Cage's nails scraped on the stone, then the snow flew, Cage bounding through the white, snapping at the bits that flew up into the air.
They hit together when Roman rushed, rolling over and over until they stopped with Cage on the bottom, Roman wagging and pushing Cage deep in the snow. Then he was up and off, daring Cage to come get him. His tail was nipped; he was driven and then given that fine flank to chase himself.
They bounded through the snow, occasionally getting lost in deep pockets, having to call to each other to make their way out. They played until Roman was exhausted and ice began to form between the pads on his feet, until the sore places on his jaw started to really hurt where the big gray intruder had bitten down.
Then it was time to quit, time to find a place to get warm and sleep.
Cage was limping some by the time they stumbled back to the cabin. Their cabin. Roman shouldered the swinging door open and Cage followed, shaking the snow from his fur.
The fire had burned low, but the great thing about a pot bellied stove was how long it would glow, how long they could lay next to it and stay warm. Roman nosed Cage to the best spot, licking at the cub's stiff fur.
Cage returned the favor and, by the time the sun rose, they were curled together, warm and dry and sound asleep.
Roman shifted his now human body and listened to joints pop. They'd need to move to the bed, he figured, grabbing the quilt down off the rocking chair next to the fire and wrapping it around them.
Later. He would move later.
Maybe next full moon, he thought as he went back to sleep.
***
The spring would never come.
Never.
He was going to be trapped in here in the cold by the snow forever and they'd never get to hunt again.
Never get to run.
Wait.
Was he whining?
Cage rolled his eyes at himself and started pacing again, pleased that, if he was whining, at least it wasn't out loud.
Much.
Roman glanced up from the book he was reading. "Are you needing a good beating, Cub?" The teasing light in those eyes told him that would never happen, but that Roman was ready to play.
He bared his teeth a little, nostrils flaring as the scent of his mate hit him. Good. So good.
"Uh-huh." The book went flying and Roman came at him, looking like a blur of denim and flannel, big hands reaching for him. Cage feigned a move to the right, then scrambled left, knowing Roman would catch him, cover him. He didn't have to make it easy though.
He felt Roman slide by, those thick wool socks making for great slippage. The look on Roman's face was priceless, all goofy surprise.
He hooted, grabbed Roman's ass as the man slid by. Woo! He won!
The crash when Roman went down wasn't so amusing, but the kicking feet and cursing? Hoo yeah. That was hilarious.
"You... you okay?" He went to check, chuckling, reaching down to help Roman up.
"Uh-huh." Roman grabbed him, quick as a snake, and hauled his ass down on the floor, rolling to cover him. Oh, sneaky asshole. Always turning things to his advantage.
"Bastard." He nipped Roman's jaw, heading for that tanned throat.
"Yup." Cutting him off, Roman kissed him, licking his lower lip and holding him close. Yum.
His hands slid down Roman's spine, rubbing and rolling, massaging all the way down.
His.
Mate.
Growling happily, Roman let the kiss go on and on, pushing it until they had to break apart, gasping for air. He actually had little sparkles in his eyes, things swimming for a moment.
"Mine, Cage." Roman's voice sounded blown, rough and ragged, all for him. That long cock was hard against his belly, even through stiff denim, poking and prodding.
"Yours. Want." He lifted his chin, baring his throat for his mate, his Roman.
"Yeah, Cub. Cage. Too many clothes." Roman could go from playful to serious as a heart attack in less than six seconds, and now the man was ripping at Cage's clothes, getting him to naked.
It was a pain in the ass to work Roman's jeans open, to push the fabric away and get the slap of skin on skin. They managed it, though, both of them humming when their flesh met, both of them groaning when they rubbed together. The biting and growling started as the heat grew, Roman's skin going slick as they moved.
Roman touched him everywhere, all over, just exploring him until he thought he might explode. Every scar got attention, just like before. These days he was proud of them; they had made him strong enough to defend his home.
It didn't hurt that the different sensations--sharp on his unmarked skin, distant and fuzzy on his scars--were enough to make him howl.
Grunting, Roman moved closer, more, licking and biting. They finally got completely naked except for Roman's fuzzy socks, Roman spreading him so that dark head could come down, that amazing hot mouth dropping on him like a ton of bricks.
Cage howled, hips jerking, fucking Roman's mouth with a sheer desperation. Please. Yes. He. Oh. Uhn.
Rough and wet, Roman's tongue worked the underside of his cock, rubbing up and down until he wanted to scream. Roman spread him with an iron grip, working down to lick and his balls, rolling his sacs, pushing them back and forth. He gave a sharp bark, just managing to warn Roman before his cock jerked, seed pouring from him in bone-rattling pulses.
