Dash and Dingo

by Catt Ford

  “Are we resting already?” Henry teased from where he was sitting outside.

  “Get in here, Dash,” Dingo said. “I want to feel your bones.”

  Henry didn’t need any further persuasion. He thankfully crawled in beside Dingo, who immediately took him in his arms.

  “Now the hard work begins,” Dingo murmured.

  Henry blanched. Their days of trekking hadn’t been the hard work? He shuddered to think what could come next. “What next?”

  “Sleep,” Dingo said. “Tonight we start our watch for the tigers.”

  “We’re in tiger country,” Henry said, enthused.

  “In the thick of it. Where they have been driven out and where only a handful of people know. To everybody else they’re as good as dead.”

  Henry couldn’t think of anything worse than a belief in total extinction, except there could be one thing even more horrifying—the numb acceptance of, or lack of caring about, the eradication of a species. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

  “Believe it,” Dingo said kindly. “You belong here, Dash.”

  Emboldened by both their physical closeness and the new emotional bond that was deepening between them, Henry said, “And I can’t believe I’m here with you.”

  “Really?”

  Henry struggled to convey the depth of what he was feeling. “It’s as if two dreams have collided. And I don’t know….”

  “Don’t know what?”

  But this was the one thing Henry couldn’t say. Going back to England would be like waking from this dream. He didn’t know what would happen once this quest was over nor what lay in the future for him and Dingo. If he didn’t speak of it, then maybe he would never have to think about the logistics of it and how everything seemed stacked against their favor.

  Finally, he said, “Just, it’s too good to be true.”

  Dingo nuzzled against his cheek, his breath warm against his skin. “Doesn’t mean it can’t stay like that.”

  It was a nice thought, but Henry knew both of them were realists. The wilds of Tasmania were a different world altogether; they could hardly live in total abandon the way they had the past few days among the cobblestones of Melbourne or London.

  Time to change the subject, although Henry thought Dingo was doing the same thing in the way he was sliding his hand below Henry’s shirt and lazily tracing the circle of his nipple.

  Henry thought that it would have been impossible for him to be ready to sleep so early in the day, but the strenuous climb and now lying supine against the delicious warmth of Dingo, he could feel himself slowly drifting away.

  “Dingo,” he said sleepily.

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell me about the first time you saw Tassie.”

  Dingo chuckled to himself. “You want a bedtime story, Dash?”

  “Yes, a story about young Dingo in the wild.”

  “You wouldn’t have liked me back then. I was a cocky bastard.”

  Henry smiled. “Well, I like you now, and believe me, it sounds like nothing has changed.”

  “Too right,” Dingo admitted.

  Henry closed his eyes. “I’m listening. Talk to me.”

  Dingo rested his head against Henry’s shoulder and let his hand remain under his shirt so he could maintain the touch of Henry’s skin and the steady thump of his heartbeat on the right side of his palm. “I was just a snip of a kid, having just turned ten. I’d had to watch my dad take my brothers along for years, but Mum wouldn’t let me go. She said I was too young.”

  “You’re her baby,” Henry murmured. “It’s nice.”

  “Not when you’re ten and you think you’re a man already. But she finally relented. My dad packed us all up, and we went in search of Tassie. It was far away from here; back then the tiger hadn’t been driven so far inland. We camped out, and I remember one night I slept through, and my brothers claimed they had seen a family of tigers while I snored my fool head off. I was so mad that I hit Johnno right in the kisser and was about to start in on Baz when my dad stepped in. They wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of the day, Johnno especially, because I was so much younger than him and managed to best him. It was luck, really.”

  Henry laughed, and Dingo snuggled closer.

  “Anyway, that night I was determined not to sleep in case the tigers were seen again. My brothers and I weren’t talking, and my dad was mad at all of us for not talking, so he wasn’t talking to any of us either. Dad let me have my first taste of beer—”

  “At ten?” Henry asked, horrified.

  “Relax, Dash, he watered it down. Just enough to taste it. But I tell you, it made me piss like a horse all night.”

