Dash and Dingo (5 page)

Henry almost spilled his glass. “Pardon?”

Dingo regarded him cheekily over the rim of his glass. “I booked our flight. Thursday. Eight in the morning.”

“But—”

“Don’t get cold feet on me now, mate. It’s all arranged.”

“How?”

“I
told
you, I have a mate in Imperial Airways. They’re only running the mail at the minute, although they’re going to start taking passengers soon.

So we’re stowaways, really. Hobos of the air!” He downed his whiskey triumphantly.

“And how long will it take us to get to Australia?”

“About ten days.”

“Ten! You said four!”

“Aha! So you
do
listen. Well, it all depends. Better than the month on the boat, mate.”

Henry nodded somberly. “Yes, you’re right.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that.”

Henry collected himself and attempted to sound cheerier. “No, I’m sure.”

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“You look down in the mouth about something. Come on, spill it.”

Henry couldn’t help but be swayed by the astonishing depth of

compassion in the other man’s eyes. “Do you like your father, Dingo?”

Dingo looked surprised, as if it were a question with a foregone conclusion. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

Henry cleared his throat uncomfortably and shook his head. “No reason.

Would you like another drink?”

Once again, a question with a foregone conclusion. Dingo pushed his glass back over the desk and watched Henry top his drink off. He decided to bite the bullet. “Do you not like your dad, then?”

Henry’s eyes widened, and he downed his fresh drink in one gulp.

“That’s rather presumptuous.”

“You were the one who brought it up.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“He’s pretty high up here, isn’t he? I remember Lardarse mentioning it at some point.”

Henry considered having another drink but decided against it. “He’s more well-known and regarded for his financial contributions than his academic ones.”

“Ah, gotcha. Completely different to you, then.”

Henry colored. “I’m not known for my academic contributions, Dingo.”

Dingo shrugged. “I’ve a feeling you will be, one day.”

Henry couldn’t look at the other man, too afraid he would give something of himself away.

“Can I give you a bit of advice, Dash?”

Henry didn’t correct him on his name this time. “I believe you would give it to me anyway, even if I did refuse.”

“See, you’re getting to know me already.” Dingo grinned.

“What do you advise?” Henry wasn’t too sure he would like it,

whatever it was.

“Don’t treat what we’re doing like it’s some way to prove yourself to your old man. Chances are you’re never going to get what you want from him,” Dingo said in all seriousness. “You had the purest of motives before.

Think of the tiger. That’s all.”

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It took Henry a moment to give a small nod in response.

“So, are you in it for the tiger?” Dingo asked.

“Yes,” Henry said with complete honesty. “It’s always been for the tiger.” He didn’t need to close his eyes to see that shrunken pelt before him, without shape and rightfully belonging on a living, breathing creature that deserved the opportunity to survive and thrive.

“Good,” Dingo said, satisfied. “I’ll be off, then. See you Thursday.”

As Dingo got to his feet, Henry tried not to let the disappointment sound in his voice. “I won’t see you before Thursday?”

“Have things to do, places to go, people to meet, matey,” Dingo said off-handedly. “You going to miss me?”

Henry tried to answer, but confusion and the inability to form a coherent sentence got in the way.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be in each other’s pockets so much soon enough that you’ll be sick to death of the sight of me,” Dingo said with a laugh.

Henry was starting to think the opposite but replied, “Yes. Most likely.”

“Don’t get up,” Dingo said, while Henry remained seated. “I’ll see myself out.”

Remiss of his manners because he was still fighting the turbulence aroused in him by Dingo’s casual ways, Henry leaped to his feet. “Oh, sorry.”

“I said I’ll see myself out, and I’ll take a rain check on the hug.”

Henry sat down with a heavy thud, his stomach even more twisted by Dingo’s recall of what had happened between them only the day before.

“But I’ll expect it next time,” Dingo said with a wink. He slapped his hat back on his head and sauntered out the door, leaving a speechless Henry behind him.

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From Croydon to Paris and then a series of quick stops that included Rome, Athens, Cairo, Delhi, and Rangoon, it took a number of days flying in the little tin can high above the ocean for Henry and Dingo to reach Bangkok.

During that time, Henry barely saw Dingo—part of the reason he had been able to arrange for their flight was by agreeing to co-pilot. He and his friend Major Dean Franklin were taking turns flying, and when one flew the other slept. Henry was already nervous enough about being amongst the clouds and so far from Mother Earth that he was too apprehensive to sit with Dingo in the cockpit and risk distracting him from keeping them in the air.

At first, he had been surprised when Dingo had told him that he would also be flying the plane, although looking back Henry knew he really shouldn’t have been. It was Dingo, after all. Henry hadn’t known him for that long at all, but it seemed he was capable of anything.

It was when this thought crossed his mind that Henry realized he was acting as if he had a school-boy crush. And he should know all about that; after all, he had suffered the indignity of going to an all-boys boarding school for eight years.

It was just after some fumbling experiences in university, he had put all that behind him. And not only with men. The world of academia seemed so safe to him, where he could hide himself away at Ealing College and not have to worry about being swayed by others. It helped being where he was, as he was largely ignored and left to do his own job.

But Dingo could be his undoing, if Henry let him. The man was

flirtatious, but it appeared to be his nature and not anything one could take seriously. Henry knew better than to take things at face value—once again, boarding school had taught him that. It was one of the reasons he was so reticent now.

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Bangkok was their midway-point, and it had been decided that they would have a rest stop there. At the airport they were abandoned by Dean, who disappeared before Henry was even aware of his absence. Dingo stumbled down the small set of stairs from the plane to the tarmac, where Henry waited for him. He yawned, closed up the door, and smiled tiredly at Henry.

