He brushed a little gentler over T's belly, not wanting to hurt, his free hand following the brush, stroking the so soft fur of T's belly. "God, you're beautiful."
T rippled, tongue lolling out. Beautiful and a little goofy. He kept brushing, noticing that T was starting to drool just a little. It had him chuckling.
"So you like it out here, don't you, T?" He'd never seen the tiger as limp and drooling as T was now and he was pretty sure it wasn't just the brushing, it was the whole package.
T chuffed, nodded, paws rolling in the air.
He nodded. Yeah. Moving out here was looking better and better. As long as the circus-freak show had moved on. He didn't like what he knew about T's "Keeper" and meeting the man hadn't made him like the guy any better. And nobody was going to hurt T, not while he was around.
He knew that circuses had to move on--would the keeper give Torao up as lost? If they'd already moved on, he and T could move out here to the country and then just not be in town when the circus came back.
He stopped brushing and stroked T's belly with both hands instead, concentrating on feeling good.
T slowly changed, fur turning to soft, sleek skin. "Mate."
He kept petting, well stroking now, fingertips gliding over T's silky skin. "Yeah, Mate." God, he did love the sound of that. It made him feel good. "Would you like to live out here?"
"Live? Make home? Here?" Torao's eyes lit up, the man nodding and smiling. "Tigers like trees."
He laughed. "Yeah, I've noticed that." Then he nodded, looking around. "I don't mean this exact spot, but somewhere out here where there's land and trees and a house."
"House and trees." T nodded, the look satisfied. "Yes. I find?"
"You find?" He frowned not sure what T meant. They needed to look in the paper. Or call a real estate agent. He'd have to sell his house in the city, too.
Torao nodded again. "I find house and trees for mate."
"Well it's not as easy as all that, T. We can't just choose the first house we come across. We need to find one that's for sale."
T gave him one of those looks that said, 'men are strange' and 'I don't understand' and 'what?'
He chuckled and gave T a quick, hard kiss. "Okay, so say you find a house for us to live in. Well what about the people who already live there? They aren't going to leave just because we like the place. But if people want to move to a new house--like we do--they let everyone know their old place is going to be vacant. We need to find one of those houses."
"I could eat them for you."
Oh, that had him laughing. At least until he realized T was looking at him strangely. "Oh, you can't do that, T. Eating people is against the law."
"Silly man law."
"Oh, I don't know. I find it kind of comforting knowing I won't be eaten..." He squeezed T, sliding his fingers through the long hair. "But we can go get a paper tomorrow and see some houses maybe where the people are leaving. See if we find one we like?"
T nodded. "Like. Like trees and home."
"Yeah, I know. What kind of house would you like? Big? Small? It'll have to be well off the road."
He got a shrug. "No cage. Trees. Water. Movie box."
"You do like the television, don't you? And there won't be any cages, T. I promise." Never again.
Torao rolled over to him, kissed him gently. "Promise."
He nodded, leaning in to kiss T again. "Yeah. Promise. No cages, no one hurting you. You get to run and play and not have to worry about anyone seeing you as the tiger."
"You happy? Mate happy?" So dear. So honest, his Torao, always wanting him to be happy.
"Yeah, T. I am." He grinned because it was true. He was out in the woods with a tent that wasn't going to survive a bit of wind or a rainstorm, they had something he had to re-hydrate for supper and Power Bars, but he was happy.
"Good." Torao cuddled in, heedless of the grass, and promptly went to sleep.
Greyson laughed and relaxed, watching the clouds go past in the sky above the tops of the trees.
He liked how T thought, just living, enjoying life. You were happy or you weren't, and T wanted to be happy.
Greyson did, too, and being with T made him happy. So he was going to make that work.
No matter what.
Epilogue
Birds.
Big, white birds.
He crouched in the tall grasses, muscles tense, eyes fastened on the flock that landed.
Birds.
SPROING.
He rolled in the grass, chuffing as the birds flew up, feathers going everywhere.
Birds birds birds.
Grey-Son had brought him to this place with grass and trees and birds, said this was home now.
Grey-Son was a good mate.
Even if he spent too much time at the work that didn't burn or hurt.
Torao spent the afternoon patrolling the grounds, chasing bugs, marking his territory and exploring before curling on the porch to nap in the sun.
Napping was good.
The sun was still in the sky but not as warm anymore when he heard the noise that meant the metal Car was bringing Grey-Son back to him.
Torao leapt down to meet the Car, shaking his ruff and roaring in welcome.
Mate!
Mate!
The Car pulled up and the noise stopped, his mate coming out of the car. Grey-Son looked tired, but smiled at him, arms open.
He crouched and pounced, changing to a man right before he hit Grey-Son's body. Grey-Son's arms went around him, catching him, and Grey-Son 'oofed' as his back hit the car.
"Hey, T. Did you have a good day?" But Grey-Son didn't let him answer the question, pressing their mouths together.
