Dash and Dingo (24 page)

He remembered what Jarrah had said about the fire—and he worried about how he was meant to dry the clothes overnight if they were unable to build one. He glowered at Dingo’s back as the other man moved easily before him. It was all right for him. He was used to this kind of life.

Maybe adventuring wasn’t everything he had made it out to be.

Henry’s muscles screamed with relief when the sun began to set and Dingo said they would make camp for the night. Henry was too tired to even ask about the tigers, and he worked in silence as he helped Dingo unpack the makeshift tent they would be sleeping in.

“You’re quiet,” Dingo said.

“Too tired to talk,” Henry said shortly.

Dingo nodded, deciding to leave whatever he was going to say. He did the majority of the work in assembling their shelter, doing the work in half the time that Henry would have taken.

“You rest for a minute,” Dingo said. “I’ll go and fetch us some fresh water.”

“I can help,” Henry said defensively.

“I know you can,” Dingo said casually. “But I don’t need help getting water, do I?”

Henry shrugged and crawled underneath the shelter of the canvas, which was spread over a number of branches and tied down to the roots of giant trees where they arched up from the ground. He listened to Dingo move

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off and wondered irritably how they could get warm during the night when the wind seemed to cut through the material like a knife.

He knew he was being difficult, and he tried to will himself into thinking more positively. It was only natural that it would start getting to him at some point; after all, this whole life was something new to him.

And then, Henry grew angry, but with himself. He had
wanted
this.

More than anything. And not only had he been given the very thing he had been wishing for, but along with it came a beautiful man who seemed to see something in him Henry had never believed about himself. He was an idiot to be acting in such a way, like a churlish, ungrateful child bored with a new toy.

His palm burned, and Henry sat up to examine it. There wasn’t much of Jarrah’s drawing left upon his skin, but what there was stood out in stark contrast to his natural coloring. He closed his eyes and remembered the rush of natural power that had seemed to course throughout his veins when the thylacine had first been marked upon him. It came back with such a strength that he almost jumped to his feet, and a moan escaped from his lips.

The surge dissipated, but the feeling remained. Shakily, Henry stood.

Fingers trembling, he undid the buttons of his shirt and laid the damp cloth across the top of the tent. He knew as he stripped down to nothing that he should be cold, but he felt warm.

He waited for Dingo to return.

Dingo had to restrain himself from whistling a greeting as he stepped out of the shrub and almost stumbled into their camp. Straightaway he could see Henry’s wet clothing strung out across the top of the tent. He knew it wouldn’t dry at all, not even by morning, but he could understand why the other man would want to change. Perhaps they could break early tomorrow at daylight when smoke wouldn’t be as discernible to build a fire and get them more comfortable.

“Haroo,” he called softly. “Dash, you there?”

An arm emerged from within the tent, and Dingo’s jaw dropped open when Henry stepped out. Completely naked, his skin had a greenish cast from the weak light that managed to infiltrate the canopy of the forest. It made him look ethereal, and if Dingo had been a more superstitious soul he would have thought that he had stepped through to another time with another being entirely.

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Henry’s skin looked even creamier, more delectable. His arms hung loosely by his sides; the dark bush below his navel threw a shadow to conceal what lay between his legs. He took another step forward, and the lines of his beautiful cock could now be seen.

Dingo swallowed heavily. “Well, you know how to keep a man on his toes.”

Henry smiled. “Undress,” he commanded softly.

Dingo didn’t need to be told twice. His hands were steady and confident as he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on top of Henry’s, up on the tent. He was already hard as he stepped out of his trousers, and although he was tempted, he didn’t touch himself as he wanted Henry’s body against his to be the first thing he felt.

Henry walked toward him soundlessly and pulled Dingo closer to him by the scruff of his neck. Although the passion between them was as extreme as before, his kiss was gentle, yearning, slow. Dingo was already straining, but he let Henry take the lead. Entwined, they moved over to lean against a tree. Dingo worried that the bark would be digging into his back, and it should have been uncomfortable, but Henry didn’t seem to feel it. Dingo concentrated on the feeling of Henry writhing in his arms, the silky hardness of their cocks as they rubbed against each other, and the hairs on Henry’s thighs sliding and catching against his own.

