of “thanks'' before picking up the flask and taking another swig.

Ren isn’t sure how long they sit there for, the steady rhythm of the carving knife and the lull of the saloon a sticky molasses on Ren’s brain, and the cider probably isn’t helping, but the two of them have been passing it back and forth for a while now, and he’s fairly certain it’s on its last legs. It’d be rude to drink the last of Holliday’s drink, and his mama raised him right, so he picks up the flask and holds it out to his companion for the night.

“Last bit of cider in here, you wantin’ it?” Part of him hopes Holliday didn’t hear him, there’s a fondness of his voice he’s been trying to keep to himself but it’s late, they’re the last two patrons in the saloon and the barkeep went to bed some time ago now.

Holliday looks up from his piece of wood, placing it and the small knife onto the table. Ren isn't even sure Holliday realised he was still here. A warm paw takes the flask from his, the pads of it brushing against Ren's knuckles ever so slightly, he has to hold back a shiver. The cigarette hanging out of Ren's mouth is almost finished now, and they’re both still so close to one another, neither have made an effort to move, you could almost say they were pressed to one another, shoulders touching in the dim light from their candle.

“We can share it” Is all Ren gets from Holliday before the man downs the last of the cider and removes the mostly finished cigarette from Ren’s mouth before wrapping his hand around his head pulling him forwards, it’s all he can do but close his eyes and let out a soft gasp as Holliday’s soft lips touch his.

He should be more concerned about how much he’s enjoying this, enjoying the way their lips slot together like a puzzle, shifting his head as a hand comes up to his cheek, the cold brass causing him to let out a gasp that Holliday takes advantage of, licking into Ren’s mouth, and he can taste the cider on Holliday’s tongue, it’s sticky sweetness coating both of their mouths as they kiss one another deeper. He pulls back a second, feeling Holliday let out a confused whine as he leaves, getting more air in his lungs and moving to sit on Holliday’s Lap, diving straight back into the kiss when he feels a hand on his waist. He can’t tell who lets out a pleased groan into the kiss, but he knows he doesn’t want to stop. The taste of the cider is long gone now, replaced with something woody, and uniquely Holliday.

He feels the hand on the back of his hair shift a little, as he raises his own to massage the base of Holliday’s horns and hears the soft thud of his hat hitting the wooden floor. He’s not sure how long they’re been at this now, coming up for air every so often only to get dragged back down under, Holliday chasing his lips when they’re not on his, which boosts his ego every time it happens. Holliday pulls back after a while, and Ren can feel the string of saliva connecting them both as they part, opening his eyes to see Holliday’s eyes on him, face flushed dark and lips bitten plump, he probably looks no better.

The hand on his waist removes itself to reach behind him onto the table, and feels something being pressed into his palm. Glancing down to see a carving of a coyote looking back up at him, the notch in his own ear on the respective ear of the small piece of wood.

He can’t stop himself from letting out a quiet chuckle, placing the little coyote into his pocket before diving back to Holliday, the man more than happy to keep up this little game, and maybe they could have been like this, but one of them will have to die eventually, that’s how this goes, but for now Ren thinks he can enjoy the time they have left, pushing the thought to the back of his mind as the two of them simply be for a while.