He loved Kissing. Kiss. Sing. His tongue pushed against Grey-Son's, the heat sweet and perfect. Rich in his mouth. Grey-Son moaned, the sound adding to the texture of their kisses, the warm paws moving on his skin, warmer even than the sun.
Torao rubbed and purred, the sound vibrating between them both.
"God, I love coming home to you." Grey-Son grabbed his ass, squeezing, diving back into the kiss.
"Work work work." He chuffed and moaned, wrapping himself around Grey-Son. "There were birds today."
"Birds? Did you catch any?" Grey-Son pulled off his tie and opened the buttons of his shirt.
"No. Just feathers." Grey-Son got cross when he killed the birds.
Grey-Son chuckled, shirt coming right off, baring the pretty dark skin, the little nipples that were standing up for him. He chuffed and pounced again, pushing Grey-Son into the grass so he could nuzzle and lick and lap.
Grey-Son didn't argue, just wrapped strong arms around him, stroked and petted him. At the place in the city, Grey-Son would have complained about people seeing, made them move inside, but here they were far away from anyone and he could be himself, and they could feel the sun on their skin without stupid clothes to get in the way.
Moaning, Grey-Son arched and rubbed beneath him, offering him one nipple before pushing his head toward the other. He groaned, worrying the little bit of flesh with his teeth, luxuriating in his Grey-Son's laughter and moans.
The hands moving on him grew tight, Grey-Son's cock hard inside his pants, rubbing against him. It was easy, to tear the clothes away and roll them, their bodies rocking and slapping together under the late summer sun.
First he was on top, and then Grey-Son, and then him again, their bodies rubbing, the kisses growing harder and deeper. The grass felt almost as good as the sun against his skin, but it was Grey-Son's skin that felt the best on his own.
On one turn, he spun, tongue finding Grey-Son's prick and nuzzling it, tongue sliding along the shaft.
"Yes! T!" He liked the note of need in Grey-Son's voice, the way Grey-Son's hips shifted restlessly.
Then Grey-Son's hands tugged him, moved him a little and Grey-Son's hot tongue touched his shaft, sharing the same pleasure with him. T purred, caught between the grass and the sunshine and the heat and his mate. Happy.
So happy.
"Love that sound," murmured Grey-Son, prick pushing against his lips. "Makes me feel good."
"Gooooood." He nodded, licking and sucking and groaning happily.
Bittersalt drops leaked from Grey-Son's prick, strong on his tongue, and the heavy scent of Grey-Son's musk filled his nose. His mate all around him.
His mate's mouth was around him, too, taking his balls into the hot wetness, licking them. His hips jerked, pushing deep and thrusting against Grey-Son, the heat perfect.
Then Grey-Son's mouth moved beyond his balls, licking the skin behind them. Such a delicate touch. Sharp teeth, sudden and shocking made him jerk and roar, but Grey-Son's tongue was back right away, soothing the unexpected scraping. Then that tongue flattened on his skin and dragged over his hole, making him need so much.
His head snapped back, roar filling the air as he fought the urge to shift, to arch his hips and beg for more. Grey-Son's tongue pushed into him, hot and wet, so good as it stabbed him again and again.
He rolled over, ass in the air, fingers digging into the grass as his hips pumped. "Mate."
"Yes, T. Yes." Grey-Son's rolled up to kneel behind him, fingers spreading him, shaft hard and hot and pushing into him. Grey-Son's cock stretched him and spread him, pushing so deep into him.
He snarled and purred, head dropping so his mate could bite and hold on, hold him. Grey-Son's smooth, warm skin pressed against him as Grey-Son stretched out over him, mouth latching onto his neck. Grey-Son's lips sucked, pulling the blood up to the surface, marking him outside, just as he was being marked inside.
He could see his hair pooling on the grass, black and white and... "Morrrrrrrrrrrrrre."
"Yeah. Yeah, T. More." Grey-Son's tongue dragged over his skin, teeth scraping as the hard cock pushed into him over and over again.
He shuddered and shook, stretching and spreading for his mate, his friend. Inside him. He could feel the pressure and slide and push inside him.
"Oh, God, T. Mate." Grey-Son's words whispered in his ear, and Grey-Son's teeth latched onto his neck. Yes, mating. Good.
Good. He bucked and roared, body jerking violently as his seed poured onto the grass. Grey-Son called back to him, shaft jerking into him again and again until Grey-Son roared, pretty loud for a Mans, and filled him with heat, marking him deep inside.
"Mmm. Mate." He plopped down onto the ground, panting and purring happily.
Grey-Son was a good weight on top of him, warm and solid, nice and close. "Love you, Mate," Grey-Son murmured, nibbling at his skin.
"Love." His eyes closed, fingers sliding through the grass. "Good love."
"You said it." Grey-Son's end of day whiskers scratched nicely against his shoulder blade as the heat inside him slipped away.
"So you had a good day? You're still happy here?" The dark eyes looked into his own as Grey-Son settled next to him.
"Good lair. Birds and grass and sun and sky." He rolled on his back and stretched.
Grey-Son's fingers slid over his belly, stroking gently. "And no one around to see you and call the cops. Or the circus." His nipple was kissed. "It's safe here."
