Beneath a Yankee Sky

There was an icy edge to the evening air,a sharpness that rustled the leaves and cut across the babbling creek where Brance Brenneman squatted as he rinsed off his tin plate and cup.Winter’s coming touch tinted that breeze—though it was still September,Brance felt the chill in the heavy Pennsylvania air.It cooled his heated skin when it danced through the bushy auburn hair corkscrewed over his scalp,slipped between the buttons of his old Union shirt to tease over his chest,tickled up his bare legs to prickle the sensitive skin beneath the dingy underpants he wore.Somewhere to the east,a godless battle continued to wage between North and South,pitting brothers against one another in a war none of them wanted.It had been a good six months since he’d left the fight—and his compatriots—behind.

The brand“deserter”meant nothing to him.He’d grown up with worse names,and suspected there would be others added to the list before he died.As he scrubbed a worn scrap of flannel over his cup,cleaning it with water dipped from the spring,he felt the first stirrings in his gut and knew he’d never fit in among mere men again.He’d live out the rest of his days here,in the woods,where the distinctions between humanand animalweren’t so great.

At least he was no longer alone.

****

Trees surrounded him,those to the west taller as the land rolled itself into the foothills of the Appalachians.The sun was already out of sight behind the dense leaves,a few rays of lingering light flashing through the canopy when the wind turned,but the moon had not yet risen so Brance ignored the pain that flared in his midsection.He concentrated on the sounds around him,the birdsong that serenaded the setting sun,the rush of water over rocks,the small yawn from the tent pitched a few yards behind his back.In less than an hour,those sounds would deepen,one minor part in a symphony that would come alive to him in the night.Another tremor twisted his stomach.Not long now.

He heard his name called out behind him.“Brance?”

The sleepy voice yawned again,louder this time,then he heard muffled cursesas Caleb extracted himself from the tent.Brance glanced over his shoulder—the man he’d known more intimately than any other these past few months stood in front of the small tent,nude,and reached for the sky.A leonine yawn escaped his throat as he stretched;each muscle stood out in stark relief on his slim body.His skin was pale,almost hairless,though Brance knew from experience that a fine down of blond fluff covered every inch of that flesh.How many times had he smoothed down the ruffled hair,likeso much fur,along Caleb’s arms and legs?How often had his fingers delved into the knot of golden curls now hiding Caleb’s dick from view?

As if aware of Brance’s stare,Caleb drew the stretch out as long as he could.Then his hands dropped to his head,where they scratched through the mussed mop of blond-brown hair that framed his face.Brance watched those hands trail down Caleb’s neck,over his shoulders,along his chest,until they fisted in the patch of curls at his crotch.Cupping his cock and balls,Caleb fondled himself as a wide grin spread across his face.“I see you looking,”he called out.

Brance’s reply was a wordless grunt before turning back to his dishes.He sensed Caleb’s approach,silent on bare feet,and anticipated his lover’s touch moments before it came.Firm hands found his shoulders,then tickled over the front of Brance’s shirt as Caleb squatted down and caught him in a strong embrace.Damp lips pressed to the nape of Brance’s neck,just below the hairline,and hot breath filled his ear when Caleb sighed.“Come back to the tent and fuck me.”

The matter-of-fact way he said it,so unabashed,so unashamed,made Brance’swhole body burn in response.Suddenly he was all too aware of Caleb’s nakedness pressed against him.He was tempted to take the man up on his offer,just drop the dishes in the stream and,hell,take his lover right here,on the ground.Who needed to hide in a tent?They were the only men in these woods,perhaps for miles.What was there to stop them from rutting where they would?

Pain rumbled through Brance’s bowels,so acute it took his breath away.Fromthe way Caleb’s hands clawed at the buttons on Brance’s shirt,he knew his was not the only discomfort.The warm mouth on the back of his neck drew in a quick breath,almost a gasp.Dropping his washcloth,Brance took one of Caleb’s hands in his own,laced their fingers together,and gave him a reassuring squeeze,as if they could draw strength from each other.He felt teeth bite into the collar of his shirt and he half-turned to murmur to Caleb,“It’s all right.”

Caleb sighed as the pain receded.His voice was shaky when he spoke.“God.Each time I hope maybe it’ll ease up a bit,you know?”

Brance remained silent.In his opinion,if he agreed with something,then he had nothing to say about it.Why talk just to hear his own voice?But Caleb wascut from a different cloth;no matter how much he tried to insist that he and Brance were the same,there were a few quirks that kept them apart.Caleb’s need for constant chatter was one.The man maintained a running commentary ashe went through life—now that they were alone,with the rest of the world at bay,Brance caught the brunt of that ceaseless prattle.Most times it just washed over him,a background noise not unlike the stream,constant and unchanging.He’d learned to pick up subtle clues in Caleb’s manner that indicated his input was needed—a rise in the tone of voice indicated a question,a covert glance at Brance meant he was expected to speak.For a loner such as himself,Brance found that the hardest part of a relationship,with anyone,was the continued expectation to talk and laugh and joke and ramble on and on and on…

Caleb knew he talked a lot.For the most part,he didn’t expect a reply.He seemed quite content to just carry on,and Brance suspected the reason they got on so well was simply the fact that he didn’t interrupt Caleb much.What would he say,anyway?He was a man of actions,not words.And he had found nothing more effective at shutting Caleb up than a single finger traced alonga swathe of exposed skin,over the back of Caleb’s hand maybe,or underneath his knee.One touch…that was all it took to dry up the words and get that wide-eyed gaze turned hisway.

Another shot of pain kinked Brance’s abdomen.He felt Caleb bury his head between his shoulder blades,and the arms around him tightened.Raising Caleb’s hand to his lips,Brance kissed the battered knuckles.“It’s all right,”he said again,simply because he thought his lover needed to hear it.“Go cover up,will you?It’s colder out here than you think.”

Caleb nodded against Brance’s back and stood,then leaned down to whisper,“I still want that fuck.”