A gay story: The New World Ch. 07 Roderick had gotten funding. The sight of the massive red wolf that broke out from the university had been more then enough evidence of his work. His dream, an expedition to the Americas, was finally realized.
The Americas were better then he could have possibly expected. The wolves were all Natives, and they lived in a single tribe. The tribe was far away from real civilization, but there were plenty of savages for hire that would lead him to his prize. Plenty of savages for hire that would use his exotic blowgun and hunt the creatures for him. Savages that were tired of competing with the wolves for game and territory.
The news just kept getting better and better, until the only thing standing in Roderick’s way of gathering specimens, was the large numbers of wolves and warriors at any given time. And even that problem went away when one of his scouts told him that a handful of the wolves were going on some sort of raiding party. Just in time for the new moon!
Roderick was pleased, things were finally going his own way.
Now he had eight stellar specimens to bring back to the university. Each one was stuffed in a crate. He had one day left of the new moon, but he didn’t take chances. The crates were all lined with blankets and straw, and on the heavy sledge they were covered with canvas to prevent the slightest ray of moonlight.
His guards walked on either side of the sledge, leaving soft footprints. Roderick had wanted to ride his horse, but the horse had gone into the team of animals pulling the sledge, so he just followed in the deep track that the sledge left, feeling slightly dispirited at having to walk at the end of the line.
The guards were a little tense and uneasy, but they were quick to reassure him that the moon wouldn’t be full for another day or so. And Roderick planned to be within the town limits by then. Inside a walled and fortified settlement that passed for a city in this rough ungodly land.
—
At the same time that Roderick’s party pulled into the walled fort at the side of the ocean, a scrawny limping little pup staggered into the Nipmuc camp. Warriors gathered. The little redhead reeked of blood, and he was wearing a buckskin robe that still smelled like the alpha.
The braves dragged him into the lodge. Abequa ran behind them. They dropped him by the fire and the little pup curled into a ball near the flickering flames. Matteo’s eyes were swollen and red and his body was thorn-scratched and frozen and scarred.
“All… Gone.” He whimpered. He babbled in french deliriously.
Abequa shoved through the braves and threw a trencher of succotash in front of him. Matteo fell on the food like an animal, shoving the warm mixture of beans and corn into his mouth.
It was impossible to communicate. None of them knew English, and Matteo knew less then a handful of Nipmuc words.
Instead, Matteo reached into the fire, regardless of the flames that singed his hands. He took out a stick with a nub of charcoal on the end and scrawled on the hide under his scratched and bruised knees. His drawings were rough, but surprisingly elegant. In a couple of scratches he scrawled a cave mouth and two figures within. He scrawled rough figures outside the cave, but pointed to the figures in the cave. He pointed to the smaller one.
They understood. He and Ahote, hiding in a cave. Matteo shivered and coughed, his vision greying out as he did. A brave kicked him, not roughly, a nudge.
He blurred the entire sketch with a few sweeps of his hand. The charcoal stick would no longer draw, he reached for another, his captive audience yammering with impatience.
He circled the two figures of himself and Ahote, putting them in the center of a group of figures. It took a little longer to puzzle this one out, but everyone figured out that they had been captured by the Alpha. Especially when Matteo drew one of the figures large and menacing, with a wolf-head instead of the simple circles he had been making before.
Now it was the hard part.
He kept the drawing, and he drew a sketch of a wolf head on each of the figures. Just three lines, an open mouth and a triangle ear. Then he made other figures circling the wolves, and he pointed to his arm, comparing his pale skin, and pointing to the figures.
“We need to save them.” He whimpered, his yellow eyes glazed with exhaustion. “Roderick. Roderick has them.”
—
Ahote woke up inside a crate with his head pounding and his body shuddering with cold. He was in a tiny crate lined with straw. His sharp nose was filled with the alien stench of the white man’s town. Unfamiliar animals and foods and metal and cloth and chemicals. He caught the thick fear-scents of his pack. He could identify the Alpha and a few of the braves. Wolf blood filled his nose. They were wounded.
Ahote scratched at the side of the crate, and the wolf in the crate next to him scratched back.
“Where are we? Where is Matteo?”
