Under A Confederate Moon

by J. M. Snyder

  It made him something, alright.

  His mission was to stop whatever critter kept getting into their coop. The past two mornings, Caleb's pa had found dead hens and a handful of missing birds, one of their best layers among them. Something was coming onto the farm after the sun had gone down, a fox maybe, a wolf, or some sort of cat down from the mountains. Handing the rifle to his son, Caleb's pa had ruffled the boy's light hair and told him, "You shoot anything in or around that coop that ain't got feathers, you hear me? Animal or not, I don't care. We'll sort it out in the morn."

  Animal or not. Caleb couldn't imagine what Pa meant by that. The farm was a couple acres from its nearest neighbor, and a good half day's walk from the town square. Who'd sneak out here to steal a few scrawny birds? Unless he meant Indians, or escaped slaves...

  A silent shadow entered the farmyard, interrupting Caleb's thoughts. His sweaty hands tightened on the rifle, already filled with one load of shot, ready to fire. The shadow moved as if stalking, thrown ahead of its maker by the moon above. Slowly, without a sound, Caleb raised the rifle's sight to his eye. He squinted, aimed for a spot to the right of the chicken coop, and waited with one sure finger on the trigger.

  The shadow stopped, the creature sensing him. Come on, Caleb prayed as a bead of sweat trickled down his face to burn his eye. He blinked to clear his vision, dropping the gun just a tad...

  Suddenly the night was split with the sharp cry of a bobcat. It flashed through him as the shadow pounced. Too late, he realized that he wasn't the hunter but the prey--the cat had been stalking him. He saw a blur of golden fur with dark markings, felt teeth like blades cut into his ankle, and his finger squeezed the rifle's trigger involuntarily as he scrambled away.

  Pure luck lodged the bullet into the bobcat's chest, killing it. But the horror wasn't over--Caleb watched, fascinated, as the cat before him...changed. The paws sprouted fingers, the hair receding. The legs straightened, lengthened, took on human shape. The forepaws bent into elbows. The fangs in his skin retracted into the short, blunt teeth of a human boy, not much older than Caleb himself.

  An Indian, by his coloring. Naked. Dead.

  In the morning, his pa said good riddance and buried the body in the stony left field where nothing grew but rocks and dandelions and wild alfalfa. His ma was convinced the Indian had had a dog with him, a mangy cur of some type--what else could've given her boy such a nasty bite? Caleb was reluctant to admit that the Indian had bitten him. How would that sound? A bobcat attacked him and when he shot it dead, the damned thing turned human.

  Who would believe that?

  His wound healed slowly. His mother kept it slathered with salve, but for weeks the skin around the bite looked bruised and ugly. A month after the attack, it began to seep a clear fluid that scared Caleb. He suspected it was infected. As if thinking that made it so, his stomach started to cramp later that day, his bowels knotting together, and a dull throbbing ache took up residence behind his right eye. When night fell, he twisted in the sheets of his bed, soaked with sweat and riddled with pain. Dying, he just knew it.

  After a few minutes, the pain retreated to a haunting memory that he still felt in his bones. Weak, hungry, sure that he'd beaten whatever sickness had gripped him, Caleb shook his head to clear it, and heard the flap of an animal's ears. The world around him looked faceted, deeper than he was used to, more alive. Despite the darkness in his bedroom, he saw everything clearly, as if it were awash with a golden light. An uneasy growl filled him, and the faint smack of a tail on his bed sheets made him whirl around, sure one of the farm's dogs had snuck into his room.

  But he was alone. Cautiously, he pushed himself up from the bed. The arm that supported his body was straight, narrow, and covered in thick, short fur.

  And ended in a bobcat's paw.

  * * * *

  In his animal form, Caleb sensed the passage of time with a primordial instinct that felt the moon as it rode across the sky above him. For a long time he lay beside Brance, listening to the other's rapid heartbeat, watching the rise and fall of his side. Neither spoke.