He nodded. "You, mate? You have happy here?"
Grey-Son looked up at him, and smiled. "Yeah, Torao. I have happy here. A lot of happy."
"Good." He would not wish to have an unhappy mate. Never.
Grey-Son nodded and then made a face. "Except for the grass going up my butt. Let's go inside and have a shower."
Shower? He could bathe Grey-Son just as well! He shifted as he rolled, tongue dragging on Grey-Son's skin. Salty.
Grey-Son laughed and dug strong fingers into his ruff, petting and rubbing. "That's not quite what I had in mind, T."
Silly man. Tiger baths were amazing.
Just like tiger mates.
And tiger pounces.
And tigers.
End.
plums
by camilla bruce
Once, there was a ferryman rowing with the dead down the stream. Spring, summer, autumn, he was there, rowing with strong arms, the coffin placed by his feet. Sometimes small, sometimes big. Sometimes there was more than one.
He was collecting at times of plague. Picking up the dead by the shores. Often there were no coffins then, just linen-wrapped bodies that he hauled onboard. Old people and children mostly. White bodies scattered on the riverbanks like dolls, waiting for the ferryman to come.
In good times, people had more care for their dead. The coffins were crafted with skill and stained with sweat and tears. They scented of freshly cut wood, bled with thick resin and spoke of love for the still bodies inside.
The ferryman, whose Christian name was Simon, thought it was a peaceful job when the weather was nice, rowing the dead. He had been doing so for eight years, and had many small villages, scattered farms and houses to take care of. The people living there were all depending on him to bring their dead to that final rest by the small church. The soil was rich and black there. Cool. The ferryman thought it a delightful place. He felt he did good in his work, and the dead did not scare him. The people he served paid him well. They were generous with their food and liquor, to make sure he gave their departed ones a proper last journey down the stream.
Simon Ferryman was a handsome man, tall, blond and with the bluest eyes, but he was not married. People said it was a curse from spending too much time with the dead, but that was of course not true. His mother was still alive and he lived with her and his two younger brothers. He provided well for them all. When he did not row the dead, he carried other things on his boat: goods and cattle. He worked in the woods and with the fishermen. All gave solid gold in his pouch and he did not desire a different life. Not yet, he told himself, while his mother was still strong and able to keep the house. The truth was that he feared the changes. Feared to leave what he had and embrace another life, for he was not like the other men surrounding him, and he knew that very well. Solitude was a refuge for him as much as a consequence of his work; it was crucial that the other men did not come too close. Maybe they would see it then, in the way he breathed, smell it on his skin or feel it in his touch, the horror and the shame. He carried the Devil inside.
His mother once almost married. She was a widow and the neighboring farmer a widower. They both still had young children. It would have been a blessed solution. And they were thinking of Simon as well, not knowing that he had chosen his path, his work, for this particular reason--to keep other people away. They thought of his freedom, his chances of finding a wife. Having young brothers and a mother in the house might be one of the reasons, his poor mother guessed, that his presumed efforts to have a girl to warm his bed failed.
The neighbor's sons came and drank with him. Raised their glasses in the air and toasted for the bonds that were soon to be tied between their homes. Simon felt sullen and uneasy, and not very eager at all. It ached in his heart because his mother blushed and smiled with her eyes when the widower came to visit, yet he demanded of her that she'd stay. He could not, he said, possibly make it without her. And his younger brothers deserved to be raised in their father's house. With the heavy weight of guilt on her shoulders, she obliged, and the ferryman had his wishes granted, though he did not forget his betrayal, what he had done, crushing his mother's hopes and desires. It was the wrong in his flesh that had caused it. This thing he could not reveal, this thing that made happiness in life unattainable for him.
***
In early spring, the first buds appeared on the branches of the plum trees framing the silvery stream of the river. They were bending over the water to get a glimpse of themselves--green-leaved beauties of purple wood--in the clear liquid mirror. Soon, as the sun grew warmer and the days longer, the flower buds opened up and revealed the delicate flowers within. Petals, soft and pink in color, hung in rows and heavy clusters above the stream as if trying to kiss the black stones beneath the cool water.
Simon loved those trees, loved to row amongst the branches, often so clo
se to shore he could touch the fresh, green grass. His fingers reached up and caught the flowers between long fingers, caressed the petals and let them go, hesitant to ruin the sweet fruit he knew would come of them. Heavy and purple. Skin taut with the juices beneath. The scent of ripe plums hung about him as a perfume in the early days of autumn, as he filled his boat and stomach with the soft, sugary flesh of the fruits.
He was not the only one appreciating the plums though; the ravens were in love with the fragrant meat as well. Black birds with glossy feathers sat on the ground by the crocked trunks, feeding on the earthy plums, so ripe they had burst upon hitting the ground. Other birds sat high up in the trees among the green leaves. He saw black beaks and glittering gazes. Strong wings that rose gracefully, as in a greeting, when the ferryman appeared among them to pick plums of his own.
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