The brave next to him was Ahmik, the young man who had been so cruel to Matteo from the very start. Ahmik had argued loudly for the little teenager to be executed. Now he could smell Ahmik’s blood, and the pup was moaning softly.
“No.” The young wolf snarled through his pain. “They didn’t get your bitch-puppy. We’re in one of their cities… My leg is burned… The bastard burned me…”
He didn’t know if the boy was lying or not, but he couldn’t smell Matteo.
There was no light. When he jammed his fingers through the cracks in the crates, he could feel the woolen blanket with his fingertips. It was so small in the crate, and Ahote could barely breathe.
He threw his shoulder into the wood. If the crate had been normal, it would have splintered under his assault, but the crate was bound with metal. It resisted his efforts.
“Give up Plainsman.” The burned pup spat. “It’s useless. You’ll just drain your energy. We need to attack these bastards when they least expect. You know a little of their tongue, so listen when they speak, and tell us what’s happening.”
Ahote cradled his head in his hands. “Yes… Yes, of course.” Matteo was free, but where was he now? A blue-and-ivory corpse in the snow? A bundle of sticklike limbs huddled in a cave? Prone in the snow with arrows jutting from his back? Torn by the bullets of the white men’s guns?
Burned. Ahmik said that he had been burned. He remembered running his lips and fingers over the shallow half-healed burns on Matteo’s chest and legs. The pocked sores on his legs.
Was this who poor scrawny Matteo had been running from?
Ahote groaned and curled up, trying to stay warm and preserve his energy. He needed to be strong, needed to get out. Matteo might be alive, and he needed to find his little red pup before anyone else did.
—
The town was surrounded by a wall of logs. The slim logs were sharpened to points, and though uneven, the wall was sturdy and reinforced with struts that dug into the earth.
Dark shapes wove through the trees. A raid of this magnitude had never been done before. And that is why it would work.
Matteo padded his bleeding paws through the snow, lifting his muzzle high into the air to smell at the cold wind.
The alpha’s wolf-wife sidled to his shoulder, looking at him, baring her teeth.
The red pup looked up at her, she outweighed him by at least sixty pounds in this form. He nudged her shoulder and pointed with his nose towards the walled city surrounded by farms. Then he started to run, running in a wide circle in the virgin forests, going around to where the tree line met the ocean.
The wolves followed him, a silent toothed swarm.
—
The city had even higher walls facing the ocean, to protect against pirate attacks. What they also had were wide cargo doors.
The scrawny wolf at their head loped to the wall, hugging his skinny body to the logs, far from where the lanterns cast their glow at the gates. He waited ahead of them, with the pack slinking in the trees.
Matteo changed. He changed into a naked human boy. He ran to the cargo door and knocked on it, screaming for help in hysterical French.
The wolves in the trees shifted and snarled, the redheaded boy was betraying them. The wolf-wife lunged from the trees, ready to fun forward and tear the little palefaced boy in half.
The cargo door slid open. Matteo screeched a single syllable and suddenly he was changing. It had been a ruse all along to get the man to open the door. The wolf-wife changed her attack, she switched from running to the writhing boy in the snow and she darted into the cargo door, knocking the terrified watchman onto his back and tearing out his throat.
The wolves came from the woods.
A flood of them entered the town on silent feet. They followed Matteo, who’s nose was more sensitive, and could find the subtle wood smells of their own kind in the midst of the harsh unfamiliar scents. Wolves who would never bow to the fragile pup under normal circumstances followed him, crouched with terror in the new and frightening environment.
Matteo was confident. He led the pack through silent deserted alleys. It was the witching hour, and the only ones awake were those who guarded the gate, and the singe watchman that they had allotted to the sturdy cargo gate.
He could smell them. He could smell wolf blood, wolf sweat, wolf scent.
The others were starting to smell it too.
The warehouse was a huge low building locked up with chain. The alpha and captured wolves were inside, but the wolves on the outside needed to find a way in.
Matteo was the one who climbed the stacked crates on the side of the building, sniffing and scratching at the heavily thatched roof. It was made of a hundred tightly-packed bound sheaves of hay, surprisingly strong and weatherproof. But not wolf-proof.
Matteo paced as others tore at the haywire with their teeth and paws, growling at the cuts on their muzzles and tender noses from the snapping wires. They dug holes in the tightly thatched hay, and scrawny Matteo was the first of them to squirm through the slit in the roof.
