My Brother, Coyote

by James Buchanan

  As True started towards the site, Seth reached back into the truck. “Yo bro, your mom sent coffee.” An old, chrome thermos, the kind men carried on farms, appeared from the floor boards.

  True turned and walked backwards, enjoying the pure freedom of being alone with Seth, of watching Seth stride him. Rangy legs in deep indigo jeans and a navy camp-shirt under one of his uncles’ old, denim jackets; neither quite made the end of his wrist. Brand new clothes; the kind they give you when you get out of prison. True’s breath caught as Seth pressed the thermos into his hand.

  True wanted to pull his cousin to him, tell him how wrong it was that such things had to be. It wasn’t right that they’d sent Seth away. They should have praised Seth, not punished him for Martín’s death. People should have understood.

  Instead, True kept walking. Shaking the container started gurgling sounds deep inside.

  “You weren’t going to tell me about this?”

  True threaded through the maze towards his tent. One of those old, Vietnam-era, surplus things, it squatted ugly and forlorn away from the bright, high-tech tents of the other students. Unscrewing the lid, he took a deep pull. Definitely his mom’s coffee, still hot but made with week-old grounds and bitter water.

  Knees creaked in the cold as True knelt before the tent. Lifting the flap, he scanned the inside carefully. A low cot, military surplus like the tent, sat in the middle. A blue striped blanket lay folded neatly along the top. What odds and ends he kept here were tied up off the floor. Seth caught the other flap, pulling it up and tying it back.

  The rising sun cast cornflower rainbows on the dirt at their feet. “Brother Snake, did you come visit me while I was gone?”

  He and the professor had to constantly remind the other students that rattlesnakes liked to nap where men lived. True didn’t tell them it was because Snake held Witch Medicine in his mouth. No rattle answered him, nothing moved within.

  Shrugging, he tied the flap up for air and crawled inside. The world was ten shades of blue in the tent. True took the far end of the cot, legs splayed over either side, elbows bracing his back up against the thin, canvas wall. Before he arranged himself, Seth held his hand out for the coffee. With a smirk True passed it over. Seth lifted the thermos and took swig. A shudder, followed by a painful grimace,

  “Ahg, bro, monkeys make better coffee than that.” Lanky legs slung over one side, head lolling off the other, Seth gave another strangled choke. “When did your mother start hating you?”

  “The day it tastes good is the day I’d worry.” True’s laugh sounded. Three years had deepened it, refined it to something warm and comfortable. “That’d be when she was hiding something awful in it.” He couldn’t stop looking at Seth, drinking him in. How had he gone from that gangly teenager, whose bones were too big for his skin, to this gorgeous creature in front of him?

  Hesitant, Seth rested a hand on True’s knee. Fire drifted up his thigh with the touch. “Look at you.” In the mirror of Seth’s eyes his own sharp cheeks, nutmeg skin and deep-set eyes confronted him. Like many Dîné, despite the hard angles of his features, he had a quiet softness about him. “You grew up on me.”

  “Not according to mom.” True sat up and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “She says I’m just one more kid underfoot.”

  Seth traced the inseam of True’s jeans, “Don’t see no kids around here bro.”

  In that moment, three years vanished. They were back in that horrible trailer sitting on Seth’s bed, never having been apart. A slow burn started between True’s legs and seeped out over his body. Three years of aching. Three years of longing. It was three years more than he could stand. True’s hand slid along Seth’s cheek. “Do you remember?” Deep mahogany eyes searched amber. “I remember. I remember how much I wanted you, how little time we had.”

  Seth’s hand moved from his leg. Pulling himself up, perched on the edge of the cot, Seth nodded, “I remember.” Motor oil, alfalfa and new clothes scent overwhelmed True’s senses. Underneath it all was the warm, animal smell of Seth. Lids fell over amber eyes and Seth’s tongue rode his lips. “Bro, you don’t want this. Don’t want me.”