“Where did Major Franklin go?” Henry asked.

Dingo gave a small laugh. “Bangkok isn’t just our rest stop. Deano has a friend here.”

“I take it you mean a friend of… the friendly variety?” Henry asked tactfully.

“If you mean a girlfriend, yeah. He has a few.”

“A girl in every port?” Henry said with a slight blush.

“Not yet. But that’s his goal.” Dingo slung his bag back over his shoulder and gestured for Henry to start following him.

“Do you…” Henry cleared his throat nervously, “do you have a girl in every port?”

Dingo tilted his head to look at him with a clouded expression upon his face. “No. I don’t.”

Henry felt relieved at this answer, although Dingo’s inscrutable look troubled him more than he liked to acknowledge to himself.

Dingo’s face cleared, and he was back to his usual jovial self. “What, were you worried I was going to abandon you here and leave you to fend for yourself?”

“No,” Henry said quickly. “I didn’t think you would do that.”

Dingo seemed satisfied. “Good. Now let’s get to the hotel. I need a bath.”

If Henry had thought it was hot when he first got off the plane, it was even worse by the time they got to the hotel. The humidity was something he had never experienced before; his shirt was plastered to his back, and as he sat in the cab pools of sweat formed behind his knees. Beside him, Dingo looked much the same as he ever did; he was obviously used to the extremities of the heat. Henry fanned himself with his notebook, and Dingo laughed at him.

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“Are you hot, then?”

“Can’t you feel it?” Henry asked in exasperation.

Dingo shrugged. “Feels like home. Perfect Aussie weather.”

“So this is what I have to look forward to?” Henry asked him.

“A bath’ll do you a world of good.”

It was the second time Dingo had mentioned a bath, and Henry felt like the temperature inside the cab had risen exponentially. “I think you may be right.”

“Well, you’re not sharing with me. Get your own.”

“I wasn’t suggesting—” Henry spluttered and stopped when he saw the smile on the other man’s face. “You have to stop doing that.”

“But it’s fun,” Dingo protested.

Henry was relieved when the cab pulled up outside the hotel and he could be distracted by checking in and receiving their keys. He was glad to be off the streets, which were even more crowded than those he was used to in London. Dingo had arranged for adjoining rooms on the second floor, and they said their goodbyes at their respective doors after getting off the elevator.

“Have a drink before dinner later?” Dingo asked.

Henry nodded. “Enjoy your bath.”

Dingo grinned. “I will.”

Henry entered his room and shut the door behind him. He could hear the thud of Dingo’s door doing the same, and he closed his eyes briefly. It was a bad idea, as his mind exploded with the image of Dingo peeling off his clothes and padding naked into the bathroom. He had no idea what the man looked like naked, but his imagination had no problem volunteering to fill in the details. Henry groaned, knowing that it would have to be a cold bath, for reasons other than the temperature.

As he lay in the bath, however, with the temperature quickly going from pleasantly cool to uncomfortably lukewarm in mere minutes, his imagination could not be quelled. Knowing that Dingo was probably mere inches away from him and separated only by a wall, he couldn’t help but think of Dingo

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lying naked in his own bath. He foolishly wondered if Dingo could be thinking of him and felt himself growing hard, even with the water.

This was getting ridiculous. He had to take care of this if he wanted to get through the evening without going crazy. He took himself in hand and tried not to think of Dingo. It was impossible. As he slowly stroked himself, he imagined that it was no longer his hand doing the act, but another—

Dingo’s. This only made him speed up, wanting to find release. He bit his lip to hold in his cry as he came.

He sagged back against the curve of the tub, and now that the urge was satisfied he realized he still felt unfulfilled and a little embarrassed by the fact that he was acting like an oversexed adolescent unable to control himself.

He stretched his leg out and maneuvered the tap with his toes so that a fresh supply of water would allow the bath to grow cold again.

Henry’s eyes flew open, and he looked around in confusion before remembering where he was.

He had been stupid enough to fall asleep in the bath—he was lucky he hadn’t drowned. Feeling a bit shaky, he pulled himself out of the water and dried off. Despite the heat he dressed in fresh clothes and stood in the middle of his room, staring at the door that joined with Dingo’s room. He must have missed that when he first came in, he had been so desperate to feel clean again.

Should he knock, or would Dingo be asleep? He checked the time and decided it was close enough to dinner to take the chance. He moved slowly toward the door but faltered as he stood before it, his hand raised and ready to knock. Sighing, he rested his palm against the warm wood for a moment before giving a short, sharp rap upon it.

The door flew open before he had even finished knocking, and Henry’s eyes widened as he became aware that Dingo stood before him in a state of disarray.

“Sorry,” he stammered. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

Dingo raised his hand dismissively. “It’s too hot at the moment. Come in for a drink.”

Henry didn’t know where to look without it being conspicuous. Dingo wore only a towel, which seemed to be defying gravity as it hung loosely

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upon his hips, teasing the possibility that it could fall away at any second.

Why were his lips suddenly dry?
Henry could feel them crack as he gave a low assent to Dingo’s question.

Dingo turned and walked back into his room, the towel suggestively giving shape to his cheeks as the material shifted over them.

“Hot enough for you?” Dingo asked as he rummaged in the bathroom.

Once again, Henry couldn’t tell if that was meant to be a double entendre, so he made a grunt that could be taken for agreement.

“If you’re drinking my beer, you’re going to have to talk to me,” Dingo said, handing him a frosted bottle.