Well Traveled

by Margaret Mills

  It was fast. It was hard. It was so fucking good Gideon saw stars when he came, his hips arched up off the ground hard and high enough that he was holding Jed’s weight, letting it put him as deep inside Jed’s body as he could go, clearly as deep as Jed wanted him from the way his eyes shone and his mouth parted and his hands clamped like talons on Gideon’s shoulders. Fingernails bit into his skin when Jed grunted and came all over him, and those little crests of pain just made the come better, made the bursts of pleasure harder, and Gideon sank back to the ground with Jed atop him, gasping, his body wanting to just explode with the feel-good of it.

  Jed looked to be no better off, and his ribs moved like a bellows as he dragged in great gulps of air. “That—” Jed swallowed and coughed, still panting. “Very good.”

  Gideon might have preened at the compliment if he’d had an ounce of energy left in his body. As it was he felt limp as a wet rope. He cupped Jed’s cheeks again, fondly now and less urgent, and nudged Jed up to let his softening prick pull free. He didn’t know what he’d expected Jed to do once their bodies separated, but it sure wasn’t what Jed did, dropping heavily against him and pinning him to the ground, legs squeezing his hips and thighs, arms pressing hard against his ribs, mouth buried at his throat pouring hot wet gusts of air over the skin there. Still panting, Gideon let his arms wrap naturally around Jed and held him while their bodies quieted, while the dusk finally faded and the stars came out over Jed’s back, peeking through breaks in the leaves on the trees that stretched above them.

  “Can’t believe you’re a brave who rides backwards,” he said softly, feeling like lady luck, who had always followed him, had outdone herself tonight.

  A huff of laughter tickled his throat. “‘Brave who rides backwards?’ Where do you learn these phrases?”

  Gideon grinned and used his fingers to pull all of Jed’s hair to one side where it tickled his shoulder. “The Indians I know in Bill Tourney’s show. It sorta came up one night that I had me an unnatural interest in men, and they said it weren’t unnatural, just different, like there’s different kinds of snakes and different colors of skin. They said that to their people, I was just a brave who rode backwards.”

  “Hmm, I understand,” Jed said lazily. “My people say a man or woman is a two-spirit person, if they desire others of their own kind.” Gideon blinked at that. Somehow he hadn’t considered that women could get on with their own, but it made sense to him.

  Finally Jed rolled to the side and stretched out, still naked where Gideon was still almost fully dressed. He looked down at the spatters of come on his union suit and wondered whether he should wash them out now. He wouldn’t; he liked the idea of them stains being there, hid under his shirt while they trekked on tomorrow.

  Jed’s skin was spattered from his belly to his throat, the drying seed shining in the soft light of the fire. It looked oddly pretty, the droplets sparkling on his smooth skin. Jed’s eyes were closed, one arm pillowing his head, the other thrown back, and Gideon thought Jed might be sleeping, or at least on his way there. He took the opportunity to stare, soaking up the strange beauty of the man beside him.

  Working in the traveling show, he’d met all kinds of men, some with the show, but more often in the towns they passed through, and he’d been with a few. He was good-looking and charming, and he didn’t have trouble attracting people who appealed to him, if they were of that bent. But this was the first time he’d been with an Indian. The ones he knew, while more tolerant of the attraction some men might feel for each other, weren’t themselves given to taking their pleasure with other men.

  Looking at Jed now, in the aftermath of what they’d shared, was as different from seeing him naked in that sick bed as a fuck was from getting poked in the foot with a stick. Back then, his appreciation had been tempered by the expectation that Jed was going to die and the struggle to keep him cool and calm. Now, resting easily with come drying on him, Jed was beautiful, his long hair thicker than most women’s Gideon knew, and his features were strong but oddly delicate. High cheekbones, a long, slender nose, and finely-arched eyebrows gave him an almost feminine beauty that was tempered by the thin lips, sharp chin, and flat chest. His body was slim and almost hairless, his nipples not large but not small, and a darker brown that made Gideon think of molasses cookies.

