Beneath A Yankee Sky

by J. M. Snyder

His gaze flickered from Len to Josiah and back again. Both men nodded, chastised. "I want their hides in top condition. Or I'll take it out of your skins."

  As Brance watched the firelight dance with a dull gleam along the barrel of the gun, his stomach churned with fear. These men knew of him and Caleb; these... these hunters, they wanted to kill him, to take away the one thing he'd ever found worth living for, to kill Caleb. To sell their fur to the highest bidder. To profit from their deaths.

  And what would happen if these men killed a bobcat only to find a dead man at their feet? What then?

  Beside him, Caleb pressed his body against Brance's, afraid. ::Maybe we can tell them,:: he suggested, nuzzling his face into the thick fur at Brance's shoulder. ::In the morning, when we've changed? Just come out here and explain the whole situation. Maybe that'll make them back off, do you think? Brance?::

  Brance gave the tall, lean stranger a long look before he turned away from the camp and its men. Caleb fell in step close behind him, quiet for once. ::He won't back off,:: Brance said.

  Men like that rarely did.

  * * * *

  In the morning Brance found himself curled around Caleb in their tent. Before he opened his eyes, he knew he was human again--his heartbeat was no longer the racing muscle that pounded in his chest as a cat. Fingers, not paws, twined through Caleb's shaggy hair, and one long leg bent at the knee to drape over his lover's hip.

  Beyond the confines of the small tent they shared, the noises of the forest were gone, replaced with a calm quiet Brance knew to be deceiving. Somewhere out there three men cleaned their guns, waiting for nightfall. Brance wasn't sure what to do about that--Caleb's suggestion of talking to the men was laughable, at best, but should they pack up and plunge deeper into the mountains? How much distance could they put behind them in one day's time? Or should they stay put, lay low, wait a few days until their time of the month passed and the men moved on?

  He didn't know. For the first time in his life, he had someone else to think of, someone else to consider. The indecision that warred inside him clouded his judgment--it blurred his thoughts like a hand easing between his legs, the touch of skin on skin distracting. A low moan slipped from him, unbidden; to stifle it, he pressed his face into the pile of clothing he used as a pillow.

  Then he shifted closer to Caleb and felt a real hand cupping his crotch, fingers massaging under his balls as they worked over tender flesh toward Brance's puckered hole. An eager tongue licked out to taste one of Brance's nipples.

  Lust shot through him like lightning, every nerve awake and energized. Between his legs, his cock thickened as blood rushed with the suddenness of a swift summer storm to fill his length. His balls throbbed with desire and need. When Caleb licked out a second time, Brance gave up all pretense of sleep and rolled onto his lover, pressing him back to the blankets of their makeshift bed. Gentle fingers trailed up Brance's hips as their erections crushed together with a sweet ache. With a sleepy smile, Caleb purred, "Hey."

  Brance's reply was a demanding kiss that held Caleb pinned beneath him and took his breath away. For all the playful mating Caleb liked to do in the fur, Brance was a physical man who needed to feel Caleb's body held tight against his. He loved kisses, foreplay, hands clasping and stroking and fondling hidden flesh. He loved suckling bare skin, taking Caleb's dick in his mouth, rimming his lover's ass with a heated tongue. The feline form was too limited for him--that body was built for hunting and running, not arduous caresses or tender kisses. Not love.

  Though Caleb had started it, Brance took charge of the moment. He forced himself to slow down, savor it--his kiss deepened, his tongue tasting Caleb's mouth as if he were ambrosia itself and this was Brance's first time dining with the gods. As they kissed, Brance leaned to one side of Caleb's body and strummed a hand down his lover's slender length. His fingers danced over familiar flesh, then curved around one meaty buttock to lift Caleb's leg, spreading him open. When Brance stroked between those legs, Caleb whimpered into him, his own hands cradling Brance's face.

  With just his thumb, Brance toyed along the trembling skin at the center of Caleb's being. His lover's breath quickened; his hands fisted in Brance's thick beard to tug him down as Caleb's hips rose off the ground. Pleasure spiked between them when their hard cocks rubbed together, and Caleb pulled away long enough to sob, "Please. God, Brance, please--"

  Brance covered Caleb's mouth with his own, silencing him.