  Eventually, Caleb stood and sat back on his haunches to groom his face. He licked one paw and slicked it back over his ear, wiping away whatever debris had caught in his fur. From the corner of his eye, Brance watched him. The fact that he didn't roll away, didn't turn his belly from Caleb, spoke volumes about their sudden camaraderie. Caleb wanted to thank him for that trust, somehow, but the words sounded stilted and wrong when he thought them through. With a swish of his tail, he stood, arching his back and baring his claws as he stretched. He rubbed against Brance, his tail flicking beneath the other cat's nose as he slunk away. Brance started, ::Where--::

  ::Be back.:: As he left the nested grass, Caleb lifted his tail and head, smug. He liked the way it felt to leave the other cat hanging; perhaps Brance had something there.

  Opening his senses to the night, Caleb heeded the age-old desire that churned his stomach--hunger. He nosed along the underbrush, the smells of tiny creatures flooding his brain. Each led in a different direction, small trails of spore and scent like bread crumbs marking the path. Hungry? This way. A mole, gone to ground. A handful of field mice, scuttling through dead leaves. Squirrels chattering contentedly to each other in the safety of their homes. For a moment Caleb considered climbing a tree to rouse the little suckers--chase the adults away, maybe find a nest of little ones to snack on. But he wanted to bring something back, too. Brance shouldn't move until his leg healed, and the other cat must be starving. Several times as he lay beside him, Caleb had heard a rumble deep in Brance's belly, gnawing at him. The onset of the change burned a lot of energy, leaving them famished. Tempting as the squirrels were, Caleb turned away in search of something meatier.

  The human part of his mind turned to Brance. How funny it should. The cat was larger than Caleb, leading him to suspect that the man inside the fur was, as well. How long had it been since Caleb's last tryst? Before he entered General Lee's service, that was certain. He'd signed up when the war broke out, not so much for the fight but just to get away. The small town he called home, nestled at the base of the Appalachians, held nothing of interest for a young man such as himself. The call to arms presented the perfect opportunity to finally move on.

  But here he was, two years later, a lonely soldier battling daily skirmishes, unable to extract himself from a war that he'd begun to suspect didn't interest him, either. His pa's farm was a speck compared to the grand plantations he'd seen on the road to Richmond--his family owned few livestock, and no slaves. The only reason for him to keep charging into battle with his squadron was the thin fold of bills he received each month in pay, but with the economy of the North bearing down on them, he suspected the Confederate dollars weren't worth much. He wasn't into whores like the other soldiers, and didn't relish the thought of losing his rank or being drummed out of camp for propositioning another man. There were a few he knew who'd gladly warm his bunk, desperate soldiers homesick and anxious, just looking for something to help them get by, but Caleb always turned them away.

  He wanted more than that--he wanted a boy at home, waiting for his letters. He wanted someone to pen long missives to on rainy days, someone who knew him body and soul. Someone who wanted him, not just for tonight or the next campaign, or until he was wounded and sent to Chimborazo to recover. Someone who understood him, every part of him, human and beast.

  In his hunt for food, Caleb drew a wide berth around the area where Brance waited. All around him, he smelled the other cat--fresh droppings covered month-old spore, marking the limits of Brance's territory. The fact that another like himself roamed so close to his camp thrilled Caleb. This was his first night of change; he had another two or three in the fur before the moon began to wane and his condition cleared. The possibility that he might not have to hunt alone excited him. He felt so alone amid the soldiers, his own countrymen dressed in gray, because none of them knew the true Caleb. None even suspected...

 
Movement ahead startled him. Silently he slipped into the undergrowth, scarcely breathing, teeth bared. The heady scent of rabbits filled his nose and watered his mouth. With a snarl, he burst through the bushes and snatched the closest rabbit, a large doe. Caleb turned to snap at kittens nearby, killing two more before he felt a hard body knock into his side.

  He rolled clear of the buck's powerful feet and snagged his kill before disappearing back into the bush. With his teeth clenched tight around the evening's meal, Caleb hurriedly retraced his steps to where he had left Brance.