Dingo wanted to speak, but if this was a spell they were under, he didn’t want to break it.

It was Henry who cut through the silence, moaning his name as he twisted within Dingo’s embrace to face the tree, presenting himself. His chest rubbed against the wood, making his already-sensitive nipples tingle with pleasure. Dingo’s chest was tight against his back; he could feel Dingo’s cock rubbing against the valley of his arse. His eyes flew open as he remembered the use of the oil in the hotel room, but he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want this moment to be interrupted.

Dingo was obviously thinking the same thing. “Dash, give me a

minute—”

“No,” Henry said fervently. “Don’t stop.”

“I’ll hurt you,” Dingo told him.

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“I trust you.” Emboldened, Henry pressed himself back against Dingo, practically trapping him. He clenched his cheeks, feeling the blunt head tantalizingly close to his entrance.

Dingo cursed under his breath.

“Take me,” Henry muttered, squeezing again. He smiled to himself as he felt Dingo’s hand run along his hip. He heard him spit into his palm and moaned again as a damp finger slid over his opening.

“You’re still going to feel it,” Dingo warned.

“I want to.”

“You’re one mad bugger, Dash, but I can’t resist you.”

Henry loved that. He had never felt like he was irresistible before… and to have it come from someone like Dingo, who seemed to have everybody in the palm of his hand whenever he interacted with them? He gasped as Dingo entered him with one hand on the small of his back to help keep him steady as he tried to push himself in with as little pain as possible.

“Should I stop?” Dingo asked anxiously.

“Don’t you dare,” Henry said through gritted teeth, afraid he would pull out.

Dingo’s fingers were now pressing on both of his hips as he drove deeper into Henry. Buried to the hilt, he kissed Henry’s shoulder. Impatient, Henry pushed back against him. Dingo took that as a sign for continuance and began to pump himself fully against his lover.

Henry grunted, his face pressed against the bark of the tree. He slapped his palm above his head, using it to balance himself as Dingo continued to rock against him. It
was
more painful without the oil, but Henry wouldn’t have wanted it any other way at that point in time. It surprised him how forward he had been in seeking this out, how insistent he had been to have Dingo right at this very moment, without hesitation. Fanciful thoughts made him wonder if somehow being in the thick of nature was having some sort of primordial effect upon him, making him remember the call of the wild that humans had gradually become immune to over the years as they retreated into civilization. Had he awakened the beast within himself?

He couldn’t believe that it was impossible to switch off his mind, even when being buggered senseless against a tree in the colonies. But then Dingo shifted a little, his angle changed, and Henry’s thoughts ceased as eruptions of pleasure fanned through his body and straight into his brain. All he was aware of was Dingo’s body against his, the satisfying fullness within him, and the

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feeling that shot through his heart when Dingo’s arm flung over his and their hands gripped. They rode together, hands joined—bodies joined. Henry felt enveloped body and soul by Dingo as his other arm snaked around his waist and took him in hand, stroking Henry in unison with his thrusts.

Henry burst through the gaps in Dingo’s fingers and couldn’t stop from crying out as his lover mercilessly continued to pump him. It was too much, too much pleasure, his knees were giving out, the only things keeping him upright were the tree and the weight of Dingo behind him….

Dingo cried out hoarsely, and Henry felt a new warmth spread within him. Dingo sagged against his back, murmuring his name. They couldn’t move. Sweating, shuddering, and gasping, they remained locked within each other.

“Dingo—”

“Dash.” It was a statement to a query that had been incomplete.

But Henry knew he had been answered. His legs screamed for relief, so he didn’t mind when Dingo pulled away.

“This is foolhardy,” Dingo said, standing naked and glistening with sweat in the small clearing they had made. “I can’t keep my hands off you, and we’ve probably scared Tassie away with all the hullabaloo.”

Henry nodded. “We have a job to do.”

