proulx

As it did go. They never talked about the sex, let it happen, at first only in the tent at night, then in the full daylight with the hot sun striking down, and at evening in the fire glow, quick, rough, laughing and snorting, no lack of noises, but saying not a goddamn word except once Ennis said, "I'm not no queer," and Jack jumped in with "Me neither. A one-shot thing. Nobody's business but ours." There were only the two of them on the mountain flying in the euphoric, bitter air, looking down on the hawk's back and the crawling lights of vehicles on the plain below, suspended above ordinary affairs and distant from tame ranch dongs barking the dark hours. (260)

"You're too much for me, Ennis, you son of a whore-son bitch. I wish I knew how to quit you." (276)

Annie Proulx. "Brokeback Mountain." Close Range: Wyoming Stories. New York: Scribner, 1999. 253-283.