by Kate Roman
Ash looked over his shoulder with a grin, then straightened up slowly. He grasped Roy’s blanket and tugged it off and away, tossing it to the bed before pressing his naked body against Roy’s.
With a sound between a groan and a sob, Roy fell back into their rude bed, pulling Ash with him. He held Ash tight, kissing him hungrily, reaching for Ash’s swollen, leaking cock.
Ash bucked into Roy’s hand, panting urgently. Roy pressed him down against the blankets and kissed him again, then slid down his body, licking and biting as he went. Ash writhed beneath him, growling low in his throat, a soft, feral sound that set Roy’s loins on fire.
Panting, Roy slid his hands between Ash’s thighs and palmed the warm flesh, squeezing with his thumbs. Ash mewled, drawing his knees up, and with a grunt of satisfaction, Roy pushed his thighs apart.
Ash’s cock gleamed in the firelight, rising proudly from its nest of blond curls. Roy lowered his head and lapped lightly at the blood-dark head, tasting the slick salt on his tongue.
Ash groaned and bucked and Roy took him deeper, savoring every whimper, every jerk of the young man’s body beneath his own. He held Ash open with his hands and took full advantage, sucking Ash down as deep as he could, reveling in the thick meat against the back of his throat.
Ash was crying out now, high and sweet, voice breaking on Roy’s name as he thrashed on the blankets. Roy sped up his stroke, working Ash’s head with his tongue, and Ash arched up off the bed with a short, guttural cry.
His juice exploded over Roy’s tongue, and Roy lapped at every drop, before pulling back slowly, releasing Ash’s still-twitching cock. He stretched out next to Ash, still panting and boneless on the blankets, and Ash rolled close to him, burrowing in.
Roy kissed him gently, then took hold of his own aching cock, starting up a slow rhythm—the one he’d grown accustomed to through long and lonely practice. But Ash pushed himself up, then reached down to cover Roy’s hand with his, moving with him.
“Let me,” Ash whispered. Roy’s eyes flew open. Ash was staring at him, those sweet and mysterious gold-flecked eyes huge and feral with desire. Predator’s eyes, filled with knowledge and meaning; eyes that could not possibly belong to a shy, innocent English boy.
“Ash?” Roy whispered, raising a hand to his lover’s face. Ash moved his head, nipping playfully at Roy’s fingers; then the moment was gone.
Roy dropped back to the bed, shuddering as Ash palmed his cock. Then Ash was sliding down his body, soft, skilled lips touching him just right, and in moments, Roy was bowing off the bed, shouting as he came, hard and long.
Roy fell asleep clutching Ash to his chest and wondering about the depths of passion—and the secrets—that lay beneath his lover’s youthful exterior.
Chapter Nine
Roy stood at the entrance to the cave with Ash at his shoulder, looking down over the veldt. The morning had dawned clear and bright, and the only traces of the storm remained in the crushed and broken thornbushes flattened by the torrential rain. Chuckling waterfalls ran down the surrounding hills, flush and misty, and far below their perch herds of beasts moved like so many ants, grazing their fill before the heat of the day.
“Duiker,” Roy said, pointing, “and over there are buffalo. Both good eating. And look, over there, those are impala. They’re beautiful. One day I’ll take you out there and we’ll watch them run. There’s nothing quite like that, Ash, nothing at all.”
“It’s beautiful,” Ash said simply, taking the bowl of maize porridge Roy handed him. “Back in England, I used to think I would do anything for a different life—to be someone else, you understand.” He shook his head. “I’d live it again, every minute of it, and like it too, knowing I had this to look forward to.” He raised his head, met Roy’s gaze, and smiled.
Warmth flooded through Roy, and he looked to his own bowl in confusion. He’d seen firsthand the results of the abuse Ash had suffered in Rhodesia. He was certain Ash had been similarly mistreated in England. And the thought that Ash considered his suffering a fair price for a cave on the veldt and the company of a broken-down medical man gone native was humbling indeed.
“Today I’ll take you higher into the hills. We’ll see some monkeys, probably baboons too. There’s an old she-leopard with a range up there too, and we might see her if we’re careful.”