The warehouse was packed with crates of tea and liquor and stacked timber. Matteo navigated the narrow maze between tall stacks of crates. Fat wharf rats squeaked and fled from the shadows that slid in through the roof and sniffed around the warehouse. Matteo felt himself changing into his human form. He was too far away from the moonlight that diffused through the gouge in the roof. He continued on foot, running naked through the warehouse, smelling his lover in the stale salty air.
He came to the crates. Eight tiny wooden boxes, each filled to the brim with living cargo. He smelled his lover, and ran to the third crate from the left. “Ahote!” He gasped. “Ahote, Ahote.”
He clawed his fingers between the boards, trying to rip them out with sheer strength. Ahote kissed his fingers where they clawed through the crate.
He glanced around, frantically. The wolf-wife ran to him, holding a sharp metal gaff in her hands. She prized the gaff between two of the boards in the crate and pulled up, making the square nails creak and squeal in the dry wood.
One board popped off. Matteo reached into the space to touch Ahote, touch his lover, his face. The wolf-wife pushed him rudely away and prized away another board.
Ahote squirmed out, his body cramped and splintered and bruised. He took Matteo and held the skinny pale boy tight to him, burying his face in the wild tangled mane of soft red hair.
“You came for us.” He whispered, leaving a gentle love-bite on Matteo’s neck. Matteo whimpered and squeezed him all the tighter, he had Ahote in his arms, everything was going to be alright.
The wolves convened. There was only an iron gaff and a harpoon between them to prize open the crates, so it took some time. The wolves in the crates were cramped and barely able to move. The alpha and Ahmik had been ‘conditioned’. They had raw burns on their chest and arms. They moved slowly, in great pain.
The group moved through the warehouse, and as they got into the light, they each changed into wolves. They leapt up the tower of crates to slip out of the hole in the roof.
Then they slipped out of the city, as shadows. The only evidence of their coming was the giant footprints in the snow, and the mangled body of the unlucky nightwatchman.
—
Many of the wolves that had been in the crates were exhausted, too weak to go any further. But none were as exhausted as Matteo. He limped badly, whining each time his healing paw hit the ground. He fell twice, each time to be nudged gently to his feet by the lean mahogany wolf whom he had given his heart.
The alpha was also showing signs of weakness, and he led his pack to a village that wasn’t their own.
Matteo saw the fur on many of the wolves back’s ruffling. They were all uneasy. As they got closer, he smelled the differences of the village, the slightly different way they had of tanning their furs, the differences in the way they prepared their food, a slight undercurrent of difference.
When a scout spotted them, the alpha changed into a human and spoke to the man. Matteo understood a little of it. He was humbly asking for shelter. He was asking for charity, and it was killing him to do it. The scent of shame and discomfort wafted from his skin. Matteo felt a fierce joy for it. To see the alpha punished in any way for his crimes.
The scout welcomed him and the wolves. The wolf pack had a relationship with the other villages that was strained to say the least. The scout was bringing the pack in not out of charity, but for politics. If this village aided the wolf pack, the pack would be in debt to them. Both parties understood this.
Many of the stronger wolves went back to the main village. The wolves that were weakened by captivity, as well as a few of their relatives and spouses, limped along to the neighboring village. Matteo had lifted his wounded forepaw and was staggering on three legs.
The people in the village came out to stare. Stare as the large wolves crumpled and shrank in on themselves. As bones crackled and fur retreated into skin. They watched with uneasy fear and loathing. For a while, the wolves had been close to gods, but now they were just another tribe with the strength to destroy villages. A tribe that scared away game and had caused a rash of activity from the white men. To see them like this, vulnerable, and wounded, it was dangerous for both parties.
Matteo shrank from a limping wolf to a semiconscious human. He clutched his aching arm to his chest, mewling over it. Ahote was weakened and wounded, but he still had the strength to take the tiny wounded boy into the longhouse with the rest of the diminished wolves.
The Chief appeared. He was surrounded by his friends and his two wives, both the older and younger. He looked into the lodge and saw seventeen wolves. They were naked, some were scratched and wounded. One of them was white, shuddering and huddling into the arms of an outsider.