  * * * *

  He approached the small clearing from behind, a mistake he realized when he heard the other bobcat's menacing growl. Dropping the food, he shook his head to clear his nostrils of the rabbits' fur. ::It's just me.::

  The growl stopped in surprise, then started up again, louder this time. ::Where did you run off to?::

  Anger radiated from Brance like heat from an oven. Caleb suspected his companion had missed his company more than he cared to admit; his gruff question hid his relief that Caleb had returned. Lying down in the grass in a show of submission, Caleb nudged the doe's still warm body towards Brance. ::I brought you food.::

  A wet, quivering nose sniffed at the rabbit, then touched the creased spot above Caleb's upper lip. No words of thanks...of course not, Caleb thought as he watched Brance tear at the rabbit greedily. Snagging one of the kittens with his claws, Caleb pulled it to him as he rolled onto his side. What kind of man was this creature when he was human? Unable to accept an offer of assistance, or show gratitude when helped? A mountain man, Caleb mused, one of those lone rogues who roamed the woods and kept away from the rest of the world. Or a deserter maybe, scrounging around army camps in search of whatever discarded food he might find.

  Or a soldier, like Caleb himself.

  His ears flickered in opposite directions, as if shooing flies. Questions consumed him--where was Brance from? How long had he had this condition? When did he get it, and did he know any others with it?

  Despite his desire to know, Caleb kept his silence. Brance probably wouldn't answer, and Caleb didn't want to be told to shut up again. Just to lay beside another was enough. For now.

  Finishing his dinner, Caleb stretched toward Brance and playfully dragged his claws through the thin hair on the other bobcat's belly. Instantly Brance froze, his growl back. Amused, Caleb flipped onto his stomach. ::Oh, stop it,:: he admonished. With a twitch of his tail in the other cat's face, he inspected the healing wound in Brance's leg. ::The blood has stopped.::

  When he licked over the wound, Brance caught Caleb's tail between his teeth. ::Leave it alone.:: He didn't bite down, but when Caleb tried to tug free, he didn't let go, either. One hind leg came up to push against Caleb's forepaw. ::Anyone ever call you troublesome before?::

  Ducking under Brance's leg, Caleb nipped at the bobcat's exposed belly. ::Just you,:: he replied. ::Why--::

  With a guttural cry, Brance turned on him, knocking him to the ground. Caleb found himself on his back, the larger bobcat straddling him, pinning him in place. For one long moment they stared at each other, Brance's eyes dark above his open mouth, his growl ragged and loud. Caleb waited, at any moment expecting those sharp fangs to sink into his flesh, bite his forepaw or his shoulder, anything to scare him away. The leg he held high against Brance's inner haunch seemed ineffectual, a joke. He couldn't hold this cat back. If Brance attacked...

  But part of him wanted to flip onto his stomach, raise his tail in the air, present his rump to this beast above him. He wanted to feel Brance in him, piercing him, their cries twin flashes like lightning splitting the night. He had seen the barbs extend on his own cock when he was in this form; what would the barbs on Brance's penis feel like when they locked him into Caleb's anus? Would it hurt or please him? Almost absently, his hind paw stroked Brance's abdomen, his claws curling against the other cat, kneading him. Needing him. It'd been so long since he'd been with a man, and the fact that this one wasn't entirely human turned Caleb on more than he cared to admit.

  Slowly, Brance relaxed. His growl trickled away, as if unwilling to be silenced, but he sank down beside Caleb with a heavy sigh. His wounded hind leg kicked out rapidly, then stilled. Dropping his head to the ground, Brance blinked beyond Caleb into the dark trees surrounding them. ::You exhaust me.:: As Caleb rolled to face him, Brance flicked an ear in disdain. ::Put that away.::

  Too late, Caleb realized his penis was fully extended, rigid and hard. He considered licking it for relief, but not with an audience. Instead he withdrew it, the moment lost. Nuzzling closer to Brance, he tried to explain. ::I've never met another like us.::

  ::So you said.::

  Caleb pressed his nose into Brance's fur and breathed deep the bobcat's wild scent. He sniffed down the other's belly, and his tongue licked out to taste Brance's furry ballocks. ::If you wanted to--::

  ::No.::

  But Brance's legs were splayed beneath him, an open invitation that belied his protest. Biting back a retort, Caleb licked out again, then caught a heavy paw across the side of his face for his efforts. ::I just want--::

  Brance kicked him away. ::I'm injured. No.::

  Laying his head in his paws, his nose still buried in Brance's hair, Caleb blew through his nostrils, dejected. ::I only wanted...::

  ::Hush.::

  A large paw fell to his shoulder as if to comfort him. With his stomach full, his libido waning, and a warm body beside his, Caleb felt content. Scooting closer, he burrowed against Brance's underbelly and, with one last grumble, dropped into a catnap.

