by Watts, Mia
“I can wash myself,” Flynn told Koda.
Amaro looked up to see Koda attempting to wet their priest lover with river water.
“I must wash you,” Koda insisted.
“Maybe I want to wash you?” Flynn argued.
Koda gave him a strange look.
“Koda, do you like washing me?” Flynn asked.
“It’s an honor.”
Flynn frowned. “I didn’t ask you about the honor. I asked if you liked washing me.”
Koda put the bowl down. He propped on his hands, leaning toward Flynn earnestly, and presenting Amaro with his attractive ass. “You feel pleasing beneath my hands.”
Flynn’s smile warmed. “Then why on Earth would you deny me the right to feel your body?”
“You may touch me however you wish, priest,” Koda told him. Amaro thought he sounded winded, but that couldn’t be. A warrior did his duty, he didn’t eagerly look for ways to be with other men beyond that expectation. Amaro did, but he was different, wasn’t he? He had been attracted to men since his youth. Could Koda have been suffering the same path as he?
Fear, like a young boy making his first kill, shook Amaro’s limbs. Could these many years he’d wanted to claim Koda’s body and mind like a mate claims his wife, have been wasted? Could it be that Koda would have accepted advances from Amaro?
Koda displayed interest in Flynn. He had never done so with Amaro. Perhaps Koda’s interest did involve men, yet not Amaro. And just like that, the boy hunter’s spear found a mark, not in his kill, but in his own chest.
“I give up. You’re too handsome to argue with,” Flynn said chuckling. He kneeled and flung out his arms. “Take me, I’m yours.”
Not willing to be left out of the ritual, or any opportunity to touch one or both men, Amaro hurried to assist. He moved behind Flynn, letting Koda wash the front.
Together the men lathered their hands and ran them over Flynn’s smooth body. Amaro’s fingers topped Koda’s several times. On another pass over Flynn’s ribs, Koda linked fingers with Amaro. Amaro froze, unable to lift his head for fear he’d see pity in his friend’s eyes, or worse, affection Amaro didn’t know how to handle.
Duty made him pull away. He reached for the bowl of clean water to remove the remnants of soapiness. Once Flynn’s body was cleaned, it left only his cock and ass for ritual washing. Amaro scooped the gel from the crushed roots into his hands and rubbed them together. Then reaching around Flynn’s waist, he took the man’s cock in his hands, slowly lathering his length.
Koda cupped Flynn’s balls in his palm, cleaning them while Amaro worked the priest’s shaft. Their fingers bumped and slid against one another. Flynn moaned, leaning back on his heels, his head falling to Amaro’s shoulder.
The soft hairs tickled Amaro’s neck and as Flynn turned his face into it, heated breath sent shivers down Amaro’s spine. Amaro’s gaze met Koda’s. Koda shifted his weight, pushing his bent knees between Flynn’s, spreading Flynn’s legs as wide as they would go.
Amaro nodded. His hands swept to Flynn’s bottom, the muscled orbs parted by Koda’s actions. Then, pressing his palms together, Amaro swept the sides of his hands down the opened crack. He drew them up and down, like a pumping cock.
Flynn’s lips brushed Amaro’s neck. He wanted Flynn to do more kissing. Much more kissing. Knowing Koda’s eyes were on him, Amaro dared to lower his chin and place a row of kisses along Flynn’s shoulder to his neck. The man gasped, reaching up and back to hold Amaro’s head against the sensitive flesh.
Amaro’s gaze flicked to Koda, who watched him with heated interest. Koda licked his lips. Amaro glanced down, between Koda’s thighs to his rock hard cock.
Amaro parted his mouth on Flynn’s neck, tasting the smooth pale skin, the slight tang of soap root and body salt. A pulse point throbbed impatiently against the tip of his tongue, and he suckled the spot firmly. Flynn shivered, moaning in Amaro’s ear.
Amaro pressed his fingers into Flynn’s crack, searching for the entrance that promised such bliss to the possessor. He fumbled, lightly stroking and prodding until he found the tight ring of muscles. The tight pucker tickled his finger pads. Flynn seemed to like what he did, so Amaro wiggled the tip against the rosette, pushing at it lightly.