  There was a small tin of lard hidden among Caleb's blankets--half-empty, the fat had never once been used in cooking. Unwilling to release Caleb, Brance fumbled around beneath his lover until he found the flat tin, then struggled to open it with just one hand. When the cover popped free, he rubbed his thumb into the lard, then slathered the fat over Caleb's anus.

  His lover bucked beneath him, hands clasping at Brance's neck and shoulders, short nails digging into Brance's back as the muscles at his core clenched and relaxed, clenched again, trying to draw Brance in. Little sounds escaped his throat as he moved against Brance, breathy mewls that were somewhere between a growl and a purr, more animal than human. Whenever their lips parted, Caleb's breath came in fast pants. But the urgency he seemed to feel inspired Brance to move slower, draw the moment out.

  "God, please," Caleb cried at one point, when Brance's oily fingers slid up Caleb's thick shaft inch by excruciating inch. If his lover were stronger, Brance suspected he would find himself flipped onto his back like a turtle as Caleb impaled himself on his cock in a frenzy of lust. As it was, he could only cling to Brance, quivering on the brink of orgasm, until Brance decided to push him over the edge.

  He didn't have long to wait. Guiding himself between Caleb's buttocks, Brance slicked his fingers over his own hard dick, then eased into his lover. Caleb gasped as his grip on Brance's shoulders tightened, but Brance's kiss muffled the discomfort of entry. Caleb rose beneath him; Brance held him close as he moved within. He found a slow, steady rhythm that rocked back the rest of the world, until there was nothing but the hot, firm muscle encircling his shaft and the heated lips numb beneath his. This was something their mating last night had lacked, this full body contact, this slow burn that seemed to kindle deep inside Brance and lick along every inch of his flesh, these kisses and the bare skin that warmed beneath them.

  Somewhere on the other side of their tent, a twig snapped.

  Brance froze in mid-thrust. Caleb, oblivious to anything that wasn't Brance in him, on him, above him, mistook his sudden stop. "Please," he sighed, hips wriggling under Brance. "So close, man. I'm telling you, I'm so close. Don't stop. Don't--"

  Kissing Caleb quiet, Brance resumed their lovemaking. He moved slower than before, if that were possible, ears straining for any movement outside the tent, anything at all, over their slight sounds and the rustle of blankets. With Caleb distracted, Brance reached over to where he had slept, one hand easing under his pillow to touch the revolver that lay beneath the folds of cloth.

  Their pace quickened; Caleb was close to orgasm, Brance knew his lover well enough to recognize the signs. The sudden clench of hands in Brance's hair, the guttural uh uh uh in the back of Caleb's throat, the quickened humping that rubbed his cock against Brance's body as his legs spread wider, taking more of Brance in, harder, faster, in. Caleb's feet dug into the ground as he arched against Brance, who took the hint and drove into his lover, eager for release.

  In another part of the tent, a steady thumb pulled back the hammer on his revolver as he extracted the gun from his bedding. The faint click of the cylinder locking into place was lost in Caleb's grunts as he climaxed. A sure finger curled around the trigger, feeling the tension in the steel. With one last, hard fuck, Brance came deep within his lover, eliciting another orgasm.

  Against Caleb's mouth, Brance whispered, "Shhh." Then he crawled over both his lover and his bedding to nudge the tent flap aside with the barrel of the gun as he took aim.

  Amid a clatter of tin pots, the white flash of a rabbit's tail disappe
ared into the woods.

  Beside him, Caleb pushed himself up on his elbows. "What is it?" he asked. Noticing the gun for the first time, his eyes widened. "Brance, what's out there?"

  For a second, Brance's finger tightened on the trigger. But the rabbit was gone, and he didn't want the men in the woods to hear a gunshot and decide to investigate. With a conscious effort to relax, Brance released the trigger, then uncocked the revolver. Sitting up, Caleb pushed past him to glance out into the empty clearing. "What did you see?"

  "Breakfast," Brance answered. He gave Caleb a playful shove back into the depths of the tent before he began to dress. "Might still catch it, too, if you'd get off me already."

  Caleb's arms snaked around Brance's waist, holding him down. "Get you off again, you mean." He licked a tender spot behind Brance's ear, then caught his earlobe between his teeth in a kittenish nip. "Food is my job. Let me make you breakfast in bed, what do you say?"

