by Catt Ford
“We need someone to watch our backs, with Hodges on the trail. And nobody knows the bush as well as Jarrah,” Dingo said. “Get a move on, Dash. We have to beat Hodges off the boat.”
“I’m not the one holding us up,” Henry snapped back. “Why don’t we hang back and let Hodges think he missed us?”
“Because he’ll likely search the boat, looking for us if he misses us on the gangplank,” Dingo explained with a chuckle. “And we’ll leave him a little clue to keep him busy. That way, we get away, meet with Jarrah—”
“And run straight off into the forest,” Henry said gloomily.
Dingo crossed the short distance back to him, and Henry found himself back in his arms.
“No,” Dingo said. “We’ll have one night.” Henry looked up. Dingo smiled. “We’ll have one night, before we make a trek for it.”
Wondering if Dingo meant what he thought and hoping it was so, Henry nodded and reluctantly let go of the man who now seemed to be his, in some way. “What sort of clue do you mean to leave for Hodges?” He congratulated himself on his steady voice. His hands were trembling at the thought of a whole night with Dingo, the anticipation of seeing Dingo naked, touching his skin…. He was surprised he was still on his feet rather than on his knees, thanking whatever savage deity who watched over queers for this chance.
“This.” Dingo held up what looked like a cloudy, rough piece of glass.
“An uncut diamond?” Henry gasped.
“No, it’s glass.” Dingo smirked. “But it’ll take him a bit of time to figure that out, and by then we should be ahead of him. I’m afraid it’ll be a race to stay ahead of him. You’re sure you’re up to—”
“I’m sure,” Henry said. He suddenly noticed the glazed intent look in Dingo’s eyes and nodded again. “I’m sure.”
Dingo seemed to turn away with an effort, his eyes sweeping over the cabin. He laughed and headed for his bed, which was bolted to the floor. A bit of the flooring was sticking up out of alignment with the other planks, and Dingo knelt to pry it up with his pocketknife, leaving a raw gouge near the end of the strip of wood.
“Are you sure he’ll find it there?” Henry asked dubiously.
“He’s so used to overestimating me, completely justifiably of course, that I shouldn’t like to make it too easy for him,” Dingo said, grinning. “Just difficult enough.” He replaced the splinter to rest in the gouge and grunted with satisfaction as he rose to his feet. “And if he doesn’t, we’ve lost nothing by trying. All set then?”
“Ready,” Henry said. He could feel his mouth spread wide with an answering grin.
Chapter 12
It was all they could do to keep from bumping shoulders familiarly as they walked down the rickety gangplank and onto the pier. They had to pass through a large tin shed that was stifling despite the cold weather outside it, and Henry watched Dingo’s long legs move quickly through the crowd. He wanted to see them bare again, as he had in Melbourne, because this time he could lay claim to them instead of merely fantasizing.
He must be dreaming. Lay claim to them? If he were dreaming, he didn’t ever want to wake up. Because now he’d had a taste of this new reality along with the taste of Dingo’s mouth, and nothing else would suffice.
Dingo turned briefly to catch Henry appreciating him. “Save it for later, Dash.”
Henry realized that watching Dingo with unbridled lust could lead to trouble, but he was barely aware that they were leaving the shed and heading away from the water. Hobart definitely seemed a colonial town, much more so than Melbourne. It wasn’t so surprising, as Hobart only had a fifth the population Melbourne did. Despite a recent building boom, there had also been a devastating bushfire, and the town was still getting back onto its feet. The port, however, gave it a bustling feel, and as they weaved between whalers, mariners, townspeople, trams, and dogs, Henry felt rather crowded but didn’t mind being pressed against Dingo’s back every now and again. These fleeting touches were a preview of what was to come.
Mariner Terrace led them to Trumpeter Street, where their lodgings were to be for the night. The Shipwrights Arms was a squat, rectangular building that had been built in the last century and looked as if it had seen better days, but Dingo assured him that Hodges wouldn’t be caught dead in it.
“Oh, he might spy on us in it,” he said off-handedly, “but there’s no way he’d sleep in it. Tony wouldn’t let him, anyway.”