Ash watched Roy with bright, interested eyes. “Only one leopard?”
“They’re solitary, not like lions. And territorial.”
“I have a lot to learn.” Ash scraped his bowl clean.
“So do I. In this country, it is safest to forget everything you think you know and start over.”
Ash seemed on the verge of saying something further, then simply nodded and took his bowl to the spring to wash.
For the next two days, the two men made forays into the hills, returning to the cave each night to eat and sleep. The hills harbored a number of plants Roy used in his medicines, and he showed Ash how to gather each one, filling the knapsacks full. Then each evening they laid the gathered herbs out to dry, or ground the fresh leaves or flowers for pulp or sap.
Ash was a willing pupil, both of the medicines and of the veldt itself. He learned quickly to step as Roy did, silent and cautious. He began to master the steady native jog that covered the miles so effortlessly. And above all else, he respected the land and the beasts within it.
Roy rarely hunted with guns; powder and shot were too hard to come by for wasteful use. He’d never become adept with the native spear and instead used a slingshot to bring down small game. They dined on roast guinea fowl and wild pumpkin, and by the third night in the cave, Ash was barely recognizable as the frightened, beaten English boy Roy had found under the baobab tree. His skin had already browned under the African sun, a warm, golden sheen banishing the pasty whiteness. His eyes looked deeper every day, crinkling at the edges as he learned to look farther than he ever had before, the gold flecks more pronounced every time Roy looked at him. He moved more smoothly, becoming surer in his own skin. And most of all, he was no longer afraid.
* * * *
On the morning of the third day they set off for the hills again, and Ash’s heart lifted with every footstep. Roy was searching for a type of ground ivy, which he made into a salve to repel Africa’s prolific mosquitoes. “Their bites cause fever,” he explained to Ash, showing him how to apply the salve sparingly but thoroughly to his exposed skin. “It got me before I’d been here a month. That’s how I met Mambokadzi, in fact. I was still building my compound. A couple of the natives were helping me out from time to time, and they found me completely out of it. I had quinine in my supplies, but the fever came too fast.” Roy shook his head. “Anyhow, they took me to the village, and Mambokadzi pulled me through it.”
“I’m glad about that.” Ash carefully stowed the pot of salve in his knapsack. “But you’re all right now, aren’t you?”
“I am, but”—Roy swung his own knapsack to his shoulders—“the trouble is, the fever never leaves your blood. From time to time, it takes me again—never so bad as the first time, or so it seems. I take a couple of doses of quinine and sweat it out. But that’s why I want you to be careful and use that ointment. I don’t want you taking the fever at all.”
Ash nodded, lifted his own pack, and followed Roy up the trail.
He watched the ground, looking for the spoors of animals as Roy had taught him. When Roy dropped to his knees, pointing out the smudge in the earth that showed where a jackal had passed, Ash stared for a long time. His eye was untrained, and it was still hard for him to see patterns in the soft depressions in the sandy soil. Roy’s ability to tell the type of animal and how long since it had passed seemed like magic to him.
He stepped to the side to avoid a column of the fierce red ants and caught Roy’s approving smile. Flushing with pleasure, Ash hurried to catch up. He loved this land, and he loved being with Roy. He wanted nothing more than to learn to fit in, to learn to do things well, because the feelings fo
r Roy taking hold in his heart were nothing he could ever imagine putting behind him. And the way Roy smiled at him, the way Roy kissed him… Ash dared to hope that Roy was starting to feel the same.
They found the ivy when the sun was high in the sky, and Roy led them back under some trees to rest. “We’ll cut it this afternoon, when the heat is less,” he said, stretching out and pillowing his head on his knapsack. “You hungry?”
Ash was, but for something other than food. He made a low, appreciative noise in his throat, watching as Roy arranged his lean limbs comfortably.
Roy grinned at him lazily. “Is that a no?”
Ash dropped to his knees at Roy’s side, fumbling with his own belt.
Despite his lazy demeanor, Roy wasted no time in following suit. He shoved his pants down to mid-thigh and licked his lips, staring in open appreciation at Ash.
