Dash and Dingo (32 page)

Henry opened his mouth to ask why, but instead he looked around, trying to see what Dingo saw. It was an unlikely spot for a campsite. They had left any discernible path behind and pushed through the densest patches of brush to reach this spot. A semi-circle of four tall gum trees enclosed a tiny patch of ground, barely large enough for them to pitch their tent. He could hear the low sound of a stream nearby. Peering at the underbrush, he couldn’t see out, which meant no one could see in either.

Even better, Dingo discovered a similar way out on the opposite side, so that they would not be trapped there if someone did discover their whereabouts. Henry let his pack slide off his shoulders and pulled the canvas free. Together, they pitched the tent in the compact spot.

“I’ll get water,” Dingo said. “No fires here, sorry.”

“I’ll live,” Henry said, and then he shivered as if the words were some sort of talisman to ward off danger.

Dingo looked a little pale too, Henry thought.

“Too right. Back soon.”

Henry tried to make the tent more comfortable by spreading out the blanket even though he left all his other belongings in his pack. The speed with which they’d abandoned their previous camp made him chary of unpacking and moving in for the duration. He was still on his knees when he felt a hand cup his bum and rub it comfortingly.

“That’s a sight a man likes to come home to,” Dingo teased.

Henry turned and lunged for him with a desperation that surprised even him. All his life, he’d felt that everything that made it worth living was passing him by. Now, on the most glorious adventure beyond what he could have dreamed, the scare of being tracked down in the forest made him feel that this was all too fragile. It could all be taken away too easily, and he hadn’t had enough of Dingo yet. Possibly he would never have enough.

But Dingo was here and available, and Henry wanted him with all his heart. He pulled Dingo down on top of him, kissing him madly, feeling like he wanted to devour him. Dingo tasted fresh and pure to him, like water did to a man who’d been lost in some vast desert and stumbled across an oasis by chance.

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Henry rolled over, pinning Dingo beneath him, biting at his throat while he unbuttoned his shirt. A yelp from Dingo made Henry realize he was being a bit rough and he raised his head. “Sorry….”

“Don’t be. I like it when the tiger in you comes out,” Dingo gasped, his hands holding Henry in place when he would have moved off.

Henry liked the way Dingo was looking at him. He ducked his head to kiss the spot he’d bitten in silent apology. He kissed his way down Dingo’s chest as he unbuttoned each button, enjoying the way Dingo caught his breath when he licked over a nipple, gently scraping his teeth against the hard nub.

Dingo moaned in response, his body undulating slowly under Henry.

Henry cupped the hardness straining at Dingo’s trousers while kissing his way down that feast of golden skin. Every muscle tensed with eagerness, showing off the perfectly defined abdomen when Henry rested a hand on Dingo’s belt and paused. The intoxicating scent of him made Henry’s fingers clumsy as he undid his trousers to catch a glimpse of the tip of Dingo’s erection protruding from the waistband.

“Oh God,” Henry said softly.

“What… what is it?” Dingo managed.

Henry shook his head slightly, the emotion welling up within him too profound for him to be able to express. He couldn’t believe that this beautiful man was so aroused and hard, and it was all for him. And yet the evidence was right there. Henry pushed at the trousers, and Dingo obligingly lifted his hips, settling back with his cock resting on his stomach, a little glistening pool gathering under the tip.

With a confidence that amazed him, Henry bent to lick over the head, savoring the taste of the clear drops. Dingo moaned and reached down to cup the back of Henry’s head in encouragement.

Dingo’s cock was warm and hard, although the silky skin against Henry’s tongue had a surprisingly delicate softness. The head filled his mouth, the weight satisfying on his tongue. Henry closed his eyes and inhaled, swirling his tongue around the shaft. Fingers tightening in his hair told him that Dingo liked what he was doing, and Henry gave himself over to the experience. Dingo’s balls felt full and tight in his hand as he fondled them. He moved off Dingo’s cock to lick them, nuzzling the tender skin of his inner thigh as Dingo spread his legs.

Henry opened his mouth to take the head again, wanting some part of Dingo inside him. He flicked his tongue over the thick ridge and as far down the shaft as he could reach, pleased with the way Dingo’s cock filled his

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mouth. With his back arched, Dingo bucked his hips involuntarily. Henry put his hand flat onto his stomach to keep him still, looking up to catch the look of ecstasy upon Dingo’s unguarded face. Henry marveled that the other man could be so trusting, even more so when Dingo opened his eyes and stared at him, letting him see the emotion reflected there.

Tremors shook Dingo’s body and in turn made Henry shiver with

desire. Then Dingo closed his eyes and threw one arm over his face as if the sight were too much for him. The movement of his hips quickened, and Henry sucked harder, breathing heavily through his nose, not wanting to break Dingo’s rhythm. The thrusts grew shorter, quicker, until Dingo went rigid, smothering a low cry by biting his forearm.

Watching Dingo, feeling the pulse of him in his mouth, tasting the quick spurt of salty come pushed Henry close to the edge.

He opened his eyes when he felt Dingo’s hand stroking his jaw. His glasses were askew, and Dingo gently took them off his nose, folding them and placing them to one side. “Come up here,” he said in a low breathy voice.

Henry obeyed, feeling like he was floating rather than using any muscles to move. Dingo kissed him, his tongue gentle but demanding, taking possession of Henry’s senses yet again.

“Let me return the favor,” Dingo said, his hands busy at Henry’s belt.

Henry clung to Dingo, aching with his need to be touched. When Dingo took hold of him, his hand warm and firm, his orgasm finally and quickly rushed over him, and Henry convulsed against Dingo’s leg, rubbing frantically before he lay gasping for breath.

