Beneath A Yankee Sky

by J. M. Snyder

  Brance's next step knocked over the tin bucket of water he'd been using to clean the buggy. As the water splashed across the floor, the bobcat leapt. Teeth like razors sank into the forearm Brance flung up to protect his face. A cry escaped him, lost in a sudden clap of thunder that split the night. Brance fell back, snagged the crop off the wall, and flailed at the bobcat with the leather whip until it let him go.

  Brandishing the crop, Brance chased the bobcat from the barn. He paused only to lock the door behind him--the buggy would have to wait until morning. As he raced through the rain to the house, he cradled his injured arm against his chest. With every step, he expected the bobcat to attack him from behind. If only his father would open the door for him, look out the window, hear him, rescue him, something. Brance hit the back door at a full run, then flung it aside as he burst into the kitchen. His heart beat like a caged bird in his chest.

  From the living room, Amos Brenneman let out a jagged snore. In that moment, Brance hated him.

  Without rousing his father, Brance cleaned the wound as best he could. He tore a rag into strips, tying them tight to staunch the bleeding. His hands shook as he worked, and in the morning he got the flat end of his father's paddle across his ass again, this time for neglecting the buggy.

  * * * *

  A month later when the moon rose full in the sky, Brance felt the blood stir in his veins and knew something was wrong. The bite on his arm had taken so long to heal, he knew there must be something unnatural about it. When the pain began, it didn't surprise him much. Tumbling out of the bed he shared with his brothers, he staggered from the room. He felt feverish and hot, as if a fire burned in him, and the thought of a cold draught from the well sounded wonderful. Once outside, the icy December air nipped through his thin bedclothes, caressing his heated skin. A few steps from the house he stumbled and fell to the ground, arms clamped to his stomach as he writhed in pain. The sounds that tore from his throat were guttural, deep. For one fleeting moment, Brance wondered if this wasn't it, the devil coming to get him after all.

  Then it passed.

  Brance's eyes were shut tight. He opened them and blinked--he could see the barn, despite the darkness. The smell of livestock was overpowering, but instead of nauseating him, it made his stomach growl. Prey, he thought, surprised. No longer sick or tired, he pushed himself onto all four feet and stretched his large front paws out in front of him...

  Four feet?

  Paws?

  Brance screamed, but all he heard was a bobcat's lonesome cry, like a howl rising up to the moon above.

  * * * *

  In his animal form Brance felt alive. At sixteen he reached adulthood and left the district behind. His mother wept; she alone seemed to realize he wouldn't be back. His father gave him a Bible, the only gift Brance had ever received from the man, but he dropped it in the dirt path on his way to the road. He could well imagine his father's rage at finding it, but at least his message was clear. He was never coming back, not to his family, not to the Amish church. Not to humanity, ever again.

  When the war between the states broke out, Brance signed up because he knew his father would not approve. He told himself he preferred male lovers for the same reason, though in all honesty, he just felt more comfortable with men. Their bodies mirrored his own, hard and unyielding, yet the right touch could make them crumble in his hands. For years he settled for quick trysts in seedy bars, harsh hands fumbling beneath his uniform in the Yankee camp, believing himself incapable of giving--or deserving--anything more.

  Then he met Caleb, a sexy young soldier, a Southerner, a Rebel and by all rights his enemy, but afflicted with the same curse as he. On the battlefield, he might have shot the man dead without a second thought; in the woods, in their fur, each recognized the other as part of one whole. The past lay behind Brance now, forgotten.

  There was only Caleb, beside him as both man and animal.

  * * * *

  Brance chased after Caleb, their feline bodies mere shadows racing among many in the night. His teeth were bared and Caleb's scent filled his nostrils, enflamed his instincts. He wanted to mate and to eat, in that order. But his lover liked to run--he liked to be caught, and kept just out of reach as they tore through the underbrush, scaring up mice and birds and any number of small creatures in their wake.