  * * * *

  Caleb usually reverted to his human form while asleep, so he assumed it wasn't as painful as the original transformation. On long nights, in the dead of winter, he stayed in the bobcat form for ten hours, more during the solstice. But spring was in the sweet Virginia air; the moon had risen late and sped across the sky in its haste to sink below the horizon. Caleb woke a few hours before dawn, some thick patches of hair still clinging to his arms and legs, but on the whole, human again. Fine, cold dew beaded along his bare skin. The first faint rays from the rising sun slanted through the trees, casting the forest in an indistinct haze. White patches of fog clung like ghosts to the branches above, distorting the light. Without his animal senses, Caleb thought the morning eerily silent.

  Yawning, Caleb stretched awake, and was surprised to feel his leg move against something, or rather, someone else. The night flooded back in an instant--the gunshot, the scent of blood, the wound, the rabbits, Brance. Now Caleb felt the arm draped over his shoulders, warding off the morning chill. Now he felt the insistent hard dick pressed against his buttocks. Now he heard steady breathing, and when he turned over in the embrace, he found himself face to face with a man staring back. Barely daring to breathe, he sighed, "Hey."

  The arm around him tightened. Caleb took in the clear, pale eyes, golden in the early light. He saw the disheveled auburn beard, thick sideburns, and rough mustache. An old scar cut across the man's right eyebrow where the bobcat had had a similar mark. Those piercing eyes searched his. His silence didn't surprise Caleb, given his demeanor the night before. When Caleb raised his leg between them, the thick patch of hair kinked at the man's groin tickled his knee. Caleb smoothed a hand down the muscled chest to clutch at the erection still poking his way. The firm flesh excited him, like steel wrapped in velvet, that soft, that hard. His voice cracked with sudden lust. "Brance. Hey."

  Perturbed, Brance sighed. "You're still here."

  In response, Caleb squeezed gently, working the hard shaft between them. Brance's eyes slipped shut and he thrust into Caleb's hand. The guttural moan that escaped his lips sounded like a purr. Caleb leaned in to touch his mouth to Brance's--the moustache scratched his upper lip, but he licked out to wet the hair down, then kissed the man. He didn't expect much of a response; if anything, he thought Brance might pull away or shrug him off.

  So he was surprised to find that suddenly Brance was the one pressing h
im back to the ground, his mouth hard against Caleb's, his tongue dipping between Caleb's lips to taste his depths. Strong hands cupped his face, cradling him as they kissed; a firm tongue massaged his own, hungry for him. With both hands, Caleb grabbed Brance's cock, stroking it, slipping below the thick length to fondle the hairy sac that hung beneath. Brance's lips glided over Caleb's jaw, along the curve of his neck, to find a spot somewhere behind his left ear. Hot breath blew through him, igniting his blood. Strong, narrow hips thrust against him, rubbing along his own aching erection. Once again Caleb found himself unable to form words, and only the most rudimentary speech fell from his heated lips. "God," and "Yes," and a rapid little uh uh uh that sounded like a string of yelps.

  Against his neck, Brance breathed, "I'm injured, remember." Caleb nodded, yes, whatever he said. Just don't stop touching me, he prayed as Brance's lips blazed a trail down his neck to pool kisses at the base of his throat. Don't let this end. Say whatever you want, do what you will, just please don't stop.

  Brance's hot tongue licked away the dew on Caleb's chest, leaving warmth in its wake. On his hands and knees above Caleb, Brance moved down farther, his beard tickling Caleb's bare chest. His kisses seemed playful, almost taunting. When Caleb shifted under him, Brance pounced on his right nipple, closing his lips over the tender bud and nipping at it, much the same way Caleb had toyed with Brance's belly earlier. A rumble deep in Brance's throat spread through Caleb like a tremor; he gasped, arched against the man, pressing as much of his body to Brance's as he could. The length between his legs throbbed, pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart, eager for release. His balls ached, and he kept tugging on Brance's cock, dipping it towards him with one hand, pinching the tip with the other and rubbing the thin juice beginning to weep from it onto his own hard shaft.