Eternal Samurai (5 page)

Still not quite believing the Navajo was real, Tatsu flushed and his heart tripped like a teenager on his first date. Shit, this
was
his first date. He’d used his school studies and his devotion to martial arts to avoid giving himself to anyone.

Sage’s gaze did a slow burn up Tatsu’s body, lingered for a noticeable moment on his groin before stopping eye to eye. “Shit,
Atsilí.
All grown up and still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice rolled out like honey—deep, slow, warm.

“Where are we going, Sage?”

“Oh, just a little ride. Want to show you someplace special.” Sage winked.

The truck shimmied on bad shocks as Sage drove down the highway alongside the abandoned railroad tracks. They turned off the asphalt onto a dirt road, little more than two ruts leading into the brush. The truck jounced over large rocks and dipped with groaning protest each time they ran through a pothole. Sage cursed in Navajo as he wrestled the wheel.

“So, you’re goin’ to the U. now? What are you studying?”

“I finished my Master’s last May. Been accepted for a doctorate program.” Tatsu heard himself babble, nervous to be sitting this close to his heart’s dream.

“You gonna work in the hospital?”

“Not a medical doctor. A Ph.D. In bio-engineering. Want to help restore some of these cities, make them habitable.”

“Dunno what that means, Ninja Boy. But a Pee Haich. Dee.” Sage dragged out each letter with a long pause between. “From what I hear, you gotta be pretty smart to get one of those. Hell, you’re only nineteen and you’re doing all that? I always knew you were some sort of genius. Those assholes that beat you up, called you shit names, they’re nothing now. Workin’ in grocery stores, bars, livin’ on welfare.”

“How have you been, Sage?” Tatsu squirmed under the profuse admiration, not sure how to accept it.

“I’m good. Life’s good.” Sage drove his stare through the cracked windshield.

Tatsu knew it for a lie. Those deep lines around Sage’s eyes and the way the muscles of his jaw jumped every now and then told Tatsu the Navajo was far from “good.” But the question stilled on Tatsu’s tongue. Sage would explain if he wanted to.

“How did you know my grandfather died?”

The truck veered slightly as Sage stared at him. “I had a vision.” He burst into laughter. “Oh,
Atsilí,
you should have seen your face. My cousin told me. I keep an eye out on the folks I care about.”

Care about.
Those two words sent an electric surge of want lancing through Tatsu’s belly. He stole a glance at the Navajo, knew Sage felt it too, that core-deep desire that could only be satisfied one way. The need for it vibrated between them, expanded until it filled the dusty cab of the truck. Tatsu knew what he craved and knew Sage wanted it too.

With a squeal of needy brakes, Sage skidded to a halt in a clearing among the scrubby mesquite. He shouldered a couple of plaid wool blankets and two full, leather botas. “C’mon,” he directed and strode into the brush. Tatsu followed with no question. Hell, he would have followed Sage anywhere.

Overhead, the New Mexico sky blazed the dazzling turquoise seen only in the desert. The pale sun warmed their bodies. Little puffs of dust from the winter-dry ground exploded from under their booted feet as they followed the winding trail.

Hours past, but Tatsu really did not care. His hungry gaze remained fastened on the bunch and roll of Sage’s butt beneath the worn denim. The sight sent want shivering deep within Tatsu’s bowels. His skin hummed with a delicious fear. He was hard, painfully so.

The path widened enough to allow them to walk abreast. “How are you holding up,
Atsilí
?” Sage playfully bumped his shoulder against Tatsu.

“I’m fine now Sage,” Tatsu replied. He was fine, better than fine. He was walking and talking with Sage Neztsosie. A happiness he had not known for years filled his heart.

“I’ve missed you, little Ninja Boy.” Sage held a match to one of his homemade cigarettes. He inhaled deeply as he shook the flame out. “I don’t give a shit what the
dibeh
thought, what they said.” Sage always called outsiders
dibeh
—sheep. Only now Tatsu knew he used the word for those who reviled their type of love. “There were things I wanted to say to you but you were so young then. You know that now?”

“
Wakarimashita
, I understand.”

“Good. Cause we’re here.” Sage pushed through a clump of creosote into a clearing. He indicated a makeshift hogan made from old wooden planks, canvas and tree branches. He lifted the ragged cloth door and crawled inside. A stone firepit sat in the center surrounded by piles of dusty home-woven rugs. Sage squatted and lit the twigs. Smoke, redolent with the oil of mesquite, filled the tent. He added several round rocks inside the small fire. Then he stripped, casting his clothes aside until he was bare-assed naked.