  Henry chuckled again, imagining Dingo telling this story at his parents’ dinner table. His parents would probably both faint into their soup, but he was sure that Helen and Hank were made of stronger stuff. Probably Dingo actually had told the story at some point, and more than once!

  “On about my fifth trip into the bush, we had set aside for our dunny, that was when it happened. I was in the middle of going when in a small patch of moonlight just ahead of me, Tassie stepped into it as if she were about to go on stage and that was her spotlight.”

  Henry’s eyes fluttered open, although sleep wanted to will them shut again. “What did you do?”

  “Pissed all over myself, for starters, I was that excited. Oh, Dash, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Present company excluded, of course.”

  Henry shook his head but was pleased by the compliment, even though he didn’t think anything could rival the strange and alien beauty of the thylacine.

  “Her coat was this rich caramel color, and the stripes were vibrant against it. She looked straight at me, the moon reflecting off her black eyes, and she allowed me to see the width of her jaw as she opened it in a yawn. Like she was putting on a show. Then, just as quick as she appeared, she was gone.”

  “What happened then?” Henry asked breathlessly.

  “I started screaming like a loon. My brothers and my dad rushed over to find me, my dick still hanging out for all to see, while I was pointing at an empty bit of bush.”

  “Did they believe you?”

  “Johnno and Baz didn’t want to, just to keep me going, but Dad made them stop. They could all tell by the look in my eyes that I hadn’t imagined it. That I was now under its spell.”

  Henry knew the spell, that singular passion that the thylacine had aroused in him as well.

  As if reading his mind, Dingo said, “You’ve got the look as well. That’s why I wanted you to come. Besides the fact that I was hoping you’d let me have my way with you.”

  “Dingo,” Henry groaned, but then he paused and asked in all seriousness, “How can I have the look? I haven’t seen Tassie.”

  “Not in its natural element,” Dingo agreed. “Or alive. But you’ve seen its legacy and its mystery. That’s why you’re hooked, just like the rest of us. It’s why you had to come.”

  Henry closed his eyes again, happy. “That was a good story, Dingo.”

  And with that, his lips parted and a small snore issued forth between them.

  Dingo pressed his lips against his lover’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, Dash.”

  Chapter 19

  Henry awoke suddenly. All the hairs on his body were standing on end, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t cold; the heat pouring off Dingo’s body combined with the blanket should have had him sweating. He knew he hadn’t been having a nightmare; the last remnants of his dream that he could remember were basically a replay of their session in the forest the night before. It was why his cock was now uncomfortably hard, but sex was the last thing on his mind.

  “Dingo,” he said urgently, shaking the man next to him.

  Dingo smacked his lips but didn’t open his eyes. “Let a man sleep, Dash.”

  “Dingo, wake up!”

  This time, the tone of his voice seemed to permeate into Dingo’s brain. He sat up straight away. “What is it?”
He peered outside the flap of the tent. “Christ, Dash, how long have we been sleeping? We should have been up ages ago!”

  Interested in spite of the strange feeling that remained with him, Henry asked, “How can you tell what time it is? By how many stars are out?”

  “Magic,” Dingo said. Then he held up his wrist. “It’s called a watch, love.”

  Both of them froze at the word that had escaped unknowingly and unfiltered from him. Even in the blu-ish hue of the moonlight, Henry could see Dingo’s face darken. Was that a blush? He had never seen Dingo blush; he wouldn’t have even thought his skin capable of such a reaction.

  “Of course,” Henry said. “Silly me.” But he leaned forward and pulled Dingo against him, crushing their lips together. Dingo responded fiercely, so fast and so strong that they toppled over, Henry on his back and Dingo against his chest. Henry shifted himself so that his still-hard cock thrust against Dingo’s. Dingo’s breath was hot in his mouth and his tongue insistent on playing with his own. Scarcely able to breathe, Henry pulled at the back of Dingo’s trousers, just wanting him off for a moment so he could recapture his breath. But as his palm touched the band of Dingo’s trousers and the exposed skin from where Dingo’s shirt had pulled away, it began to itch and then burn.