“Who is Tony?” Henry asked.
“A friend,” Dingo replied vaguely, maddeningly. “He’s got our back.”
For the first time since they had kissed, Henry felt the return of his self-doubt. With all the mention of Dingo’s many friends, he had to wonder if he would be spoken about in such a way in the future, perhaps to somebody else acting as another of Dingo’s tagalongs? Would he be just another past conquest who still stayed loyal, perhaps hoping for another shot? “Who’s Dash?” the new companion would ask as they arrived in London. “Oh, just another friend,” Dingo would reply. “We can trust him.”
Dingo seemed unaware of Henry’s internal distress and led them through the side door rather than the main entrance. It was darker and dingier inside, but it didn’t seem to deter the drinkers as they turned to eyeball the newcomers. A look of recognition passed over some faces, and a cheer went up. “Dingo!”
Oh, for God’s sake, thought Henry.
Dingo passed around them, shaking hands, slapping backs, intermittently introducing Henry, and headed to the bar. Henry forgot most of the names as soon as he heard them and just kept an insipid smile on his face, nodding as he followed the other man.
“Dingo!” the barman said. “Long time between drinks.”
“Nah, not that long. How are you, mate?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Any sign of my little friend?”
“No, not yet. I’ll let you know if he shows up, but.”
Dingo nodded toward Henry as he made it to the bar. “This here’s Dash. Dash, Tony.”
“Pleasure,” Henry said briefly, and Tony nodded.
“He’s English,” Dingo said, as if that explained everything. And for Tony, it seemed to. “Anyway, is Jarrah about?”
Tony tipped his head. “In the back.”
“Still?” Dingo looked disappointed. “Tony….”
“It’s the law, Dingo.”
“You know better.”
“Still can’t break the law, Dingo. Even for friends.”
“It’s a cruddy world, Tony, that won’t let a man drink with his friends in the front bar.”
It seemed like an old bone of contention, a sad one with a dull heat where neither side was happy either with the same repetitive arguments or the outcome. “C’mon, Dingo.”
Dingo waved half-heartedly. “We’ll be at the back. Can you get us a round?”
“That I can do,” Tony replied, somewhat happier.
Dingo led Henry further into the building and out the back to the colorfully named “Beer Garden.” It wasn’t as picturesque as it sounded, merely being a collection of dilapidated wooden tables and chairs in a paved yard that was exposed to the elements.
“What was all that about?” Henry asked.
“Despite being born in this country,” Dingo said gruffly, “and being citizens just like the rest of us, Jarrah and his ilk are not allowed to inhabit the same rooms as the rest of us.”
Before Henry could even formulate a response, another voice dropped in. “Ah, get off your soapbox, Dingo. It’s the way it is now, but it won’t always be.”
The only customer sitting in the beer garden turned around to face them.
“Jarrah!” Dingo laughed. The two men embraced heartily.
“What’s up with you?” Jarrah exclaimed, stepping back and looking at his friend.
“What?” Dingo asked suspiciously.
“You look like the cat that got the—” Jarrah broke off and looked at Henry, and his grin grew exponentially. “I see.”
“Don’t you start,” Dingo warned. “Jarrah, this is—”
Henry stepped forward, determined to introduce himself. “Henry. Henry Percival-Smythe.”
“He’s a live one, eh?” Jarrah asked of Dingo.
“Just call him Dash.”
Henry was about to protest, but Jarrah took his hand and pumped it energetically. “Welcome to Tassie, Dash.”
Henry was slightly embarrassed, both that due to his jealousy he wanted to dislike the man but ended up taking to him immediately and also that his preconceptions of a “native Australian” were challenged by Jarrah himself. Henry had been expecting someone like those he had seen in photographs in the archives, perhaps a tribal elder with a scarred chest and a spear, not this young man in a long jacket with coffee-colored skin and dark, limitless brown eyes. He wondered if Jarrah had ever been a past conquest of Dingo’s but admonished himself. You can’t be thinking that every man you meet must share the same desires.
“Thank you,” he finally croaked. “Nice to meet you.”