A pulsing heat spread through Tatsu, sent blood pounding straight into his prick. Before him stood this living sculpture of hard male flesh, the one who had filled every single one of his boy-love fantasies. Suddenly shy and embarrassed, Tatsu looked down at Sage’s feet. They were long and broad, a deep brown, the toenails chipped and slightly dirty. Tatsu’s gaze moved up the curves of the muscular calves and thighs to Sage’s loins and froze. The globes of Sage’s heavy sac dangled between his slightly furred thighs. The uncut cock hung semi-soft and long, the piss slit visible in the dark-pink crown pushing from the wrinkled foreskin.

Sage tossed him one of the wool blankets. “Strip. Wrap yourself in that, it’s gonna get real cold.” He handed over a waterskin. “Drink only a little. Let your body feel thirst.”

Tatsu shucked his jacket with feverish clumsiness. Boots next, tugged off with awkward, hopping pulls then tossed into a far corner. He jerked off his socks. Shirt next, heard a couple of buttons pop off and spin into the dark. His hands shook so much he thought he’d never get his jeans undone. The rustle of fabric as he slid the denim down his thighs was deeply intimate. He blushed as his hard-on slapped his belly when he slipped off his briefs.

“Not right now,
Atsilí
, although I sure do admire what’s offered.” Sage winked. The promise in that wink shot Tatsu’s heart halfway up his throat.

They sat facing each other, legs crossed Indian style. Tatsu draped the musty blanket over his trembling shoulders. He didn’t know if he was shaking from the cold or his arousal.

Sage leaned over and touched Tatsu’s right pec. “Different kinda tattoo. Complicated.”

“It is the Kurosaki mons, my family crest. I got it last year in honor of the sacrifice
Ojii-san
made when he left Japan for me.” Tatsu reached out, quivering fingers not quite brushing the long angry line that ran up Sage’s ribcage. There was another ugly pucker of tissue arching over the Indian’s right hip.

“What happened?” Tatsu’s cheeks dusted warm at his boldness.

Sage thought the blush adorable, his lips twitched up in a brief smile. “They’re nothing, just a little disagreement with a couple of unpleasant
dibeh
.” He poured water on the rocks nestled in the fire. Immediately, the tiny shelter filled with steam and heat.

“Close your eyes. Just listen.” Then he started a rhythm on a small drum. His warm baritone rolled from his tongue, a chant in the language of the People. The notes rose and fell with each breath. The drumbeat echoed in their hearts.

Sweat ran down Tatsu’s face, his chest, belly, under his balls and soaked the blanket beneath his ass. His body throbbed part in response to the rhythm of the drum, part with the constant awareness of Sage’s raw sexuality. He closed his eyes as much to relax as to stop staring at those dark genitals dangling large and pliant between the Navajo’s spread legs. The hours passed marked only by the occasional hiss of water on the coals, the hypnotic measure of the drum, the cadence of Sage’s song.

All led Tatsu into a queer dream state.

They were walking through the brush again. Sage’s calloused hand held his. “You are mine,” that firm grip said.

Tatsu tilted his face toward that handsome nutmeg face and smiled to affirm Sage’s possession. With the suddenness of a desert cloudburst, huge drops plastered Tatsu’s hair to his head and slashed down cheeks. Water slid chilly and clammy under his shirt collar. He looked up into the brilliant azure sky of a New Mexico summer. “Sage there are no clouds. Where’s the rain coming from?”

“Inside your heart,
Atsilí
. Inside your heart.” Sage stopped walking and pointed. “This is the place. Look over there.”

Ojii-san
stood beneath the spreading branches of a cherry tree, the color of its blossoms so intense they appeared purple. Yet, winter snow lay thick on the ground and icicles hung from the bare branches of the surrounding forest. In the far distance, the multiple-peaked roofs of the majestic Hirosaki Castle rose to touch an azure sky.

The old man was clad in a silk
kamishimo
—the perfect pleats of the hakama falling to just above his clad feet. Over this, he wore a wide-shouldered sleeveless coat dyed in the burgundy and gold colors of the Kurosaki clan.

He watched his grandson approach. His ancient wrinkled face remained stoic, yet his eyes lit up when Tatsu offered his utmost respect by offering a forty-five degree bow to him.

“
Konnichiwa, Ojii-san
.”

“
Konnichiwa, Magomusuko
, grandson.” The old man proffered his two swords. “These have been in the Kurosaki for five centuries. They are now yours. Use them only with honor, Tatsu-kun.” Without another word, he turned his back and walked with the bold stride of a young man toward the castle.