  Brance had no complaints.

  * * * *

  They ate outside the tent, hunkered before a meager fire and wrapped in their blankets in lieu of getting dressed. Over a thin oatmeal laced with the last of their coffee, Caleb voiced the concern haunting Brance's own mind. "What are we going to do about those men?" When Brance didn't answer, he prompted, "You know, the ones we saw last night. I reckon maybe we could tell them--"

  "And get shot for our efforts," Brance snapped. Caleb opened his mouth to speak, but Brance cut him off. "Let me think on it, will you?"

  They lapsed into a tense, moody silence. Even the scrape of utensil on bowl bothered Brance. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, silly as it was--when he'd first emerged from the tent, he'd wandered off into the woods, just a few yards, and circled their camp before deciding they were alone. But he wasn't a tracker, or even a very good scout. In human form, his senses were just too damned limited to distinguish one bent branch from the next. Those men had been trappers; they knew the woods, more so than Brance or Caleb. Could they have followed bobcat prints to this camp? Could they watch from a distance without Brance's notice?

  He suspected the answer was "yes."

  If it were just him, his decision would be simple--pack up and leave. But there was Caleb to think about; Brance didn't want to spook him or, worse, let him think they were running away. It was bad enough they were deserters--any man who saw them could lawfully shoot them on sight. The fact that they were intimate complicated the matter. Their only recourse was to travel farther into the woods, but in all honesty how much distance could they cover before nightfall? If the moon caught them, they would change without establishing camp and have nothing to wake up to the next morning. Life had been so much simpler alone...

  A tentative hand rubbed over the small of his back. Startled, Brance glanced up to find Caleb beside him--when had he moved nearer? The contrite look in his wide eyes melted the frostiness between the two men. Life had been so much lonelier alone, Brance realized, even if he was loathe to admit it.

  When he wasn't rebuffed, Caleb scooted closer, closing the distance between them. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Brance's waist and leaned his head against Brance's bare shoulder. For a long moment they sat like that, neither daring to speak, lest they break the fragile intimacy blossoming like a rare flower between them. Then Brance raised his arm and draped it over Caleb's shoulders. Encouraged, the younger man snuggled against Brance's warmth, his head tucking under Brance's chin with a familiarity that made Brance's heart swell. Brance stroked the hair back from Caleb's brow and murmured, "We should avoid those men at all costs."

  Against his side, Caleb nodded. "Whatever you think is best."

  "We'll stay here," Brance continued.

  Caleb nodded again, settling himself against Brance. "And tonight?"

  "Just stay with me."

  Hugging Caleb closer, Brance wondered how he could've gone from having nothing in this world to holding everything in the span of his embrace.

  * * * *

  They heard and saw no one else that day. By noon, Caleb began to ridicule the men, as if trying to cut them down in his own mind. Brance listened to his commentary in silence. He didn't want to underestimate the trappers, no matter how incompetent he wished them to be. There were hunters out in the woods, and for the first time since he'd received the bite that made him other, Brance knew his fur--despite its heightened animal senses and enhanced feline abilities--wouldn't be enough to protect him.

  As dusk settled around the clearing, wind picked up through the trees with a rustle that reminded Brance of winter. He sat before their fire, tossing sand onto the flames to tamp them down as he tried to forget those men. He had other things to worry about, such as the days ahead and finding somewhere to live out the harsh weather. This spot was too open, the soil too thin. He had in mind a secluded area, deep in the woods, in a cabin he'd build with his own two hands with a fireplace that would keep back the cold night. The first pains of change stabbed like a knife in his gut, taking his breath away in one fierce jab. This night, and the next, would be the end of their cycle. Two more evenings in the fur, that was it, before they could move on.

  Down by the stream's edge where he washed their cookware, Caleb gave out a lusty cry. Brance heard the tumble of tin on rock and glanced up to see his lover fall back to the ground, arms wrapped tight around his midriff as he writhed in agony. "God," Caleb gasped.

  As if He could do anything to ease the transition.