Ash shuddered under the scrutiny, finally managing to free his aching cock from his confining garments. It throbbed in his hand, damp with his sweat, but the heat in the shaft owed nothing to the heat of the day. He groaned aloud and pumped his fist.
“Wait,” Roy said breathlessly, propping himself up on his elbow and gripping his own cock. Ash held himself still with a superhuman effort, staring mesmerized at the purple head of Roy’s dick protruding, fat and obscene, beneath Roy’s thumb.
“Now!”
The word barely penetrated Ash’s consciousness, but Roy’s hand sliding over the tantalizing flesh, the soft white bead that formed at Roy’s tip—that spoke to something deep in Ash.
With a helpless cry he started to stroke, unconsciously following Roy’s rhythm. The feelings grew within him, roiling up from his loins, filling him with the rightness of this place, the two of them together. His strokes drove him higher, closer, but it was the sight of Roy jacking his own swollen dick, head thrown back, beads of sweat standing out on his throat, that brought him to the precipice.
Ash hung there, gasping, caught in his need for Roy. Then Roy shouted, and the sound jerked Ash back into himself.
“Come for me, Ash! Come for me!” Roy’s voice broke as his juice spurted across his hand, splashing onto Ash’s cock and balls.
It seared Ash like fire, contracting his balls tight and fast. He fell forward against Roy, keening softly as his own cum pulsed out, on and on until he was wrung out and empty.
Roy shuddered beneath him, in the throes of his own orgasm. Ash pressed close against him, riding Roy’s wave as well as his own. At last Roy’s arms went around him, and Ash raised his head, reaching up to claim a kiss.
“Sure you’re not hungry?” Roy murmured.
“Maybe later,” Ash whispered and rested his head on Roy’s chest.
Roy’s heartbeat slowed, and his breathing deepened, and in moments, Ash knew he was asleep. But for Ash, sleep remained elusive.
The hum of the insects sang in his head, rhythmic and mystical. Too loud to allow for sleep, so deep it seemed to take over his heartbeat. Ash slid out of Roy’s arms and prowled slowly to the edge of the clearing where a rocky outcrop looked out over the wide savanna.
The tree-covered hills stretched below him down to the endless grasslands. He stared for a moment; then his senses swam, his focus going haywire: suddenly he could see miles across the plains, see herds of deer and zebra, smell their musk, taste their blood. He fell to his knees, shaking, staring into the glittering red dust.
Staring at two heavy, golden paws where his hands should be.
With a yelp of fear, Ash leaped to his feet. A thorn scratched his arm, and he yelped again, inspecting the wound. A tiny tear, a slight kiss of blood—on his own pale British skin. Ash raised his hands to his face, trembling, staring at the five ordinary fingers. Am I going mad?
Ash closed his eyes, drinking in the heat of the sun. He could smell water lower down the hill, and the flock of tiny birds that drank there. He could hear their song, joyful and high, light as the sun itself. Ash growled softly to himself. They were pretty, but they were not prey.
He opened his eyes again, blinking in the sun, then leaped lightly down from the tor. He moved easily in his skin, sliding through the sun and shadows, striding over the unfamiliar terrain. Running came easy, and the sun’s heat slid over him soft and warm. He bounded through the undergrowth, disturbing a bird here and there, avoiding the ever-present insect life.
There was nothing large on this hill save himself; his ears and his nose told him surely. There was no prey, but hungry though he was, Ash ran for the sheer joy of running, delighting in his strength. And at last, he returned to his lookout rock and roared his joy for all of Africa to hear.
Shaking himself, Ash stepped cautiously down from the outcrop. Adrenaline pounded through his veins and he looked around him, blinking slowly. He had been a lion. He was a lion. Unless Roy’s salve was too late, and he was already in the grip of a fever.
He climbed slowly back toward the place where Roy lay napping. Kashiye. Lion cub. It was magic. It was perfect. It was terrifying.
Most terrifying of all, Ash knew he dared not tell Roy. Not yet. Not until he understood, himself, exactly who—or what—he was.
He found a wild plum tree and ate a few, then gathered sufficient for their breakfast. With every passing moment, the lion incident seemed farther away, less real, until Ash could almost have believed he had dreamed it after all. If it weren’t for the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he felt the wild blood in his veins and heard the song of the veldt.