A low chuckle made Henry feel almost embarrassed, but he was too busy feeling blissfully content to really take umbrage. Besides, he knew that Dingo was pleased with his own prowess. He himself was feeling a bit set up to have gotten Dingo off for the first time with his mouth.

“You don’t know… it was… very exciting to… to….” Henry tried to explain the completeness he felt when held in Dingo’s arms, how very exciting it was to make love to him. He slipped his tongue into Dingo’s mouth, trying to convey that way the emotion he felt.

And it seemed as if Dingo understood after all. He let Henry’s tongue slide between his parted lips, kissing him back lazily as he pulled Henry closer.

“That was nice,” Dingo said. He stared into Henry’s eyes as if searching for confirmation of something.

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Henry felt at a disadvantage without his glasses and reached for them.

Dingo’s hand covered his, fingers entwining with Henry’s as he pulled him back.

“You don’t need them this close.”

“Yes, I do,” Henry said nervously.

“You hide behind them sometimes. You don’t need to with me.”

Henry thought Dingo sounded curiously insistent. “I don’t use them to hide; I use them to see.”

“Look at me then. Tell me what you see.”

Henry grinned, suddenly confident again. “Dingo Chambers, King of the Jungle.”

“If only,” Dingo said, but he smiled too. “Sounds like a comic book.”

“Maybe you should star in your own.” Henry didn’t like to suggest that usually the heroes in the comics returned triumphant from their adventures, for what if they should fail to secure the thylacines for which they’d come?

What if whoever was after them managed to prevent them… in some way.

But it was bad luck to vocalize such a negative thought, and he didn’t want to be the one to say it anyway.

And besides, it was too late. Dingo had fallen asleep, his lips slack as he drew long, slow breaths.

Henry lay still, running a hand over the solid curves of Dingo’s chest.

He felt too happy to sleep. There wasn’t enough light to see very well, but Dingo’s body was relaxed, and he was warm and slightly furry to the touch.

Henry ran his hand down his stomach, scraping lightly at the remains of the spunk drying on his stomach with his nails.

Absently he scratched his hand, listening to the night sounds that always intrigued him. He was thinking he’d give anything to see which animal was making the sound when he heard a low whine. It didn’t
sound
as if the animal was in distress, and he could tell it was an animal, not a human…. Henry scratched at his palm again and then held his hand inches from his face. He sat bolt upright, staring out into the darkness.

It was Tassie. It
had
to be.

Henry fastened his trousers and buttoned his shirt, remembering how the brush scratched Dingo’s arms earlier. Thankful that he still had his boots on, he shook Dingo.

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“Dingo! They’re out there! It’s the tigers!” Henry whispered, giving Dingo a sharp poke in the ribs. Dingo grunted and rolled onto his side.

“Dingo!” Henry tried one last, futile shake and gave it up. Dingo would kick himself later when he found out what he’d missed, but Henry wasn’t going to worry about that now. This was his chance.

He cursed himself for a clumsy fool as he scrambled out of the tent, making enough noise to wake anyone but a post-orgasmic Dingo. The burning of his palm seemed to spread through his entire body, making his nerves tingle with excitement. The whine sounded faintly again, and Henry pushed his way through the bushes at the back of their hideout.

A soft rustle caught his attention, and a branch swayed in front of him.

Without even thinking of the chase earlier where
he
was the prey, Henry pushed forward, realizing that whatever he was following was leading him uphill. A dim and silvery light ahead frosted the leaves blue. He stepped out from under the cover of the trees to find himself facing a steep drop-off with ghostly, moonlit trees crowding the valley below as far as he could see. He could make out a shimmery thread of water as a creek wound in and out through the leaves.

He barely caught the movement in his peripheral vision and turned in time to see the familiar silhouette of a thylacine. It gave an awesome yawn, stretching its jaws wider than he could have imagined, showing rows of gleaming sharp teeth and ending on a little squeak. Then it trotted off.

Henry followed. His entire body was buzzing with excitement now; he had no thought to spare to question the wisdom of this lonely midnight expedition. He forgot Dingo’s careful instructions and never looked behind him. He wasn’t worried about getting back; he was only determined that the tiger not shake him off this time.

The tiger led him across bare stretches of rock and under the canopy of trees once more. Henry could have sworn that the animal looked back at him, as though to say, “
Hurry up, I don’t have all night
.” The thylacine seemed almost to be bowing, and when it straightened up again, Henry could see something limp dangling from its jaws.

The tiger led him into an area of dense bushes, and Henry wished he could just slip under them the way the animal did. He pushed his way through, desperate to stay with it, although at times only the faint rustling sound kept him moving forward. When the sound stopped, he did too, in order to listen. Soft whining sounds told him he was close. He dropped to his knees to be closer to the animal’s level and peered through the lower branches of the bush.

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If the moon hadn’t been as bright, he might have missed it, but enough light filtered through the canopy of trees for him to see the tiger drop his prize when a smaller, daintier thylacine approached him. They touched noses, exchanging affectionate caresses. He remembered Dingo telling him that the tiger, for all it resembled a dog so closely in shape, couldn’t wag its tail. Both tails rose straight up as the two animals acknowledged each other. The male then pushed forward the dead animal he had been carrying. The female nodded her head, as if accepting the prize.

Shrill cries interrupted the adults. Henry was thrilled to see tiny, furry tiger cubs stagger into the light. They were so unsteady on their feet, falling and rolling about, he couldn’t tell how many there were, but they showed definite interest in the dead animal. The parents started ripping the fur off and holding out shreds of meat to the squalling youngsters, who were quickly silenced as they chewed.

Henry was so wrapped up in the wonder of watching the family that he never heard a sound to warn him. The first thing he felt was a warm hand landing on his shoulder. He jerked around to find Dingo bending to peer through the gap in the bushes.

“Good work, Dash. I’d say you just found their lair.”