  Ahead, the trees opened into a small thicket. Too late, Brance realized he was running headlong into an ambush; he skidded to a stop in the thick grass and turned as a bobcat's battle cry filled the clearing. Before he could speak, Caleb tackled him, a ball of fur and strong hind legs. They rolled back into the grass, Brance's jaws snapping for purchase, Caleb's wet nose nuzzling into his ballocks as his tail tickled under Brance's nose. The woods were alive with Caleb's scent, a wild, rangy smell that Brance wanted to pin down beneath him and rub against until his senses exploded in orgasm. ::Fuck me,:: Caleb demanded, tongue licking below Brance's tail to entice his penis to extend. ::What are we waiting for here? If you're not going to--::

  Brance's growl cut him off. ::Can't you ever be still?::

  Chastised, Caleb rolled away from Brance. He sat on his haunches, eyes closed, as if he hadn't just been cavorting like a kitten a moment ago. With feline dignity, he licked one forepaw, smoothed it back over his ear, repeated the gesture. ::Fine.::

  Lying on his side, Brance watched his lover, wary. The grooming was a ploy, nothing more. He watched the large paw run back over the ear, turning it inside out until Caleb flicked it right again. Caleb kept his eyes closed, his whole body still except for the paw and the tip of his tail, which tamped down the grass. With an almost human-like sigh, Brance drew in a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. The last thing he wanted to admit was that it seemed too quiet now, with Caleb pretending to ignore him. His own tail slapped the grass in a quick, angry motion.

  A ragged purring erupted from Caleb. He lowered his body down to the ground, stretched out his paws, and extended his claws to rake through the soft fur on Brance's underbelly. When Brance didn't move, Caleb dared to inch closer, nose wrinkling as he sniffed his way along his lover's body. The second that wet nose touched his fur, Brance raised his hind leg and set his paw against Caleb's forehead to hold him back.

  ::Please,:: Caleb said. He came closer still, widening the space between Brance's legs, nose drawn once again to the other cat's genitals. His rough tongue licked out to taste Brance's tender ballocks. ::Just let me...::

  Brance's growl raised his own hackles. ::Have I no say in the matter?::

  Caleb huffed, his nose filled with Brance's fur as he routed out the erect pink penis below Brance's anus. When Caleb's tongue licked it, an intense pleasure shot through Brance and he kneaded the ground with his forepaws, his growl dissipating into a loud purr. Amused, Caleb countered, ::I think this says it all.::

  In one fluid motion, Brance extracted himself from Caleb's ministrations and leapt to his feet. Before the other bobcat could react, he pounced--his teeth sank into the thick fur at Caleb's neck, holding him in place. A rowdy mrraow filled the night. Beneath him, Caleb arched his back, raising his rear haunches into the air to present himself. His claws tore up the grass in his need; as Brance's underbelly rubbed over his backside, Caleb's tongue darted out, lapping up the air. One word passed between them, over and over again, a litany of affirmation, acceptance, love. ::Please,:: Caleb begged as Brance's body covered his. ::Please,:: as Brance's penis rimmed Caleb's flaring hole. ::Please, please, please..::

  Then Brance entered him, and their mingled cries of lust drowned out all other sound.

  * * * *

  After mating, Brance stretched out along the cool grass of the clearing while Caleb went in search of food. Brance's rear leg throbbed with a dull pain that centered around an old scar in his side--the remnant of a bullet his fellow soldiers had fired the one time he made the mistake not to leave camp before his change. The wound had healed, the bullet extracted by Caleb the night they first met, but the damn muscle still ache
d from time to time, an unpleasant reminder that the years were beginning to take their toll. He'd seen men younger than himself die on the battlefield. If he hadn't left the Union Army when he did, he might've been among their number soon enough.

  Caleb took to the task of hunting with eagerness. The moment Brance slipped from him, satiated, Caleb was off, chasing up mice or rabbits, anything he could find to fill the hunger that gnawed at their stomachs. Brance waited, eyes shut but ears and nose attuned to the wood around him. Gnats flittered around his ears, a vole skittered through nearby leaves, a mockingbird sang out in the distance. Somewhere closer an owl cried, and a sudden rustle of leaves told Brance the bird had found its own prey. He wondered where Caleb had run off to, if there was food enough so close by. The change burned a lot of energy; between that and the sex, Brance's stomach grumbled...

  Movement startled the bushes behind him--Brance turned his head, drew back his lips, and breathed deep the night air. An unconscious growl tickled his throat. Then he caught Caleb's familiar scent, mingled with fresh blood and the hint of tobacco smoke, a second before his mate rubbed against the back of Brance's head.