  Below the waist just as above it, there was no doubt that Jed was all man. Even now, his cock worn out, it curled soft and slim along the crease of a thigh, surrounded by a thin bed of hair as black and straight as the hair on his head.

  Gideon’s hand rose of its own accord, wanting to touch, but before his fingers found the warm flesh, Jed started, his eyes opening and his body jerking. He stared up at Gideon for a second before he caught himself, then he smiled. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” he said, pushing himself up. “I should be dressed—”

  “I like looking at you,” Gideon said quietly, letting his fingers drift down Jed’s arm.

  Jed blinked, his eyebrows drawing together. “You have simple tastes,” he said. But he held Gideon’s gaze for several seconds before leaning forward and putting his lips gently against Gideon’s.

  When Jed drew back, Gideon felt that pull in his belly, the one that wasn’t about fucking, but something else entirely. It stayed with him as Jed rose and stretched, flinching as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  Gideon reached, worried, and touched Jed’s nearest leg. “I go too hard on you?”

  “Yes,” Jed said dryly, “you are a stallion.”

  Gideon whapped the leg he’d just been tender to. “I’m serious, darn it.”

  Jed edged out of reach, still moving like he was reacquainting himself with his body. After a minute he said, “You were there. You know I desired it.”

  “Don’t mean I wasn’t a little rough,” Gideon groused, not quite sure why he was arguing about it.

  Jed looked at him, and after a moment he knelt into a careful squat. “You were eager. It was very good. There is no need to be concerned.”

  “Yeah, but if you’ve got the leg and your ass slowing you down tomorrow….”

  “It will be a shorter day, just like you’ve been whining for since we left Livingston.”

  Gideon’s ire rose until he realized Jed was teasing him, so he laid back flat on his bedroll and tucked his prick back into his pants. “You are such a pain in the ass.” But he said it fondly.

  Jed snorted as he headed back to the water’s edge to wash off. “Not yet, but possibly. Eventually.”

  Chapter 5

  THE next couple of days passed much the same, their trip slower because of the rougher ground they were covering and because by late afternoon when the sun was in his eyes anyway, it was all Gideon could do not to grab Jed around the waist and just throw him into the brush alongside the trail. No, he didn’t mind the pace at all. He was enjoying his time with Jed, not just the relations, which were damned good and more than he could have dreamed for, but the company, too. Jed was quiet mostly, and sometimes Gideon missed having someone else talking, especially when he tired of hearing his own voice, but he was coming to think of the sounds around them—birds, coyotes, insects, wind in the dry grass, the burble of an unexpected stream—as the voice of his companion. He was coming to realize that Jed thought the same of himself.

  They passed through Dubois, a small settlement that was hardly more than a couple of buildings and a stable. Gideon stopped at the trading post long enough to resupply them with some hard tack, jerky, coffee, and bullets for Jed’s gun, while Jed waited outside in the shade of the building. No one seemed to give Jed a second glance—but then, there was pretty much no one around to be glancing.

  Two days out of Dubois, Jed walking ahead and Gideon enjoying the view as he led Star along, Gideon got his first adventure of the trip. He’d borrowed Jed’s rifle and shot five big geese the last time they’d camped near any water to speak of, and they had three left with their feathers still on, tied across the skirt of Star’s sad
dle, plus most of a cooked one from supper last night. That had been the last game to speak of that they’d seen, but Canada geese were big birds, fifteen or more pounds apiece. It was plenty to last them all the way to California, if it didn’t go off first, what with the crabapple tree Star had sniffed out and some kind of pine nuts Jed found that they’d harvested.

  Gideon munched on a handful of those nuts as he half-listened to Jed’s chanting, but mostly he was caught up in the memory of what they had done the night before, when Jed had stretched out on his back and invited Gideon into him. He’d relished the feel of Jed’s lean legs wrapped around his waist, and the sight of all that jet-black hair spread out like a blanket beneath them. It had been the best yet, not just because he liked being on top like that, but because when it was over, as he stretched over Jed, they’d kissed—and Jed had opened his mouth for him.