  “I do.” True sat on the blanket with its blue and white stripes. Boot heel hooked on the edge of the cot, chin resting on a denim clad knee, “I waited for you.”

  “What do you mean you’ve waited?”

  “I mean I waited so it could be with you.”

  “Aw, Tick.” Palms pressed against his face, Seth hid from the words. “Aw shit, Tick, why?”

  “Because your heart is mine. We were always meant to be with each other.” Shame flickered across Seth’s face. It showed with how he bit at his lip, how he studied the ground under the cot. True knew where that shame came from. “It’s okay. You were out in their world.” He could forgive Seth for not waiting. “Things are so different there.” True leaned in, resting his weight on his hand, twining the fingers of the other with Seth’s. “I understand.”

  The memory of that hot, desperate first kiss drove him forward. His mouth locked on his cousin’s, tongue driving inside. True was already struggling with unzipping Seth’s jeans. He was done with waiting.

  Frantic to touch Seth, True’s hand slipped under denim and wrapped around his cousin’s cock. Seth’s skin felt like chamois, soft and sensual. It was warm. It was hard. His fingers twined into Seth’s hair as he pillaged that mouth. Both moaned, growled, tore at each other’s shirts to reach skin. The cool morning air shredded nerves as it hit overheated flesh. Denim fought True as he pulled it off Seth’s hips, wresting Seth’s cock free from the fabric. True wanted to experience every touch and taste and smell of Seth.

  True steadied himself, one hand braced against Seth’s thigh, the other gripping the side of the cot. With a sigh for all the years of waiting, he took Seth into his mouth.

  The thin, bitter drop on his tongue was better than any honey. Seth was satisfying, warm, pulsing in his mouth. It was the best thing True had ever tasted. He couldn’t get enough of Seth; how he stretched his jaws wide, how his skin caught on True’s tongue as he pulled back. Following the veins in Seth’s cock, True licked up and down. He sucked Seth’s foreskin into his mouth. Then he did it again because it made Seth moan so low. He had no clue whether he was doing it right, but finally he was doing it.

  What True lacked in experience he made up for in desire. Seth’s golden eyes drifted shut and a low keen slipped between his lips. Thrusting into a willing mouth he ran his fingers through True’s hair, finally tightening his grip and pulling True back. “Stop,” he whimpered, “Don’t want to finish just yet.”

  Running his hands up the other man’s legs until he reached the fly, Seth unzipped True’s dusty jeans. Pushing him back on the cot, drawing the denim off his trembling hips, all the time Seth kissed and bit at True’s exposed skin.

  And then Seth started. Slow, gentle licking with lots of saliva, moving along True’s shaft with his tongue. One hand was working True’s cock, the other playing with his balls. When Seth’s lips slid over his head True almost cried with how good it felt.

  Seth laughed, the sound sent whispers threading through True’s nerves. He traced the sensitive area between sac and hole with his fingers. Moving in little circles around True’s opening, Seth progressed from gentle tickles to subtle pressure. True’s hips bucked when one finger, slick with saliva, slithered inside. It slid in just a little and then backed away. Again, and again, and again, and again, each time going deeper, adding more. Throughout Seth’s lips and teeth were toying with True’s cock.

  Shuddering, barely able to breathe, True never knew it would be like this. Imagined, hoped, yes… explored where Seth was exploring, and touched himself where Seth was licking, but he had no way to know it would feel so exquisite with someone else. His hands clutched the sides of the narrow cot as he gave into it all. Then the incredible feelings were gone. True whimpered. His eyes snapped open as Seth’s weight shifted.

  Ravenous, Seth’s amber g
aze was tracked by his fingers across True’s flat stomach. His other hand fished in his the pocket of his jeans. “Bend over the cot; it’ll be easier that way.” True slid off and down, shrugging the rest of the way out of his shirt. Cool air kissed his overheated chest and back.