  ::It's just me.:: Coming into view, he dropped a large, dead opossum in front of Brance and sat back to clean the blood from his nose. ::Dinner is served.::

  Brance sniffed at the carcass, cautious. When he was satisfied, he began to eat. After the first few bites, Caleb joined in, laying alongside Brance. Once he was finished, he rolled against Brance's side and stretched out as if to press as much of his body to Brance's as he could. His weight bore down on Brance, pushing against him, as he rubbed his head into the soft fur beneath Brance's forepaw. A kittenish purr rose from Caleb as he snuggled closer--Brance flicked his ears in mock irritation and set one leg against Caleb's side, an ineffectual attempt to hold him at bay. When Caleb rolled toward him, Brance growled. ::Do you have to lay on me?::

  Sharp claws combed through the hair on his belly as Caleb began to knead at him. ::Aren't you full yet?:: he wanted to know. ::Fuck me again.::

  ::No.::

  Caleb had a constant need for attention, and showing affection came hard to Brance. He was content to lie together, but Caleb demanded more--Caleb loved being dominated, to feel Brance in him, above him, holding him tight; he had a voracious appetite for his lover, one Brance secretly doubted he could fulfill.

  But Caleb never took "no" for an answer. As he worked his paws against Brance's underside, his purring like the steady rumble of a train over a track, his tongue wet down any fur it could reach. ::I heard an owl,:: he said, just to fill the silence between them. ::If I could catch one of those, maybe tomorrow night? It was a huge bird, the size of a chicken. We'd feed for hours. Or maybe a deer, what do you think? A small doe, or a fawn maybe, something we could bury and keep for a few days. I could bring one down, easily. But I haven't seen any around here yet. Maybe it's the men keeping them away.::

  Amused, Brance pointed out, ::There are only men in this wood during the day.::

  ::There are others.::

  At Brance's sharp look, Caleb stretched up to rub the top of his head beneath his lover's chin. ::I saw them, just now. They have a camp not far from here. Two men with a slave.::

  ::He was a free man, I'll warrant,:: Brance mused, ::if Mason-Dixon have anything to say about it.::

  Sometimes the ingrained prejudice in Caleb's stubborn Southern mind was hard to take, but Caleb's assumptions weren't all that bothered Brance. As far as he knew, they should've been alone in this part of the country. The last town they passed had been days ago, and any man who could hold a rifle had signed up for the war. Brance had chosen these woods because they were quiet and secluded, a place he and Caleb could be alone. ::Where did you see them?::

  But Caleb's cuddling had him aroused, and the men didn't appear to concern him. ::They'll be there all night,:: he countered. ::They aren't bothering us, are they? So don't worry about them. Let's just...::

  Brance rose to his feet. Caleb rolled over the warm grass where he'd lain, twisting like a kitten to paw at Brance's tail. ::Where?:: Brance asked again.

  For a moment, he didn't think Caleb would respond. The bobcat batted Brance's tail, then snapped at it playfully with his jaws. Brance flicked it up out of reach, forcing Caleb to rise if he wanted to chase it. Faking sudden disinterest, Caleb sat up to wash his forepaw; he smoothed it back over the top of his head, eyes closed, ignoring Brance again.

  Brance waited, annoyed. He watched Caleb groom himself, that paw rubbing above his eye, over his ear, along his whiskers. His ploy for buying time. Just when Brance was about to say the hell with it, he'd find the men himself, Caleb shook his head and stretched, forepaws extended, claws unsheathed, rear haunches arched up into the air. Then he brushed alongside Brance, tail tickling beneath the older cat's nose, as he led the way from the clearing. ::I'll show you, but then we fuck.:: His tail twitched in the air, raised high to give Brance a clear view of his furry nuts. ::Follow me.::

  * * * *

  Caleb raced ahead, setting a quick pace. Brance's leg bothered him but he ignored the pain and concentrated on the tip of Caleb's tail, swishing through the shadows ahead. They moved silently, paws padding over the grass with just a whisper of their passing. The underbrush seemed to swallow them whole. Above, the moon winked down at them from between branches heavy with leaves; another month and those branches would be bare. Brance felt the coming winter in his bones, a hollow ache like arthritis that left him numb inside.