“Still,” Dingo said, and he broke into a grin, “nobody says we can’t have a little fun every now and again.”

“All work and no play,” Henry agreed solemnly.

“Let’s get some shuteye,” Dingo said, clapping his hands together.

“And mind you don’t seduce me during the night again, Dash.”

Henry nodded, trying not to smile back. “I promise.”

“Besides,” Dingo said. “It’s my turn next.”

As he turned to walk off into the tent, Henry could have sworn he was almost ready to start again.

That night they slept naked in each other’s arms.

“Keeps the body warmer than in wet clothes,” Dingo explained. As if they needed an excuse.

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Henry was as warm as he could have hoped to be even though, as he had suspected, the wind easily penetrated the scant shelter of their makeshift tent.

His dreams were confused, a tangle of striped fur and gaping jaws and Dingo’s sturdy arms wrapped tightly around him. He was so tired and sore; he thought it was a dream when his hips started moving. He couldn’t pry his eyes open to determine whether he was still dreaming, but he knew it was no dream when he felt the gush of hot come between them.

“Sorry,” he murmured, without opening his eyes.

“For what?”

“I promised not to seduce you in the night.”

Dingo’s body shook against his. “Ah, but I didn’t make the same promise, and besides, the sun is up and so should we be.”

“I thought we were. What we just did doesn’t count?”

“It counted.”

Dingo’s voice made Henry finally open his eyes, squinting at the other man to find him staring at him with an intense expression that made his heart beat a little quicker. Henry nodded, unable to trust himself to speak.

Dingo kissed him softly and sighed with regret. “It must be the irony of the gods that if you get what you’ve been yearning for, you don’t get the time to appreciate it.” He pushed Henry away gently and crawled out, giving him a magnificent view of his backside before sticking his head back inside to say,

“Come on, lazybones, or you won’t be in time for breakfast.”

Henry stretched, hoping to relieve the stiffness in his muscles from yesterday’s trek, feeling a pleasurable reminder of their coupling the night before. He crawled out and stood up, scratching his hand idly over his stomach where the remnants of the morning’s pleasure remained. “I suppose there’s no hot water for shaving.”

“We’ll take a break after we move on. I hope you can hike on an empty stomach,” Dingo said.

Henry made a face to see Dingo dress in his damp clothes from the top of the tent. He’d hoped that perhaps some miracle of nature might have occurred and they would be dry. He caught his own clothes as Dingo threw them at him and hurried to dress so he could help Dingo fold the tent cloth and remove the ropes that had held it.

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“We’ll move on about five miles and then have a small fire,” Dingo said quietly.

Henry became aware that compared to Dingo, he sounded like a herd of elephants stampeding through. He lowered his voice. “I thought Jarrah said we couldn’t have a fire.” Dingo was already hoisting his rucksack to his shoulders, and Henry hastened to follow suit.

“At night, even with the dense foliage, a fire would stand out like a beacon, but during the day, if we take precautions, we can have a small one.”

Dingo grinned. “Besides, you won’t need it to get warm. Today we’re really going to march.”

Henry was secretly dismayed to hear that apparently Dingo considered yesterday’s hike to be a mere stroll. “Where are we going?”

“Into the heart of Tasmania, where the tiger has been driven to find sanctuary. Where there are no names attached to the land and the rivers run wild.”

“How deep? And how will we cross them without a boat?” Henry

asked, wondering if Dingo was going to pull an inflatable rubber raft out of his pack when they needed it.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Dingo said cheerfully.

Given what he’d seen of Dingo’s resourcefulness, Henry felt sure that somehow they would, and yet he asked inanely, “There are bridges?”

“Of course not, you nong.”

“So we’ll have to swim for it.”

“You might. I’ve never learned to swim.” Dingo didn’t sound as if he regretted it all that much. “My dad was never one for the beaches. He preferred to trek inland.”

Henry was heartened just a bit to know there was at least one thing he could do that Dingo couldn’t. He almost began to wish for an opportunity to show off his prowess and earn some admiration from the other man. “Well, perhaps it won’t prove to be a barrier.”