  Three years he’d waited for Seth to come home to him. Three years he’d waited for this. Bent across the cot with blue jeans pooled about his knees, everything was so hard, so excited. Anticipation pinched the flesh along his legs. Seth knelt behind him, denim dropped just low enough to free his cock. Knuckles traced lovingly down True’s spine and he arched into the touch. “Tick, you sure about this?” Whispered just behind his ear the words drove spikes of frost under his skin. Slippery fingers found his hole again and worked their way inside.

  The sliding of silken-hard flesh against his skin sent shivers through him. “Aoo’,” Yes, “now.” The head of Seth’s cock brushed his entrance. It was slick. Everything was tensing and trembling beyond True’s control. Seth pulled out his fingers and pushed forward with his shaft. “Ahyah,” ground out between True’s teeth and his fingers went white gripping the blanket. It hurt. In his dreams it hadn’t hurt.

  “Relax, relax, Tick.” Kisses wound down his back, caresses slid across his shoulder. “I’ll be good to you. I will. It’s only for a little bit. But you gotta relax.” Without moving inside, Seth’s hand wound around True’s cock. Stroking, touching him like he had touched that nameless man in True’s vision.

  This was Seth, his Seth. True took a breath and forced himself to calm. The touches were amazing. And he felt so full, so complete with Seth inside him. Taking a breath he pushed back. Seth’s dick slipped another notch within him. No pain this time, only a pressure and blissful release. So wonderful. This was how it was supposed to be with Seth. He pressed back again and another inch deeper brought them both to hisses. Then Seth began to move for them both.

  As Seth slid between his legs, shivers ran under True’s skin and he howled with the pleasure of it. The friction of Seth sliding inside his channel burned a cold, hard fire between his legs. Seth pounded him, stroking his insides and twisting his cock. Each thrust forward was met with True’s own back against his cousin’s hips. Seth rammed again and again, pushing them harder.

  With Seth’s forehead pressed between his shoulders, True was losing himself. Black hair fell across his face as he buried his cheek into his arm. The pace was near frantic now. He added his own grip to the one stroking his cock. True could feel the pressure build within his balls, white heat was threading through his veins. And then the world exploded.

  True collapsed across the cot, blue-striped blanket balled in one hand, cream running across the other. Three more thrusts and Seth shuddered, moaned, filling True with his come. Riding out the last of his ecstasy, Seth collapsed across True, arms wrapped about his waist.

  Forever, they could stay like that forever. Just Seth and True and the rest of the world could vanish into smoke.

  Soft mews, like a lost kitten might make, came from just beyond the open tent flaps. Lazy, satisfied, True turned his head towards the sound. A growl sounded in Seth’s throat as his arm nearly pulled True in two, shielding his cousin with his own body.

  A woman, an old biliganna woman with blue-white hair and expensive clothes, stood staring. Both men’s hearts stopped, hitched, revved and restarted like a beat-up chidítsoh’s engine.

  Regaining a semblance of control, she offered up an apologetic smile. “Good-morning,” The words came out strangled. Weakly gesturing towards the camp’s outdoor kitchen, “I made some coffee.”

  They’d slunk from the tent after cleaning up and getting dressed. Even if they’d wanted to, True and Seth couldn’t hide there all day. True was certain there were more embarrassing things in life then suffering this. He just wasn’t sure what they were.

  The plan of loosing his virginity to Seth had not included being caught at it by some biliganna woman. Especially not some old biddy who wouldn’t shut up about how special it all was. Coffee and cold Pop-Tarts mixed badly with indigestion as the woman rattled on and on and on. Tavasuh, the Hopi name for the Dîné, meant head-breakers. If she didn’t knock it off soon True would teach her why.

  Denise Dillihay, anthropologist with Harvard; she’d identified herself with too strong a handshake. Her specialty was Northeastern Tribes, but she had come to visit the Professor, an old friend of hers. And she was so very interested in Berdaches, two spirited, as the academics called gays within the Native communities. She threw politically correct phrases around like candy: Male and female coming into substance together, the beauty of such a level of spirituality and openness, being born in the balance of masculinity and femininity. Every time she turned her back Seth stuck his fingers down his throat and pretended to gag.