  The same palm Jarrah had drawn the picture of the thylacine upon.

  Dingo was fumbling at their trousers, his cock now poking between the fly. He was working upon Henry’s, unaware that the other man had stopped moving beneath him.

  Henry stared at his palm, as if the drawing had come back. The skin appeared smooth and unblemished.

  But then a strange noise penetrated the night.

  Yip. Yip yip. Yip.

  And now Dingo froze. “Just like I’m ten again, and my dick out once more.”

  “Shhh,” Henry admonished him. “And get off me.”

  Dingo chuckled and did as he was told, pushing himself back within his trousers.

  Henry pulled open the flap and scrambled out a short distance on his stomach. “Is that it, Dingo? Is it really the tiger?”

  Dingo scuttled beside him. “We found them quicker than I thought. Jarrah was right, Dash. They want to see you.”

  Henry stared at the scrub before them. Would it be like the first time Dingo saw one? Would it just step out and parade before them? He could barely remember to breathe; he was anticipating the appearance of a tiger any second.

  Yip yip.

  “That was to our left,” Henry whispered.

  Yip yip yip.

  “An answering call,” Dingo said. “To our right. It isn’t alone.”

  “Two of them?” Henry said, enraptured. It was too good to be true.

  They could hear the rustling in the scrub, and they froze, their mouths open, their bodies taut.

  Please, Henry thought. Please, please, please, show yourself. Let me see you.

  But the rustling seemed to fade, and they heard the call again—yip yip—except now it was further away.

  “They’re going!” Henry cried, forgetting he was meant to be quiet. He started to shuffle clumsily to his feet, as if to give chase, but Dingo yanked him back down. “Dingo!”

  “They know we’re here,” he spoke into Henry’s ear. “And they chose to come this close. If we go floundering after them now, they’ll be scared off. Patience, Dash. It’s the way we have to do it.”

  “I want to see them,” Henry said, aware that he sounded childish. His needy tone, its desperate whining, annoyed him, but he couldn’t take it back.

  Dingo’s lips grazed along his cheek. “I know. And you will.”

  Henry allowed himself to be pulled back the short distance into the tent. This time he used Dingo as a pillow, his hand resting against Dingo’s chest as they both lay awake, unable to go back to sleep just yet.

  His palm no longer burned. Henry wished it would start again.

  Henry’s nose wrinkled as some delicious scent wafted in through the tent on a slight breeze. He stretched out and lazily opened his eyes.

  “You didn’t wake me,” he called out.

  “Thought you needed some sleep,” Dingo replied.

  He was sitting by a small fire he had built, watching the flames and what lay within them. Henry crawled out of the tent to join him and observed that it was the tin that had a million uses, one of the few items Dingo had permitted them to carry. Something was baking in it, and Henry’s stomach rumbled. It smelled like fresh bread.

  “What is that?” he asked, practically salivating.

  “I thought we deserved a bit of damper.” Dingo shrugged.

  “Damper?”

  “Bush bread, mate. You’ll love it.”

  Henry didn’t doubt it; it would be the first warm thing they had eaten in what seemed like forever. “How long has it been baking for?”

  “About an hour.”

  “You’ve been up that long?”

  “I’ve been up longer than that.”

  “You should have woken me.”

  “You looked too bloody cute to wake. I was lying there for ages watching you, but I figured somebody better get the grub on.”

  Henry stretched his hands out toward the fire, enjoying the warmth. Dingo had now turned his attention to two flat stones and was reaching within his jacket pocket. Henry’s mouth watered again when berries were produced.

  “Have you been out picking as well?”

  Dingo nodded. “You can almost pretend you’re back home at Ealing, having tea with scones and jam. And I’ll be Hill. Pip pip and ole tosh, good Master Henry.”

  Henry snorted. “Hill would never be that obsequious. He felt unlucky to be stuck with me and the other drones in the basement. He would have preferred to have a Dean to wait upon.”