  He was thinking of that kiss, of Jed’s curious tongue touching his, of the taste of coffee and jerky and the wild mint that Jed had found along the way and liked to chew on, when Jed slowed and then stopped altogether, his head lifting and one hand going to his rifle.

  Gideon’s hand went to the gun at his hip in a mirror action as he looked around for whatever had spooked Jed.

  It didn’t take long to find it. They were coming across the plateau from the right, a small group of Indians. Like Jed, they carried long rifles, but they had theirs out and pointed toward the ground.

  Jed glanced back over his shoulder, but he waited until Gideon came up beside him to speak. “We are on the lands of the Newe,” he said quietly. “Your people call them—” he paused then said slowly, “Shoshone.” Gideon felt a little thrill of excitement—he’d liked Indians before Jed, and he liked them a whole lot more now, but Jed’s face was stiff and still, and his eyes were trained on the men coming toward them. Gideon squinted against the afternoon sun and looked as well, counting five men, one older and four younger, somewhere between his age and Jed’s maybe. “They have no love for my people,” Jed went on after a few seconds, “but I can speak to them. I have traveled these lands before, and I have no quarrel with them, nor they with me.”

  Jed seemed like he was just going to stand there and wait for them to approach, so Gideon did the same. “Shouldn’t we, uh, go up and say howdy?”

  Jed shrugged, and Gideon grimaced at the back of his head. Now wasn’t the best time for the man to go mute on him.

  For the moment, he kept his mouth shut and watched the new Indians approach. They were dressed similar to Jed, in native buckskin, white folks’ shirts, and leather boots, and they all wore their hair in long braids with feathers caught in the weave. The Shoshone slowed as they came near, the four younger ones fanning out around the older man when he stopped about fifteen feet away. The oldest wore a headdress that reminded Gideon of one that Harold Crowe wore for performances, and Gideon couldn’t help but smile.

  One of the younger braves glared at him, and he worked to wipe the smile off his face right quick. It was then that Gideon realized that he might be the one to cause the problem here, him and his white skin.

  Jed handed his rifle back to Gideon and held up one hand, indicating for Gideon to stay still while Jed stepped forward to greet the locals. Jed stood still before them, straight and proud, his pack on his back and his hands forward and spread open. Jed was the one who spoke first, his words sounding a little like the ones from his chants—but only a little. He spoke slowly, as if the words were difficult for him, and his eyes never left the older man.

  The older man replied in the same language and without nearly so much difficulty as Jed seemed to have, and Gideon watched them all intently, curious as hell about what they were saying but smart enough to keep his damned mouth shut. After a couple of minutes, one of the younger braves broke out of the loose half-circle and walked up to Gideon with his hand out. Gideon thought at first it was for a shake, like most folks greeted one another, but when he extended his free hand, the brave frowned at him and reached right past it, grabbing the barrel of Jed’s rifle.

  “Hey, now!” Gideon protested, tightening his grip on the stock.

  “Let loose your hold, Gideon,” Jed snapped impatiently, and Gideon reluctantly did as he was told. He tightened his mouth to keep any words from slipping out when the Indian took his pistol out of its holster, too, examining it carefully before returning to his party.

  The old man looked at Gideon square on for the first time, and said something to him in that new language they were all using. Gideon looked to Jed, hoping for a translation but at this point, not expecting it. Jed didn’t even look back, but he did say in English, “He does not speak the tongue.”

  The old man’s English was heavily accented, but Gideon still understood when he said, “He speaks for you,” and waved his hand toward Jed.

  Gideon crossed his arms over his chest, clutching tight to Star’s reins and forcing down his frustration about the brave stealing their guns. “Yeah,” he agreed. He pointed to the man who’d taken their weapons. “That’s my Colt, and the rifle’s Jed’s,” he said. “I didn’t expect no thieving.”

  “Shut up, Gideon!” Jed snapped at him, harder than any words he’d ever said. To the old man he added, “He does not understand that you are holding them in trust.”

  “You have entered our lands,” the old man said. “You may not hunt here. We have precious little game for our own people.”