  Still droning on, Dillihay perched on the table next to True and put her hand on his leg. The talking had been bad enough. Touching him, when she wasn’t related to him, that was just obscene. He shuffled uncomfortably trying to put some distance between them.

  “Stop it,” Seth barked the command, “you’re embarrassing Atsilí.” His voice was angry, protective.

  She stared, confused by his attitude. “But don’t you see? It’s a wonderful thing to be two spirited in a culture that so respects it. Nádleehí,” the professor mispronounced it, “isn’t that how it’s said in Navajo? It’s wonderful, you shouldn’t be embarrassed True, either of you.”

  Why couldn’t she just go away? “Look professor, if you’re talking about being two-spirited among Dîné, then you’re looking for a medicine man, ‘cause it means you’re possessed.” True drank the coffee she’d made and watched the sky turn from navy to turquoise. “We don’t talk about these things.”

  “I know, I’ve been told about the Navajo sensitivity on sex.” Actually Navajo weren’t particularly sensitive about sex. They just didn’t talk about it. It was something to be kept down inside the body, not running off your tongue. “I’m sorry I walked up on you. No intrusion, no embarrassment was meant. I just heard voices when I woke up and didn’t know who was supposed to be about. But it just is so nice to be able to meet two men, nádleehí men, who can celebrate their attachment to each other within their culture… not have to be afraid of rejection.”

  Seth’s amber eyes were hooded under rust colored bangs. “Let me tell you a story professor.” A tight smirk rolled across his lips. “Do you know the Coyote stories?”

  “I’ve heard some of them. How Coyote’s eyes became yellow because they’re really balls of pitch he was playing with. That the stars were scattered into the sky when Coyote grabbed the blanket.” Much more dismissive, her smile said they were children to tell her such stories. “The Coyote trickster cycle is very well documented.”

  “I don’t think you’ll know this one.” Seth cocked his elbows on the camp table and stared off towards the North, where Coyote lives. Beginning in the old ways, “Ciya’xazli’dę’,” I was told this when I was young… literally this story comes from below me. “Coyote, Rabbit and Crow were sitting in the Hogan. Coyote was wishing for tobacco, because he really wanted a smoke. He said, ‘Rabbit, give me your tobacco.’ And Rabbit said, ‘I have no tobacco.’ So then he said, ‘Crow, give me your tobacco.’ And Crow said, ‘I have no tobacco either.’ Coyote was very annoyed at this, because he really wanted a smoke. ‘No one has tobacco?’ he asked again. Both animals shook their heads. Coyote thought and thought, ‘Gila Monster has tobacco, we should get it from him.’”

  True had heard this story from their grandfather. For the benefit of his audience, Seth was throwing the blanket of Coyote over it. Grandfather always started it with Hosteen Begay, who lived up by Window Rock, knew the men who did this.

  “Rabbit laughed at this. ‘Gila Monster never shares. He will not give you his tobacco. He is still mad at you for putting his teeth in upside down so that he has to lie on his back to catch his dinner.’ Crow nodded, ‘You must give Gila Monster something he want
s if you want him to give you his tobacco.’” Rabbit and Crow had been named Chavez and Pinto. Tall-Boy Snow was joked by Frank Nez putting a scorpion in his bedroll and never quite forgave him. “Coyote thought more. Coyote’s youngest son was sitting in the Hogan on the south side and playing with his sister’s beads. He was small for a young man his age and not good at anything much at all, but he was very pretty in the same way his sisters were pretty. He was nádleehí, neither man nor woman.” The boy had been called Juan. “He could not hunt and when he tended the sheep they all got lost.”

  “Now Gila Monster had a son. His son was ugly and fat and slow. When his mother took him to Squaw Dances all the girls, even the ugly ones, would run away and not ask him to dance. Gila Monster’s wife was forever nagging him to find his son a wife. Coyote smiled and called his friends, ‘Come, let us go visit cousin Gila Monster.’”