* * * *
Roy looked across the fire at Ash, sitting with his head down and his shoulders slumped. He sighed softly. Ash had seemed different since they’d awoken from their naps, somehow preoccupied.
Roy ladled out a plate of stew for Ash, then one for himself, and sat down. “Listen,” he said, planning on the spur of the moment. “I’ve got most of the herbs I need from up here. What say tomorrow we set off for the Zambezi River?”
Ash looked up, waiting.
Encouraged, Roy continued. “There’s hippos down there, and rhinos, and a whole lot of birds. Quite different from the land around here. It’s about three days’ hike.”
“The Zambezi,” Ash said quietly and looked down at his plate. “Do you mean the district commissioner, Roy? At Victoria Falls?”
Roy’s heart clenched. He’d thought nothing more of the district commissioner and the plan for getting Ash back to England, not since the first night the young man had come so trustingly to his bed. He’d assumed—stupidly, perhaps—that Ash had forgotten it too. Somehow Roy had allowed himself to imagine that Ash had feelings for him, feelings strong enough to make Ash throw away the life he’d been born to.
Forcing his gaze down to his plate, Roy struggled to find his voice. “Of course,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “It’s time we got your situation settled; you’re right.”
Ash picked at his stew and didn’t answer.
After dinner was eaten and the remains packed away, Roy left Ash washing in the spring and slipped out of the cave. Ash was still with him, but already his heart ached with loss. He’d imagined so much more, imagined a life with Ash at his side…let himself feel so much. Roy climbed until the thinning air burned his lungs, careless for once of snakes and anything else that roamed by night. A jackal barked nearby, and Roy barked back, then dropped, breathless, on a nearby boulder.
Ash didn’t want him. When it came right down to it, it was no more than Roy expected. His feelings for Ash rose inside him, nearly choking him, but he fought them back, slamming them deep into the pit where he locked all the memories he couldn’t bear.
Three more days. He would take the boy to Victoria Falls, do whatever it took to keep him safe. Roy gave a decisive nod. And after that… He forced his mind away from contemplating the future, so bleak and empty after his dreams of the last few days. The future would take care of itself. For now, Roy would take care of Ash.
He got to his feet and started back down the hill.
Roy came b
ack to the cave to find Ash sleeping, curled up on the flat rock with the blankets tossed away. Roy caught his breath at the young man’s naked beauty. With trembling fingers, he gathered the blankets around Ash’s body, then stood back, breathing hard.
He could not go to Ash’s bed with the knowledge that Ash was leaving fresh in his heart. Pleasure was pleasure, but Ash held his heart, and Roy knew he couldn’t go back. Shivering, Roy returned to the entrance to the cave. He would keep watch.
He took a blanket from his pack and wrapped it around his shoulders, then sat down against the rough rock wall. Carefully clearing his mind, Roy allowed himself to doze.
He was awakened by a chill breeze and the growl of thunder in the distance, roiling clouds scudding across the moon. Rhodesia was entering the monsoon season, and the rains would come often now, encouraging the new growth.
Roy clambered to his feet, walking a few steps inside the cave to check on Ash. But the young man was curled deep in the blankets, sleeping heavily. Roy stared for a moment, then dropped his blanket and went outside to meet the storm.
The first fat drops of rain fell from the night sky, wetting the thirsty rocks, and Roy tore off his shirt, standing before the elements, buffeted by the wind. Roy turned his face to the heavens, letting the rain soak him. The water felt amazing, and this storm engendered none of the rage the earlier one had pulled from him.
Roy let the water run down his skin and puddle at his feet. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ash: the feel of him in his arms, the heat of his body. His strength and perfection. Ash was everything Roy had ever wanted.
Roy’s cock was growing harder by the minute. Finally, he struggled out of his trousers and flung them back into the cave. Shaking, he ran a hand over his length, his mind going back to how damn good it felt to kiss Ash, hard and true. How hungrily Ash had kissed him back.
He returned to the sight of Ash overwhelmed by orgasm, openmouthed with desire, as if pleasure itself was a surprise. Roy moved his hand along his cock, stroking himself slowly.