  A fist seemed to clench in Brance's bowels, tying them into knots. Without ceremony he threw the rest of the sand onto the fire, extinguishing it. Then he hurried to Caleb's side, hunched over against the pain that tore him up inside. His lover clawed at Brance's ankles, a feeble gesture, as Brance retrieved their pots and plates from the stream. Though he moved quickly, the first tufts of tawny hair began to erupt along his exposed skin. When the cookware was safe, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. A pelt of downy white fur covered his chest; running a hand over it was anathema--pain erupted from over-sensitized skin, as if each individual hair was being plucked from the follicle. Brance gritted his teeth against the sensation and struggled with his belt, even as the fingers fumbling with the buckle fused together into a large, meaty paw. With a roar of frustration he shucked off the pants, legs drawing up toward his body, arms straightening, senses deepening until the night came alive around him.

  He let out another cry, this one triumphant, a flash like lightning that split the autumn sky. Beside him, Caleb was shaking off the tattered remnants of his clothing, nipping at the sleeves that clung to his now-feline wrists. Brance took a moment to rub against his mate--as his head butted Caleb's, their whiskers seemed to spark like fireflies in the darkness, and a heavy purring filled the clearing. ::Damn shirt,:: Caleb muttered, gnawing at the fabric.

  ::Another one you've ruined,:: Brance replied.

  He licked out at Caleb's ear, which flicked away. He caught it between his teeth, pulled Caleb closer, and began to groom the top of his mate's head with his rough, flat tongue. Caleb fell to his side, forepaws against Brance's as if to hold him back, one hind leg pushing against the soft underbelly above him. When Brance moved, Caleb's legs spread apart to show a pink penis already erect. ::You're so predictable,:: Brance teased.

  Caleb let out a randy mroaw that left no doubt about where he hoped this impromptu grooming would lead. ::You've got me well trained...::

  Movement in the bushes behind their tent startled them. Brance's purr ceased abruptly; he peered into the distance, his eyesight better in the fur, and saw a gleam of moonlight off metal among the dark leaves. His ears swiveled around, listening to hushed whispers that carried on the wind. Sudden dread filled him--they weren't alone.

  "Did you see that?" The voice came from the bushes; it sounded like the black man who had been with the trappers the night before. Josiah. "Fuckers are the damn cats. Did you see that? Did you--"

  Brance let out a blood-curdling cry. ::They're here.::
<
br />   ::Who?:: Caleb scrambled to his feet, fear bright in his amber eyes. ::The men? What do you mean? Where--::

  A gunshot rang out, silencing him. Brance gave Caleb a hard shove toward the stream behind them. ::Run.::

  From the bushes, someone cried out, "You asshole!"

  Caleb didn't have to be told twice. Brance splashed through the stream right behind his mate as another shot struck the bank where they had just been standing.

  * * * *

  Brance's old injury wouldn't let him sprint for long. After covering several yards at a breakneck speed, the first twinge of discomfort seized the muscles in his hind leg. He slowed to a fast run, but soon began to miss a step here and there, and before long, he pulled up lame. ::I can't,:: he told Caleb as he trotted to a stop.

  His hind paw rose up from the ground on its own accord, as if just touching the earth with his foot would hurt. The thick muscle in his haunch burned, pain radiating from the site of the healed wound. As Brance lowered himself to the ground, his leg kicked out once, then twitched, trying to shake off the pain.

  Caleb came back to touch his nose to Brance's, his tongue licking out to flatten his mate's fur. His shirt was gone, caught on a branch somewhere as they ran and left behind in their haste. With a twitch of his whiskers, Brance told him, ::Go on.::

  ::Not without you.:: Nuzzling Brance, Caleb began to groom the top of his head and the hard to reach spot behind his ears. ::I can wait.::

  A low growl rose in the back of Brance's throat. ::Go on,:: he said again. ::You want them to catch you? Get out of here already.::

  ::No.::

  Brance snapped at Caleb's forepaw, but his mate stepped out of reach of Brance's large jaws. Circling the fallen bobcat, Caleb sank down to sit by Brance's rear haunches. The wounded leg pushed against Caleb's shoulder, ineffectual. Brance sat up, teeth bared and snarling, but Caleb just flicked his ears at the sound, then rested his head in his paws as he watched Brance, golden eyes unblinking and wide in the darkness. ::Growl about it all you want,:: Caleb told him. ::I'm not leaving. You're hurt.::