Matteo was so cold. His body had reached the limit of his endurance. For months he had been malnourished, cramped, abused. Here he had been wounded and abused. He had had two brief days of food and rest, and then his desperate escape. When he had gone to the village they had listened to him, let him lead them. They had only given him a single meal. His body was wasted and sick and slick with sweat.
He looked around. Ahote’s powerful arms warmed him, bundled him up close. The older man was shaking, too. Matteo saw the chief. Saw the man with the sash and the greying hair.
Matteo tried to stand. He was too weak. Ahote stood with him, acting as a crutch. Matteo walked in small weakened steps to the Chief.
“Merci.” The boy whispered to the Chief, showing the man his mangled arm. Recognition flashed through the elderly Chief’s eyes. The half-starved white boy was the reddish wolf that he had freed from the trap. Matteo was shocked and happy when the Chief spoke to him in moderately fluent French.
“You are the puppy, the red one who had been captured by the iron trap. How is it that there is a white Wahyeh?” He used a word that meant wolf-spirit in Nipmuc.
Matteo smiled. “You know my language. Across the sea, there are many like me. We lived in the wilds, persecuted, hunted. We were hated by all. I ran to a tribe far away from my own land, and they accepted me, adopted me into their family. Then a man from the west, Roderick, came and slaughtered my new family. I was the only one who survived, and he kept me in a cage. I escaped in the moonlight, and I hid on a ship that would come here.”
The Chief frowned as Matteo shuddered and nearly fell. The little red pup was nearly comatose. He barked a command to his wives. They ran to the storehouses.
“We will talk more, but for now, rest.” To Ahote, he said. “Take him near the fire.”
Ahote brought the skinny boy back to the fire, and tried to hold him close. Matteo curled up and nestled himself in his lover’s lap. He rested his sweaty forehead against Ahote’s chest. He felt the fire on his back and his eyes closed, and he fell into a state of semi-consciousness.
The Chief’s wives came back with more women. The women brought blankets and dried meat. The women started cooking big clay pots of succotash. Ahote shook Matteo awake long enough for Matteo to gnaw a strand of dried venison.
As the sun rose, Ahote pulled a heavy fur wrap over them both and Matteo got to slumber deeply and undisturbed in his lover’s arms.
—
The wolves arose sleepily one by one. They nursed burns and bruises. It was late evening, but the moon had yet to make an appearance.
The chief of the neighboring tribe didn’t skimp in his hospitality. He made them a meal that could only be described as a feast. Dried apples and roots garnished an entire roasted wild pig. Succotash sweetened with maple syrup, and thick warm slabs of corn bread. The alpha frowned, knowing that the neighboring chief was trying to put him further in debt.
Matteo ate, stuffed his face. He ate until he felt too heavy to move, and then he rested lazily on the reed mat, leaning into Ahote’s arm. He felt sleepy and stuffed. He rested his eyes.
He and Ahote had communicated. Through their limited shared words and through charcoal drawings. They knew what needed to be done. They needed to escape before the alpha tried to reassert his authority. There was always the chance that he would learn the errors of his ways, and try to live in harmony with them. But even if he tried to make amends, nothing could forgive what the alpha had done to them.
The moonlight hit their systems and the wolves ran out into the snow, their bones crackling and fur pushing out of their once-smooth skin.
—
Abequa was sad to see them go.
She helped them. She rolled up supplies, mostly dried meat and clothing, inside two massive hides. One of the hides was a soft ground-cloth with fur on one side and the other was a low protective roof-hide made of tough moosehide. She fashioned the hides so they could be bound shut with a simple knot of leather thongs. She fastened the heavy bundles so they could be worn by wolves, the thongs would go around the front limbs and the bundle would rest behind the shoulder blades.
She showed them how to tie and untie the bundles, how to put them on while they changed. Before they left, the skinny redheaded boy hugged her tightly, and Ahote thanked her.
She tightened the last knot. “Will it be good Ahote, to return to your original hunting grounds?”
Ahote smiled. “We will be alone. I am something of a freak accident. But as long as I have him, I will be content.”
Abequa touched Matteo’s skinny shoulder gently. “What do you mean?”
Ahote sighed. “I was bitten by a feral wolf. In the plains, wolves are feared and hated. They are hunted. But there are places with no people. There are places that we can thrive. As long as I have Matteo, I can go back.”