Too late, Tatsu opened his mouth to call his grandfather back but managed only an inarticulate croak. Sage’s hard grip on his arm pulled him away.

“The rest is not for you to see.” The Navajo led them back to the mist-shrouded trail.

Tatsu opened his eyes and blinked at the dawn light filtering between the cracks of the hogan. The shelter reeked of the pungent tang of sweat and wood smoke. His bladder was yelling at him its need to piss. His morning erection said something else. Nevertheless, he was at peace. His grief now quiet, as much a part of him as
Ojii-san
was a part of him.

Sage stretched his arms up and wide, showing the wisps of dark hair under his pits. He unbound his braid and finger-combed out the tangles. The simple gesture was charged with an incredible eroticism and promise.

Lust went straight from Tatsu’s brain to his cock. Desire warred with fear. In a panic, he mumbled something about “gotta piss” and scrambled outside. Even after he relieved himself, his prick stayed hard.

“Shit, it’s freezing,” he muttered as he pushed aside the door flap and stepped into the slight warmth of the hogan. His bobbing erection led the way.

“Better get dressed then.” But Sage’s burnished eyes smoldered as they riveted on that hard rod jutting from the juncture of groin and thigh. He licked his lips, stretched his long torso up revealing his long member—a brown lance that stabbed toward Tatsu. “Or maybe we could keep each other warm.” His words rolled out thick with want.

Tatsu longed to run his tongue over those taut cheekbones and bite those brown lips, those lips that promised so much. His sweet, secret need denied too long, boiled through him. The dam of pent-up arousal burst. He whispered his plea.

Sage was on him in an instant. Corded arms wrapped tight, hard body pressing, a tangle of legs as the Navajo bore them down onto the dirt-scabbed blankets.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for that sweet ass of yours?” His hot tongue, tasting faintly of cigarettes, stroked along Tatsu’s lips, demanding and gaining entrance. Knowing fingers slid over Tatsu’s chest, plucked at his exposed nipples, thrust between his thighs to the treasures between. A strong hand, scratchy with calluses, cupped his balls, caressed the smooth skin behind. Stroked up the length of Tatsu’s prick

Oh, the bliss of that first intimate male touch. With long-suppressed urgency, Tatsu clawed his arms around Sage’s waist and pressed the Navajo tight against his body. Heated skin seared heated skin. He ground against him with the urgency born of unrealized fantasies and love.

“You ever had a man before?” The Navajo asked in a voice gone smoky with desire.

“No. I’ve never … just couldn’t if it wasn’t you.”

Sage’s eyes widened. “Never? You’re still…? Oh
Atsilí,
I swear I won’t hurt you.”

That simple promise shattered Tatsu’s aching loneliness.

They surged together, mouths and limbs locked. Hungrily, they explored the deep recesses of the other. Flesh molded to flesh, cocks and nipples rubbing and rubbing together again. Their tongues lapped each other’s secret essence. Frantic hands danced back and forth exploring, teasing, grappling, gouging, learning every ridge and surface.

Sage’s solid length rubbed against Tatsu’s own pulsing prick. His breath blew hot and cold over Tatsu’s scalding skin. He licked down Tatsu’s neck in a hot, claiming gesture, planted soft kisses over his heaving chest down to the begging peaks.

A wildness suffused Tatsu. This was all for him! Just as he dreamed so often, he tangled his fingers in Sage’s thick mane. Urged that clever tongue to lap again and again over his engorged points, each its own pebbled universe of delight.

Sparks danced over Tatsu’s skin as long licks and kisses trailed down his clenched abdomen, teeth and lips combed through the dark nest around his prick. A demanding hand pushed between his trembling thighs, possessively fondled his sac, tugging hard before moving back up to squeeze his taut buttocks. Calloused and scratchy fingers curled around Tatsu’s dick. Sage’s thumb rolled over the slicked piss slit, spread the slickness over the engorged head. The touched dragged a desperate groan from Tatsu’s throat.

“Please, I want your cock in my ass,” Tatsu hardly believed the desperation in the words tumbling out of his own mouth.

“First, let me play a little. Get you all juiced up. Then I’m gonna fuck your pretty hole until you can’t stand up.” The Navajo kneed Tatsu’s trembling legs apart then pushed them high and wide against his chest. Looked down at those vulnerable, enticing genitals. Licked his brown lips. “So fucking beautiful,” he breathed.