Jarrah nudged Dingo. “A Pom I could actually like.”
“Don’t mind him,” Dingo told Henry. “The English almost wiped the Aborigines off the face of Tassie.”
“Bet that wasn’t in your history books in school,” Jarrah said.
“Oh,” Henry said, wide-eyed, as if he were somehow personally responsible. “I’m sorry.”
Jarrah looked a bit taken aback, unused to an apology ever being issued to him. “Uh, sit down, won’t you?”
Henry followed Dingo’s lead, and the three men sat down at the table again; Dingo stretched out his long legs and swung them up onto another chair, stretching his hands behind his head. He grinned at his two companions. “So, here we are in another right old mess, Jarrah.”
“I can always rely upon you to get me in trouble, old friend. But how did poor Dash get caught up in it?”
“Dash roped himself in it,” Dingo teased. “Nothing to do with me.”
Henry snorted. “You did a fair share of it.”
Dingo shrugged. “He’s an expert in the tiger, Jarrah. At least as much as an expert can be who hasn’t seen one living and breathing. Gordon recommended him.”
Jarrah sized Henry up with the respect Dingo afforded him. Henry leaned in closer and asked in a whisper, “Have you seen one?”
Jarrah winked at him. “I’ve seen many.”
Henry was about to ask more, but Tony arrived with their drinks. The men immediately ceased their conversation. Henry observed that Tony still seemed a little colored from the criticism he had suffered from Dingo at the bar, and he served Jarrah with an apologetic smile while Dingo was frozen out a bit.
As soon as Tony left, Henry was about to ask about the tiger again when Dingo beat him to the punch with another conversation entirely. “Hodges was on the boat.”
“I know,” Jarrah replied, sipping at his beer. “I read the passenger list. He hasn’t made a booking here, though.”
“Too low-down for him,” Henry said, trying to sound part of the gang. Jarrah nodded, and Dingo grinned at him affectionately.
“He’ll be on our trail soon enough,” Jarrah said.
“I left him a decoy,” Dingo said.
Jarrah set his beer back down. “He won’t fall for it, mate. He’s too wily.”
“Still, it might buy us some time.”
“Does that mean you want to go now?” Jarrah asked. “Leave your booking as a false scent?”
Henry looked at Dingo, panicked, wanting their promised night together, even though he was eager to set off after the thylacine. Dingo calmly stretched again.
“Nah, we need a proper night’s rest in a good bed. We were seasick all the way across.”
Jarrah’s eyes twinkled. “I see.”
Henry flushed, but the man didn’t say anything else to embarrass them. He was hoping that Jarrah didn’t know what was being intended, but he seemed to know Dingo far too well.
Jarrah reached for his hat. “I better be off. Leave you two to… your proper night’s rest. I’ll be back at first light.”
“Tooroo,” Dingo said, as laid-back as ever.
Henry downed the last of his beer in one desperate gulp as he was left alone with Dingo again. The beer shot straight into his bloodstream, infecting him with nerve and vigor, and from there it seemed to directly travel to his groin.
Dingo scratched at his belly, an area of skin on show to Henry, who stared and wanted to put his hands on it. “So, shall we go and check out our room?”
Chapter 13
Henry couldn’t help but repeat it to himself as the door opened. Our room.
The fact that Dingo had taken one room in the tiny hotel seemed to signify that all Henry had hoped for was about to come to pass. But it wouldn’t do to appear too eager. It might be simply that Dingo was being frugal, although that word was incongruous in the same sentence with Dingo. Or it might be that he felt it was safer for them to be together, and he would let Henry down easily after building his anticipation.
Henry resolved that when they locked the door behind them, shutting out the entire world, Dingo would have to be the one to make the first advance.
Therefore, it would be difficult to say which of them was more surprised when he pushed Dingo up against the door, forcing him to drop his bag at his feet as he staggered back unsteadily.
There were no words. Henry found Dingo’s mouth with a sureness that surprised him, his tongue demanding entry, taking no prisoners in his quest to taste the flavor of the other man again. Fresh. Dingo tasted fresh, as if he lived outdoors all the time.