  As he followed Caleb, he let his mind wander to the months ahead. He would need to find somewhere to settle down for the winter, an isolated plot of land where he could build a proper home for Caleb, where they could live out the rest of their days far from the war and the politicians who ran things in Washington. He'd hoped perhaps he had found such a place here, in these woods, but if men were already encroaching on his territory, he would have to move farther west, into the mountains.

  And fight for a place each month among the cats who already called those foothills home. Brance didn't relish the thought. Was it too much to ask for solitude? To be left alone?

  In front of him, Caleb sank down to the ground. With a shake of his head to clear it, Brance lay beside him. ::Ahead, through the bushes.:: Caleb pressed his damp nose into Brance's ear, then licked out to smooth down the fur beneath his eye. ::Smell them?::

  Brance caught a whiff of unwashed human flesh and the cloying stench of burning tobacco. On silent paws he moved forward--Caleb hissed his disapproval. ::Wait--::

  ::Hush,:: Brance admonished. ::They'll hear you.::

  Through the bushes a man began to curse, and other male voices laughed. Brance's ears flattened back over his head as he nosed forward, sniffing his way through the underbrush. He sensed a clearing ahead, and a cooking fire. The familiar smell of lobcourse soup, once a staple in his diet when he had been a soldier, filled him with a poignant sadness, a nostalgia he couldn't stifle for a time he'd never get back. Without realizing it, he cried out into the night, a lonesome, soulful sound that released some of the ache in his heart.

  He felt teeth bite into his tail, heard Caleb hiss again. ::Brance, quiet! They'll hear YOU.::

  They did.

  Through the hedge Brance saw the three men, two sitting on logs by a fire and the third leaning over a bucket of water, nursing a burnt hand. All three of them froze at the sound of Brance's cry--eyes wide, they stared unseeing into the night, fear etched into their faces. By the fire, the large black man Caleb had mistaken for a slave exchanged a quick look with his companions. He wore nothing but a pair of torn dungarees, tied around his waist with a bit of rope. His skin glistened with sweat, like polished ebony in the firelight. His head and arms and chest appeared to have been shaved, they were so smooth and unbroken by hair, and his feet were ashy with dust. In the blackness of his face, his eyes and teeth shone. When he spoke, his voice was thunderous. "How close you think he is?"

  The man beside him on the log was overweight,
and from the way his legs splayed out before him, Brance suspected he suffered from gout. His corpulent face was grizzled, unshaven, like the prickly flesh of a cactus plant. When he rubbed a large, meaty hand over his numerous chins, the rasp of skin over bristles carried to where Brance hid. "Nowhere close, Josiah," the man grumbled, though he didn't sound so sure himself. "Sound carries out here in the wilderness. You know that."

  A harsh laugh came from the third man. It sounded like the bark of a mean dog, and when he turned to his companions, his narrow eyes sparkled like flecks of steel in his long, thin face. "He's nearby," this man said, his voice low and breathy.

  It wasn't a nice sound, that voice--it reminded Brance of snakeskin slithering over sharp rocks, and he backed into Caleb, hackles raised, a growl grumbling in the back of his throat. The man cocked his ear as if he heard it; with a conscious effort, Brance stifled the sound. "Hear that, boys?" the man asked in his papery whisper. "A large male, I 'spect. Mating or fighting out there earlier, so we're talking at least two pelts with our names on them."

  The fat man raised a pistol and looked around, eyes wild, as if he were under attack. In two long strides, his companion closed the distance between them to wrench the pistol from his hand. "You want to scare it off, Len?" the man asked, voice hard. "Let the whole goddamn world know we're here?"

  "You said he's near," Len argued. He glanced at Josiah for confirmation, but the large black man wouldn't meet his gaze. "You said--"

  With one swift motion, the man raised Len's pistol and rapped the metal grip against Len's temple. The fat man howled in pain, both hands raising to cradle his head. "This is our last resort," the man explained. "Gunshots will ruin the pelt, you idiot. Aim for the heart, even if that means you have to wait until the fucker jumps at you. Hear me?"