Flynn sat back on his digit, sinking Amaro’s finger into the snug flesh. Amaro shuddered, remembering what it had felt like to have his cock squeezed so by that heat.
He watched in fascination over Flynn’s shoulder as Koda got to his belly and put Flynn’s cock in his mouth. Flynn hissed sharply. Koda’s gaze darted to Amaro’s, watched him in return when he lifted his head then sucked down again on Flynn’s cock.
Flynn jerked his hips slightly sinking on Amaro’s finger. Koda flinched. Amaro saw him swallow through a gag, but kept taking the man’s penis as though it were a long icicle. As children, they’d sucked those much the same way Koda now took Flynn’s hot length.
Amaro added another finger. He gathered the remaining soap root mash in his fingers, using it to slick Flynn’s ass. While he hadn’t intended to take him again, Amaro needed release.
It seemed this moment was a break from his world. Flynn brought them together, giving Amaro the opportunity to love as he had been created to love, to enjoy a man’s body as he was intended to, and to enjoy the only two men he would have risked his station to join with.
He’d known Koda his entire life. Had stood by his side in all things, until they’d been honored with their own tribes to rule for the benefit of the empire. Flynn, he’d barely met. How was it he could feel as strongly about both? That without the one, there wouldn’t be the other? That the three of them made their own small tribe which kept the fears of discovery at bay?
Did Flynn possess this magic? If he did, Amaro didn’t want the preparation to end.
Koda held Flynn’s cock in his fist, suckling the end with hollowed cheeks and sliding lips. Amaro liked the erotic taking, positioned his insatiable penis at Flynn’s grasping hole, and plunged in. The soap root eased his way, bringing Flynn’s incredible heat to envelop Amaro’s shaft suddenly, completely.
Amaro groaned with appreciation. Flynn moved for them, tilting his hips to bury his cock deeper into Koda’s mouth and lifting off Amaro’s man-root. Flynn alternately tucked his hips, nestling his ass snugly around Amaro’s length and drawing his cock from Koda’s pleasing lips.
Koda shifted to his side, taking his penis in hand and pumping his dry fist on himself.
The sounds, smells of aroused male, the winking of firelight on gasping and grasping bodies, filled Amaro’s head until he let his senses overtake him. He moved like a primitive animal, fucking because he could fuck the ass of a willing man. He kissed Flynn’s strong, corded neck, and dragged his hands over his nipples. His fingers delighted in them. And through it all, he listened to the sound of Koda’s mouth taking Flynn and the rustle of his fist roughly yanking his penis.
Amaro’s balls tingled with heaviness, jiggling each time Flynn sat onto Amaro’s raging cock. The sound of his own ragged breath rasped piteously like an erotic chant, taking him into the darkest part of high arousal.
Amaro thrust into Flynn’s ass, taking what he wanted and knowing that he didn’t want this to be the last time he’d be given the privilege. He hated that once Flynn was chosen to succeed Macawi, and Manaba was exiled, Flynn would choose lovers from the offering of males who’d been selected, not from the warriors. Not him.
The cries from his lovers reaching passion, tore away the last of Amaro’s control.
He ground his teeth, clenched his eyes, and roared with the unfairness of losing these men, as he grabbed Flynn’s hips and fucked him as hard as he could, running away from the truth that threatened to reduce him to pain and loss for a lover he couldn’t know. Not once they were finished.
Seed collected in a tingling mass at the base of his cock. It built like a volcano ready to erupt its bounty then streaked upward. Too much, too fast, too thick, it nearly stung as it sho
t deep into his lover’s body, leaving him empty and bereft.
It had been more than simple release.
Amaro kept his eyes closed, knowing that a warrior with tears in his eyes would not be a true man. He’d given his seed, but he sensed it was so much more than that. He’d given Flynn and Koda his impossible prayers of a future, his bursting man’s heart for that which he couldn’t have, and an unequalled passion that would destroy him. Whether or not the truth was discovered by the tribe, his heart would always long for these two men. His lovers. His friend, and his future ruler.
Chapter Nine
Flynn’s ass throbbed pleasantly, and his cock felt raw, though satisfied. If anyone had ever told him he’d find two hot men who’d insist on kidnapping him to have awesome sex, he’d have thought they were insane.