  “Oh.” Gideon stepped forward enough to get a glimpse of Jed’s profile, loosening the reins and letting the leather slide through his fingers so Star wouldn’t follow. Jed’s face looked just about chiseled in stone. “Sorry about the misunderstanding,” he said to the Indian holding their weapons. “You could’ve just told us. We ain’t gonna disrespect your rules.”

  The brave holding the guns frowned at him. “White men say that often. Then they graze their cattle on our lands, kill our grasses, and try to settle within our borders.”

  Gideon nodded, warming to the subject because he’d heard Harold tell stories like it many a night, to folks interested in listening before the shows. “I’ve heard that happens a lot, yeah. A friend I work with—he’s one of quite a few Indians I know—he says lots of us white folk are pains in your sides, so I can’t blame ya for being suspicious. But some folks like me, we just want to get along. I could tell you stories….” Jed had turned at some point during his speech to stare at him, mouth agape, and when Gideon noticed he trailed off. “What?”

  The younger Indians said something to each other in their own language, and Jed turned back to follow the conversation. His face softened into a brief grin, and he nodded. “He does have the fox spirit in him, and he has many stories.” In the other tongue he added something that made all five of the new Indians chuckle. Gideon thought about frowning at Jed, who was clearly making fun at his expense, but he shrugged instead. Men who were laughing weren’t usually men who were readying for a fight, so he uncrossed his arms and extended his free hand.

  “Y’all shake?”

  The older man stepped forward and gripped his hand firmly, just like a white man would, and while Gideon sorely wanted his Colt back, he figured he’d see it before they moved on or Jed would have made more noise about it. This was the first time on the whole trip that Gideon had been glad all his guns were in a trunk and waiting for him with Bill’s show.

  The old man didn’t let go of his hand. “You will not hunt here. You will not fight here. You will bring no harm to our people. You agree?”

  Gideon shrugged. “Sure.”

  The old man looked toward Jed again, who shrugged, too, and let go of Gideon’s hand. “We are returning to our camp,” the old man said, looking back and up, toward the sun. “We will travel together for now.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion, Gideon realized as the braves moved to flank him and Star. The Shoshone leader nodded to Jed, who fell into step beside him as they led the procession. To Gideon’s left, the guy with their guns nodded to Gideon, and Gideon nodded ba
ck and tried a smile. The four younger braves veered off to a stand of stubby trees to pick up carcasses they’d clearly hidden when they’d seen him and Jed coming: two mule deer, each with its legs tied to a carrying pole, long, flat ears still just dragging the ground after each pair of hunters had hoisted their pole to their shoulders.

  They walked an hour or more at a pace that made Gideon and Star sweat, but the Indians seemed to have no trouble, not even the ones carrying the loads. Jed stepped in to take one end of a pole, freeing up the brave who carried their guns. There was no conversation—or nothing that Gideon would call conversation. Every so often, the old man would say something, and Jed would answer, or the younger men would exchange a word or two, but no one really talked—not even when Gideon tried asking questions. All he got for his efforts were annoyed frowns from the Shoshone and a hushed, “Walk now, talk later,” from Jed.

  So he spent the walk trying not to think about what the Shoshone wanted and trying not to watch Jed’s butt and trying not to let himself get so damned bored he’d start an argument just for the hell of it. He hadn’t thought much before about how his idle chat entertained him as much as his listeners. After a time he felt his tension ease a little and realized he’d started humming like Jed often did. He wasn’t using any words—he didn’t know how to say spit in Sioux—but the rhythms came to him easily after all these days and nights with Jed. The braves looked at him now with more curiosity than suspicion, so he figured he’d lucked on to something right, and either way, the humming kept him from going stir crazy.

  Now that he was thinking about it, his mind naturally supplied more familiar songs and he hummed those, too, but quietly. He went through all of “You’ll Miss Lots of Fun When You’re Married,” twice, then hummed “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen” before he jumped around a little through reels and dance songs, which didn’t seem to impress the Indians nearly so much. But nobody complained, either, and careful observation of Jed revealed no more than the man’s regular amount of irritation with his white ways, so he figured he was all right. Besides, it was something to do to while away the hard-walking hours.