Chuffing, Roman licked him clean before rising up over him and grabbing his hand, putting on that burning hot cock. "Babe. Please."
He nodded, rubbing fast and hard, tongue wetting his lips as he watched the tip of Roman's cock move in and out of his fingers.
"Uhn." Hips rocking, Roman moved and rocked and growled and loved on him, those dark, dark eyes watching him.
His thumb rubbed the tip, spreading the wet heat around, pushing into the slit. The scent of Roman was everywhere around him, strong and male and rich, enough to make him whimper. When he pulled harder, his fingers closing hard against Roman's skin he got a howl, those hips pushing Roman's prick into his hand. Roman came for him, hot and wet, Roman's eyes rolling back into his head.
Licking his hand clean, Cage couldn't stop moaning at Roman's flavor, bitter and salty on his tongue.
Roman joined him, tongue touching his on that strong hand for like, half a second before Roman kissed him, long and slow. Deep. Good.
Mate. Oh. His fingers tangled in Roman's hair, holding them together as the kiss went deep.
"Mmmm. Love you, Babe. Keeping you. Hear me?" Roman snuggled up to him, arms around him, holding him close. Safe.
"Mmhmm. You have to. You like my house."
about our contributors
Angel
Angel is a regular contributor to Torquere Press and has several single shots as well as anthology stories. She's a truck driver who uses her loading and down time to scribble.
Sara Bell
Sara Bell is a thirty-something freelance writer living in upstate Alabama with her sexy, baldheaded husband and two beautiful, exceptionally bright daughters. When not busy chugging away at the keyboard, Sara can be found burning cookies for school bake sales and logging time as the family taxi driver. To learn more about Sara and her work, or to contact her directly, please visit her discussion group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/themagicinyourtouch/
Camilla Bruce
Camilla lives in Norway. She is currently working hard not to finish her MA. Preferring the darker corners of fiction, she usually writes dark fantasy/gothic suspense, all of it male gay erotica, as that's her preferred poison of choice. She has been previously published in anthologies and zines
Rob Knight
Who is this Rob Knight guy, you might well ask. Good question. I am a writer. An editor. I am a connoisseur of fine gay fiction, both erotica and mainstream. Lately I've bent my talents toward assembling anthologies for the e-publishing venture Torquere Press. In the past I've worked for newspapers and publishers, websites and magazine distributors.
Why gay fic
tion? Well, it appeals to me on a lot of levels. Aside from the purely physical that is. Though that's a big part of it. There's still a certain amount of subversion to writing and editing gay fiction, an underground excitement. An element of the taboo. And it's an area of literature that deserves more discussion and recognition. The relationships in gay fiction are rich and deep. They resonate with emotions that everyone feels at some point or another, but the intensity is just that much more.
Of course, on a purely shallow level, I like men kissing.
Kara Larson
A career student and wannabe medievalist, Kara would like to be a bard when she grows up. She'd settle for J.R.R. Tolkien, though. Speaker of dead languages and purveyor of useless knowledge, Kara has been living with an epic world in her head since she was eight years old, and might even write about it someday.
Sean Michael
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and persuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago."
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
A. Steele
Ms. Steele is the thirty-four year old mother of two. After having moved to frigid northern Canada eight years ago, she quickly discovered that the best way to stay warm on a long, winter night was to pen every hot, homo-erotic fantasy she'd ever indulged in. Here's hoping they keep you as toasty as they've kept her.
BA Tortuga
B. A. Tortuga enjoys indulging in the shallow side of life, with hobbies that include collecting margarita recipes, hot tub dips, and ogling hot guys at the beach.
A connoisseur of the perverse and esoteric, BA's days are spent among dusty tomes of ancient knowledge, or, conversely, surfing porn sites in the name of research. Mixing the natural born southern propensity for sarcasm and the environmental western straight-shooting sensibility, BA manages to produce mainstream fiction, literary erotica, and fine works of pure, unadulterated smut.
With characters ranging from supernatural demons to modern-day cowboys, alternative illustrated men to Victorian dandies, the addiction to history and atmosphere is everpresent, and laced through with sensual pleasure.
Cat Zheng
Cat Tzeng enjoys basking in the warm light of the computer screen and affecting a look which suggests the planning of artistic masterpieces, great literature, or at the very least, a world takeover.
Sadly, regardless of whatever deadlines might be looming, the real truth is that Cat is merely contemplating what to have for dinner.
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Shifting Again Page 37