For men who seemed torn about how to show their preferences, they certainly threw themselves into the task of fucking Flynn senseless. He had to appreciate their dedication, he thought wryly.
Koda stirred, blinking sleepily at him when Flynn rose.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmured to Koda, reaching down to brush ebony hair off his shoulder. “I’m just going to relieve myself.”
Koda’s eyes drifted shut. Flynn smiled. He doubted Koda in his drowsiness realized Flynn was still their captive. A willing one, but still captive. Although, he mused, it was no longer a leather cord that kept him there, but men with an amazing capacity for passion.
He had no idea what the future held, but the clock was ticking on his freedom, if this testing thing ever came to pass.
Flynn exited the cave. He needed to run off some steam. He hoped heading to Woodhenge would explain where the rest of civilization had gone. Shifting would allow him to sniff out the cold trail, and provide the most practical way of covering the distance with ease.
Flynn went to the river. He focused, centering his mind on the dark corner of mist that always lurked at the back. Like a switch, it triggered. Pain shot through him, but he kept his mouth closed, not wanting to wake his lovers. Sight clouded as the transformation took hold. His bones cracked and shifted, muscle tore and ligaments reattached. His skin itched as rust colored fur forced through his pores, and stung when whiskers jabbed out, unfurling in the early morning fog.
His fingers snapped, pulled in on themselves and claws pierced from inside human flesh, and almost human knuckles, splitting them as they grew. Flynn curled on his side, trembling as the rest of his body caught up, all the while biting the inside of his cheek, until that too changed and he could merely howl.
Cautiously, he limped to the riverbed, ducked his snout, and took several thirst-quenching laps. He was ready. He lifted his moist black nose to the air and scented.
Humans.
He caught the earthy smell of Amaro and his cum. A tangier, green scent reached him. That was Koda. But there was another one as well. His gaze zeroed in on the far bank, off to the right. This aroma smelled of the hunt. Deer blood, dung, and dry grass mingled with human sweat and ash.
Whoever was there not only knew about the cave, but had seen Flynn shift. And if his senses told him anything, it was that this man had been there for a while. It was a scent that had a lingering substance. The scent of someone who’d been watching the cave for a time, and a scent that Flynn recognized as having to do with Amaro.
His tribesman? His runner? Perhaps that was all. Whoever it was didn’t move, though he had to know Flynn watched him. Flynn didn’t feel threatened, not with Amaro’s scent associated with him.
Flynn took several darting steps to the left, and looked back. The watcher hadn’t moved, and Flynn felt comfortable with his safety and the safety of the men he’d left behind, sleeping.
Flynn caught the faint trail of his own human smell, and took off. The low bushes and brambles didn’t slow him, though he could scent where Amaro and Koda had been required to slow down when carrying Flynn to the cave. He darted over a collection of boulders, climbing a low rise, then dashed through tall grass.
He paused at the edge of a large field. Instinct made him take his time to sniff. His fox didn’t like open spaces, but his human self had passed through this field. Flynn’s smaller, efficient lungs, quickly huffed. His ears twitched, picking up the small sound of a field mouse’s nest, and the larger scrounging of prairie dogs. They seemed unconcerned, and Flynn tentatively stepped from the forest, into the tall grass.
Once decided, he sprinted the distance, unerringly tracking to Woodhenge though he could see nothing but brittle grass and flashes of blue sky. Through it all, the realization became clearer and clearer that civilization hadn’t touched this land. Not ever.
Koda woke to a strange cry. He blinked, remembered Flynn leaving, but didn’t remember his return. Awareness sank in. Had Flynn run off? Fear seized him and he sat up to listen. Rushing river water drowned out any further sound, and not knowing if the cry had been real or dream, Koda nudged Amaro then ran to the cave opening.
The riverbed was empty, Flynn nowhere in sight.
“Where is he?” Amaro barked.
“He went to relieve himself.”
“You allowed him to leave?” Amaro’s scowl told Koda exactly what he thought of Koda’s relaxed guarding skills. Amaro pushed past him with his spear, taking the slope with small, skidding steps.