“Be safe.” She murmured. “Farewell.”
The wolves changed, their backs humped with their cargo. Matteo licked her face. He was so skinny and small. His foot was still hurt, but he had gone through so much. He was ready to work for a little longer.
The tribal wolves were strangely absent. The pair of outsiders were glad. In their first disastrous escape, they had fled to the north. This night, with the sliver of the moon high above them, they ran to the west. The snow was brittle under their feet, but their large paws kept them aloft, like snowshoes.
When the morning came, they gathered wood in their wolf forms. When they changed Ahote swiftly started a fire with flint and steel while Matteo draped the ground cloth on the exposed earth on the lee side of a large submerged rock. Matteo propped the top cloth at a low angle, weighing down the edges with rocks and fastening the highest point to a natural protruding nub of rock on the stone outcrop that they were protected by.
The fire burned at the side of the tent, heat baked through the hide wall. The shivering wolves gnawed on dried meat inside the tent. They rested on the soft fur of the groundcloth and Ahote covered them with a soft heavy cloak inside the tent. They’re bodies heated rapidly. The temperature inside the tent was seventy degrees. Compared to the wretched survival in the cave, it was toasty.
Matteo turned so his face was pressed to Ahote’s chest, and he kissed the warm smooth flesh. He spoke a few soft words that he had learned.
“Love me Ahote.” Was what he whispered.
—
Roderick was in the warehouse, looking down at the shattered crates. He sat on a bale of tightly packed wool and wrote in his journal by the light of a lantern. He needed to plan, he had ideas of how to capture new specimens for the new moon.
He had ideas of luring wolves into traps during the last stages of the moon. He drew up plans for his traps… great spiked pits, running nooses, nets. His mind thrived with ideas.
He heard a ripping sound. He looked up from his drawings, and suddenly there was a hole in the low ceiling. Right where the old hole had been repaired.
Roderick paled as he saw dark shapes swarm into the warehouse. He got up and ran for the door, stumbling. He dropped his lantern and burning oil splashed all over the bale of wool, and spread quickly to the massive piles of cut timber that had been prepared to be sent back to England. The flames spread to the ceiling fast, and Roderick was lost in the smoke, it was a hellish inferno.
He was surrounded by men and women. Tall naked people, with dark skin and dark hair. The men had their scalps partially shaved, had tattoos inscribed in their skin. Their skin shone with sweat, and in the light of the fire they glittered like statues of bronze.
Roderick brandished a broken plank at them, panting and coughing. He gasped with relief when he felt a draft of cool air.
The fire was burning through the roof. Burning bits of straw fell from the ceiling, and cool air rushed in. His relief changed quickly to horror as moonlight fell on the Natives that surrounded him.
A truly massive man stood in front of him. Easily seven feet tall, with a body like that of a god. Roderick recognized the specimen that they had been forced to build a bigger crate for. The specimen that he had ‘conditioned’ with a red-hot poker.
The man grinned, and Roderick screamed as he saw those square white teeth begin to change.
—
As a man named Roderick was torn to pieces, Matteo was experiencing a different kind of death.
Ahote was over him, crushing him to the ground cloth, warming him. His cock was buried deep in the little white wolf under him. His teeth were clamped on Matteo’s shoulder, his hands wrapped around Matteo’s body, holding him as close as humanly possible. With each stroke he ground his cock into Matteo’s prostate.
In french, a phrase for orgasm is ‘le petit morte’ or ‘the little death’.
Matteo snarled and turned around so he was on his back. He held Ahote tight to him as Ahote fucked him in deep powerful strokes. Ahote’s stomach crushed Matteo’s cock into his own stomach. The friction, the penetration, the heat and the lust and the sweat and the love all combined and Matteo arched his head back and wailed as he died the little death.
—
When the two wolves woke up, it was nearing evening. Soon they would pack up and continue their journey, but for now they stayed close, held each other in the dark, enjoyed the closeness.
Matteo rested his head on Ahote’s smooth hard stomach, gently kissing a small burn. Ahote touched a burn on Matteo’s shoulder. “Roderick?” He asked quietly.