  Dingo laughed to himself as he placed a number of the berries on one stone and began mashing them with the other. “I bet you he’s missing you right now, the way you used to babble at him.”

  “I did not babble,” Henry said defensively, and then he paused. “Okay, maybe a little. But Hill would be used to it. Academics are meant to be eccentric.”

  Dingo smirked and pulled his knife out of his boot. Using a stick, he fished the tin out of the flames. He ran the knife around the rim of the tin and lifted the damper out. “Eat it while it’s hot,” he instructed Henry as he sliced it into thick pieces.

  Henry longed for some butter but took the “jam” instead—and found that he didn’t miss the butter at all. After a lackluster diet during the past few days, the wholesome and filling taste of the bread along with the natural sweetness of the berries made him a happy man indeed. Dingo washed out the tin and prepared tea for Dash and coffee for himself while he ate, and soon the breakfast was complete.

  “We’ve got a bit of a hike ahead of us today,” Dingo said, brushing crumbs off his upper lip. “So I thought we should have something a bit more substantial for brekkie.”

  “We’re moving again?” Henry asked. “But the tigers are right in this area—”

  Dingo shook his head. “They were moving off. You heard their calls to each other fading away, right?”

  “It doesn’t mean they went that far away.”

  “I told you; I’ve been up for hours. I studied their tracks. They’re on their way up the mountain.”

  Henry bolted down the rest of his tea and stood. “Then up the mountain we go!”

  His enthusiasm quickly flagged.

  “Temperate, my arse,” Henry muttered, swiping at his sticky face with the back of his hand. Then he scratched at his palm absently.

  “Told you the weather was changeable, Dash,” Dingo called back cheerily. “And this is a rain forest.”

  Henry had hoped that Dingo hadn’t overheard, but he seemed to have ears like a bat. Not that they were perky and sat atop his head, just that he always caught whatever testy comment Henry would have preferred overlooked. In fact, Dingo had very nice ears; they sat flat against his head, and the lobes were tempting to nibble on….


  A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision recalled him to the present, and Henry turned to look. Nothing was moving, save some grasses swaying slightly in a breeze that was insufficient to cool him off. In fact, he didn’t even feel it. He was hot, sweaty, and miserable, whilst Dingo gave the impression that if not for Henry, he would be loping up the side of this bleeding mountain.

  “Bit of a break-off here,” Dingo called back over his shoulder. “Be careful.”

  Henry opened his mouth to fire back that he could see it, thank you very much, when he stumbled over a rock in his path. He looked up sheepishly, hoping Dingo hadn’t seen him. Thankfully, he was plowing on without any apparent knowledge of Henry’s clumsiness.

  “Lucky you have some redeeming features,” Henry grumbled, fixing his eyes upon the round firmness of Dingo’s arse as a lure to motivate him to keep moving.

  Dingo was too far ahead of him and turned away, so Henry couldn’t hear what his answer was. The flicker of movement caught his attention again, and he stopped, standing very still and not turning his head, just waiting to see if he could catch a glimpse of whatever it was in his peripheral vision. His palm started to throb when he saw what looked like stripes melting into the shadows.

  He laughed tentatively; it couldn’t have been. He turned to study the underbrush, noting how the tall grasses cast dark stripes over the leaves behind them. The tiger was nocturnal; everyone knew that. He was just seeing things because he wanted to so badly.

  Dingo was out of sight when Henry turned to locate him. He started to trot to catch up, still uneasily aware of how disoriented he was to their location. The trails were so obscure that he might have to navigate by the position of the sun if he had to make it out of here alone. He looked back to see if he could pick out some recognizable landmark by which to steer.

  Henry’s thoughts on their time in the forest were mixed. He and Dingo were living a blessed existence together, and as much as Henry felt he should be enjoying every moment of it—because he had never believed that he would find this sort of passion and easygoing happiness with another man—the fact was they had come here for a reason. The tigers. And with each new day, it seemed that this other dream was slipping through his fingers.