Koda ducked into the cave to collect his stone knife, and his bow and arrow kit, which he slung over his shoulder, then hurried after Amaro. He’d already moved away from the riverbed, eyes fixed to the ground as he searched for tracks.
“He shifted. There,” he pointed, not bothering to see if Koda followed his finger. “The ground is disturbed and human prints become fox.” He lifted his gaze then. “You’ve lost our new priest. Now, if he’s found by Manaba, you and I will be killed for plotting against him.”
“We’ll find him,” Koda insisted.
His heart lurched, not from fear for himself or Amaro, they could take care of themselves, but for Flynn. Flynn didn’t understand much about their ways, and he didn’t seem to know much about their world. The gods hadn’t prepared him well. Three days had been too soon. Now, if he were caught, it would be sooner still. Flynn was on his own, and Manaba’s entire following would see him dead, if he were discovered.
Worry lodged like a solid, cold block in his throat. “We must find him.”
Amaro tracked forward. “This way,” he muttered, barely loud enough to let his voice carry.
Flynn belly-crawled the last feet to Woodhenge. Somewhere along the way, he’d so intently trekked forward, that he’d forgotten to listen to the clues around him. It wasn’t until now that he realized the sounds of wildlife around him had silenced. His senses were on high alert.
Instinct told him to stop moving and start paying attention. The wooden planks of Woodhenge flashed in and out of view through windblown hay, set against brilliant cerulean sky. The sun trapped the heat in the grasses, and still Flynn waited. He lifted his nose, concentrating on anything that would tell him why the Earth had quieted.
Nothing moved. Even the wind hushed. The crickets, that made their homes at the grass roots, ceased singing. Flynn’s ears perked and twitched. After several minutes, sound slowly regained its confidence and nothing spooked Flynn’s fox senses.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Flynn crawled forward. He pressed his cheek glands to the first wooden plank then moved to the center of the circle. His hair stood on end with the sensation of an electrical charge, rising goosebumps on every square inch of his flesh. His whiskers shivered. Curling into a ball, Flynn shifted back into human form. He closed his eyes against the beginning ache of bone preparing to shatter and knit.
Cool sweat formed on his skin, as Flynn sank into the transformation, taking the pain and knowing it would end soon, if not soon enough. His own whimpers and cries filled his ears. He was vulnerable, but also within the circle, and he’d done his best to make sure no one was nearby.
Flynn panted, curled on his side. Flattened grass it
ched beneath his naked hip and sweat evaporated, bringing a chill to his skin. Shakily, he propped himself up, wincing as the residual sting spasmed through his muscles.
“God, that hurts,” he muttered.
Now if he could just find something to wear while he looked around. Though, at this rate, he wasn’t convinced he needed clothing. Just a hot bath and a soft bed. Once he had them, maybe he’d even look for Amaro and Koda to come share it with him. He may have been a captive, but it had been one helluva great capture. Flynn was all for role-playing.
Flynn circled the inside of Woodhenge, trailing his fingers over every plank as he walked. He knew there was supposed to be a highway less than a hundred yards that way. Monk’s Mound should be over there, and next to him should be Mound 44. Except, Flynn saw nothing.
He squeezed through the planks and headed southward. Suddenly several men leapt up from the tall grass, whooping. Flynn ran. Three men overtook him, knocking him to the ground and binding his wrists with a leather thong.
“Stop! I’ll go back,” he told the men.
“Go where?” The meanest looking one asked.
“I needed to look around. I’ll go back to Amaro and Koda.”
The man smirked. “No need. Amaro and Koda have been summoned. You’ll see them soon enough.”
“Summoned where? Let me see them. Where are they?” Flynn pressed, feeling just about positive that being summoned, combined with the man’s expression, wasn’t a good thing.
“Silence, fox. Manaba would have a word with you.”
“Manaba. That’s the bad guy, right?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “He was chosen by the gods. Though you’ve been sent, Manaba knows you have ill purpose here. He will speak to you.”
“Why do I get the feeling that we aren’t on the same side?” Flynn muttered to himself.
One of the men jerked Flynn to his feet. His shoulders screamed from the strain, having just completed the change. The scowling leader planted his palm on Flynn’s back, and shoved. The little party moved away from the clearing…and not toward the cave.