Matteo shuddered, and nodded. Ahote combed Matteo’s soft red hair with his fingers, stroking his scalp. “You might not understand me, but this is a dangerous journey. But if we make it, we will be in the great plains. There are no other wolves, and we will have to avoid people. I don’t care. I will have you. We can make a life out there.”
Matteo didn’t understand a lot of it, but Ahote’s voice was soothing, low and rhythmic. He snuggled closer to his lover. They had known each other for so little time, but wolves in general were both practical and pragmatic in a way that few humans could hope to achieve. Both of them were already in love. They knew that they were made for each other.
—
JUNE
—
The moon was full.
It was huge and white and regal, shining down on the tall grass. The herd of bison was only a small part of the greater infestation that swarmed over the plains. It was small, only fifty individuals, dozing standing up.
The smell of wolf roused them. They snorted uneasily, and started to mill. The bulls moved to the outside, while the cows and calves moved towards the center. The bulls had poor night vision, and they peered out into the tall grass, lowing uneasily. They were still shedding, and they looked ragged in the moonlight, with flaps of their winter wool hanging off of them in swathes. Their sharp hooves tore up the sod.
A sleek red wolf darted from the undergrowth with a playful puppy-bark. He barked and snarled at the terrified bison, darting around them, nipping their hooves. The herd fractured, split, stampeded.
Matteo’s body was sleek and long. His reddish fur was lush and gleaming in the moonlight, though it was gone in the places where the skin was scarred underneath. His long scarred muzzle pointed to the moon as he let out a high excited howl.
Ahote answered with a deep full-throated song. He burst from the deep, cornering a big bull. They weren’t hunting. If they were hunting they would have gone for the cows, or a calf. They had plenty of meat back at the camp, and the two wolves were playing.
The bull bellowed with terror and rage, swinging his huge heavy head with the deadly black horns. Matteo nimbly skittered away, his tongue lolling over his teeth, laughing in the dog-fashion, his eyes gleaming.
Ahote jumped onto the bull’s back, growling. He was massive, his fur was positively glossy in the moonlight. Ahote was more massive, deeper in the chest and shoulder, while Matteo was as lean and spry as a whippet.
The bull got up to full speed and left the wolves in the dust.
Matteo leapt onto a spur of rock and howled at the moon. It was a high joyous sound. They had nothing to fear, no one to run from. A pack of real wolves answered from a distance.
Ahote tackled him, leaping onto the red wolf. The two wolves wrestled, nipping each other’s ears and paws, rolling in the high grass, barking playfully.
They roamed for hours before returning to their camp.
—
The sun beamed down on a canopy. They had abandoned any traditional kind of tent during the summer for a canopy made of their tent cover. The ground cloth covered the flat dirt while their food was protected in a cairn of rocks from predators that poked around in the night.
Matteo’s slim back was tanned. He was one of those rare exceptional gingers who could get a tan. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck with a twist of twine woven from the fibrous inner bark of trees. He was dressed in nothing but a loincloth. Two individual rabbit hides, one in front and one behind, held around his waist with a bit of the same twine he used to tie back his hair.
The river near their home had a copse of willows and underbrush that broke up the endless plain. He was foraging. He had a flat sharpened stick that he used to poke around in the muck around the river. For lily roots, and a small kind of wild potato. He raked berries from the bushes, and pulled edible herbs whole from the ground.
When all of the pouches on his belt were full, he ran barefooted back to the camp. He was full of an endless energy. He was still lean, but his body was lithe with muscle, and the soles of his feet were blackened and tough.
Ahote was sitting cross-legged on a patch of dirt in front of their canopy. He had a hide stretched out on a frame. A bison calfskin. He was scraping it with a sharpened piece of bone, to get rid of the fat and blood vessels and membrane. His broad brown back was running with sweat. He was naked, and sitting on a mat woven from reeds.
Matteo knew he needed concentration. He unloaded his finds under the canopy, and brought the pouch of fresh berries. He brought the water skin.
While Ahote worked, the slim boy held the water skin to his lips. Ahote drank, focusing on the task at hand. Then Matteo held a raspberry to his lips, and he ate with a little smile. The berry was soft and juicy, slightly crushed by it’s time in the pouch.
“The berries are ripe then?” He murmured. He was speaking in french.