Dingo’s response was equally explosive, as if after all the dancing around and the teasing, the obvious could no longer be denied.
His arms felt like bands of iron holding Henry against him. Henry thrust against the solid warmth of his body, his hands squeezing Dingo’s biceps, keeping him in place. He whimpered in gratitude when he felt one of Dingo’s hands between them, fumbling at groin level.
The shock of Dingo’s hand on his erection made him sag, and he might have gone to his knees if Dingo hadn’t kept a firm grip on him. And then he realized the blazing heat was Dingo’s manhood rubbing against his, Dingo’s hand wrapped around them both as they strained against each other, unable to wait another minute.
The first heated spurt of liquid made his cock slide within Dingo’s grip, and Henry wrenched his mouth away to give a low guttural moan as he came, sagging against the other man. He could feel himself moving, riding on Dingo’s heaving chest, the sweat trickling under his right arm, the rough stubble of Dingo’s cheek against his, the huff of Dingo’s breath in his ear.
A low chuckle made him raise his head, staring blearily at the other man, too close to focus his vision. “What?”
“Couldn’t even make it to the bed,” Dingo said hoarsely. “I would have liked the first time… but what can’t be changed must be endured.”
Henry started to laugh. “You make it sound like torture.”
“It has been torture.”
Henry was surprised at the sincerity in Dingo’s voice and tilted his head back to bring his face into focus.
His voice gravelly with emotion, Dingo said, “I’ve been hungry for you since I met you, Henry.”
Moved by hearing his proper name on Dingo’s lips again after all this time, Henry didn’t know quite how to respond. He yawned and then laughed. “If you only knew how I wanted you. But I never thought—”
Dingo waited, but Henry just shook his head. “Let’s get washed up. And go to bed,” Dingo said.
Henry nodded but gaped as he yawned again. “I want to, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.”
Dingo nodded understandingly. “It’ll keep. We’ve got the whole night.”
Henry shivered at the thought of it. “I want to make love to you,” he said boldly.
“I want that too.”
In the end, they barely managed to make it to the bed, falling onto the mattress
together, curling into each other, as if now that they were welcome to touch, they couldn’t bear not to. And then they were asleep.
Henry awoke to find himself wrapped in a warm, masculine embrace. His few experiences had never ended like this, and he couldn’t quite remember where he was. But Dingo’s scent filled his nose, and he burrowed closer, wishing they had taken the time to undress. He wanted skin.
Moving gently, not wanting to wake Dingo until he’d had his sleep out, Henry managed to open his shirt, sliding his hand over the other man’s chest. The light hair tickled his fingertips; so unlike his own smooth skin, while the solid muscle under his palm thrilled him, the fulfillment of inchoate desires that he never could have confided to anyone.
He felt the lift of Dingo’s chest into his hand and a rumble as the other man spoke. “Should we get undressed this time?”
Henry only realized he was shaking when he heard the tremor in his voice. “Yes, please.” He startled when he felt Dingo’s fingers on his shirt buttons. No one had ever expressed any interest in undressing him before, and while he didn’t know quite what to make of that, he was quite sure he wanted Dingo out of his clothing as quickly as possible.
But Dingo had other ideas, pressing warm lips against Henry’s skin as soon as he exposed a bit of it, making Henry’s stomach flutter with nervous excitement.
Boldly he rolled Dingo onto his back, sitting astride him, lowering himself to kiss him. He felt Dingo impatiently finish opening his shirt and push it off his shoulders, his hands lingering on his bare arms. As soon as his hands were free, Henry finished opening Dingo’s shirt and flung it open with a cry of triumph.
Dingo’s gasp echoed his own as Henry leaned closer for another kiss, and their bare chests brushed together for the first time. Henry could feel the strong thud of Dingo’s heart against his own and felt the victory of another man’s answering desire for him.
“Shoes,” Dingo muttered.
Had they really gone to bed with their shoes on? Apparently they had. Dingo pushed off him gently and went to work ridding them both of their shoes and socks. Trousers still open, Dingo pushed his down while Henry did the same, sudden urgency robbing him of the desire for the slow exploration of the other man’s body.