“Yes, they weigh the bushes down. I saw a bear nearby, but he didn’t bother me. There are plenty of berries for everyone.” He spoke in Ahote’s language, Sioux.
They had learned each other’s languages, were still learning. Matteo had already learned so many languages, that he had a slightly easier time of it. Ahote loved how smooth and flowing Matteo’s words were. Matteo liked the difference between Nipmuc and Sioux, Ahote’s birth tongue was more rhythmic.
Matteo put another berry on Ahote’s tongue, and the young man sucked it from his fingertips, sensually massaging the tips of Matteo’s fingers with the tip of his tongue. He tasted the sweetness and the tartness and the saltiness of Matteo’s own sweat.
Matteo dropped to his knees next to his lover, and leaned so he was touching Ahote’s body. He pressed his chest to Ahote’s back, resting his cheek on the side of his lover’s head, resting his chin on Ahote’s shoulder. He fed Ahote another berry.
Ahote scraped the last bit of tacky skin from the corner of the hide, and then he turned around, sucking on Matteo’s fingers up to the knuckle.
They wrestled briefly. Not quickly, or rough, but a slow struggle for dominance. When they untangled, Ahote was on his back on the reed mat, and Matteo eclipsed the sun, making a corona of rays around his shaggy head. Matteo straddled Ahote’s lean hips.
Ahote tore away the rabbit-skin loincloth that Ahote wore, and his pale vulnerable genitals bobbed in the sunlight. Matteo leaned forward with a soft groan, and his cock rubbed against Ahote’s cock.
Matteo pinned Ahote down with his hands on Ahote’s shoulders. He moved his hips in a slow sinuous rubbing motion against Ahote’s groin.
Ahote reached between them and took their cocks in the same hand. Matteo’s cock was slim and long and as hard as stone. His was thick and bronzed, with a slightly paler head. He rubbed them together, and Matteo let out a panting groan.
Ahote reached for Matteo’s head, tangling his fingers in the fiery sunset locks. He pulled Matteo’s head down to his own and touched his lips to Matteo’s soft pink lips.
There they lay in the sun, feeling the rays beat down on them. Sweat ran in trickles, and their passion bubbled to the surface. Their groins were sticky with sweat and precome as they rubbed and moaned.
Matteo was the first to make a move. He started to slide down his mate’s body. He slid down the bronzed skin that was both sticky and slippery with sweat. The smell of his lover was strong and pervasive, sunken into the web of nerves in his brain. He could have sensed his lover for miles.
He lapped droplets of sweat from Ahote’s oval nipples, sucking on them until they sharpened into points. He lowered himself, and crouched between Ahote’s muscular thighs, slipping Ahote’s thick cock into his mouth, feeling his lover groan.
Matteo ran his tongue from the base to the tip, and then drooled all over, soaking Ahote’s cock. Matteo sucked on his own fingers and reached behind him to slick his own asshole. He was ready for Ahote, always ready.
He moved upright and looked into his lover’s eyes.
“Techihhila.” Matteo whispered.
“Je T’aime” Ahote replied.
With that, Matteo knelt on Ahote’s cock and let out a wild cry to the blue sky. The wind whipped the grass around them and the sun beat down on their naked interlocked bodies. Matteo sunk down to the root, and used his legs to move up and down, while Ahote grabbed his waist and moved his own hips to fuck his lover deep and strong.
With every scrape of Ahote’s cock against his prostate, Matteo let out a sweet high cry. He bellowed his love for everyone to hear. Into the blue bowl of the sky, and the wide everywhere of the grassy plain.
Ahote sat up and cradled Ahote’s body in his arms, helping the pup move up and down faster. The heat of their bodies met the heat of the sun and sweat steamed off of their skin.
“Matteo!” Ahote grunted, thrusting his hips in a deep final stroke. He reached to stroke Matteo’s throbbing member. The redheaded boy cried out as his come spurted between them, spreading to a fine glaze on their hot skin.
The two of them fell back, and Matteo rested his head on Ahote’s chest, panting and feeling his body rise and fall as Ahote gasped for air. He felt his lover kiss him tenderly on the top of the head, and he smiled.
The wolves went to the oasis and washed the sweat from their bodies. Meanwhile the wind whistled through the grass, and the earth continued to make it’s slow graceful rotations.
THE END