Chapter Text
‘Now, hold yer horses there a minute - yer had a husband too?’
‘I did.’ Achak takes a sip of ale, hiccuping softly. ‘We were together for seven years, before he passed from an infection.’
‘And then yer married a lass?’ Ben’s eyes are almost bulging out of their sockets, as if the woman has grown two heads. ‘Egad, yer a curious thing. Wantin’ to rumble with yer own sex is doolally as it is, but both ? I’m surprised ye have time to get anythin’ done!’
Achak stares at him coolly, her slender brows sloping upwards. ‘It’s not as confusing as you might think. I loved my husband, and there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of him and remember all the precious moments we shared together. I would have spent the rest of my life mourning him, had the spirits not had other plans. Fate brought me to my wonderful Kanti, and I have learned to love again. She alone gives me the strength to rise every morning, and the good sense not to throw myself into danger, so I may return to her every night.’
There’s a loud squawk from nearby, as a blindfolded Namontak leaps onto Lon’s back and sends them both tumbling into a nearby bush. Achak’s mood abruptly turns somber; she looks out towards the roaring fire, the flames dancing in her solemn brown eyes.
Her sadness brings a lump to Ben’s throat. He reaches over to pat her hand, hardly noticing when he spills most of his ale into the dirt. ‘Sounds like yer have a mighty fine woman there, hen. A mighty fine woman, indeed.’
A short distance away, Amonute hugs his knees closer to his chest in an effort to stop their shaking, trying to summon visions of calm water and peaceful hills to quell the tightness growing in his chest. It’s too loud out here. The shouting and laughing booms against his sensitive ears like the drums of war, and no matter how many times he inhales through his nose and exhales out his mouth, he can’t get his breathing under control.
He wants his brother, but Matoaka is currently attempting to down an entire pewter of ale while doing a handstand, and Amonute isn’t sure he’d be able to get his attention even if he was physically capable of speech. There’s only one other person who knows what to do when he’s in such a state; Keme’s been absent for most of the evening, never one to dwell for too long in a large crowd, and right now Amonute needs to be somewhere quiet, with someone who understands just how intimidating social gatherings can be.
He manages to rise to his feet and stagger towards the understory where the tents are kept, his heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm as he moves further away from the noise. The sound of Keme’s voice in the distance immediately puts him at ease, the way it has since they were young children. He can still remember the time he had a meltdown during a particularly vicious thunderstorm, and Keme allowed him to squeeze on his braids to soothe himself until his panic subsided. A seemingly insignificant gesture that served as a catalyst for what he can only describe as a life long, unbearable yearning.
Their unbreakable bond has always been subject to merciless teasing from the other warriors, who find their constant dancing around the elephant in the room highly entertaining. Were he a braver man, Amonute would have thrown caution to the wind years ago and asked for Keme’s hand as soon as they reached maturity. But he isn’t a brave man, at least when it comes to matters as frightening as love, and until he knows for certain that Keme feels the same way, he’ll continue to evade these foolish dreams of romance like a buck dodging a hail of arrows.
The moment he catches sight of Thomas, that familiar vice-like grip on his heart returns.
Keme is there, the red-haired cub in his arms, kissing him with a passion Amonute has only ever witnessed in his most sensual fantasies. Keme has always had dalliances, never hesitating to take one of his comrades to bed during long hunting trips or freezing cold winters. But this is different. This is beyond simple comfort or bonding; this is the embrace of two lovers, fervent, devoted, two souls coming together to form a single entity.
Amonute watches, vision misting over, as his beloved Keme leads the boy towards his tent and they disappear through the flaps.
The sound of feet from behind startles him, and he turns to see the corn-haired man standing a few inches away, eyes wide, his expression unreadable. There’s little doubt that he too has been watching, and Amonute knows all too well what the pale faces think of men who share their furs together.
‘Bring either of them harm, and I’ll slit your throat in your sleep.’ He snarls at the settler, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over.
He takes off back to the clearing before he gets any response.
Crying has never come naturally to Kocoum.
Many believe he is simply devoid of any emotion, a hardened warrior incapable of shedding a tear no matter what grief or turmoil is hurled in his path. In truth, he feels so empty that he simply cannot summon the energy to break down and weep like his fellow man. His eyes go moist, his heart throbs as though about to break, but he cannot utter so much as a sob.
Some would find such stoicism admirable. He knows for a fact that it’s a curse.
He stares at Keme’s tent until it blurs, barely flinching as Amonute stalks past him, Meeko hot on his tail. He had thought himself wise following Thomas back to the understory, lest the boy’s track record of ending up in peril everywhere he goes come into fruition. Now he wishes he hadn’t bothered. Blissful ignorance would have spared him the pain of unspoken rejection.
Kocoum settles for the one emotion he can easily convey: fury.
He turns on his heel and storms back towards the clearing, before changing his mind and heading in the direction of the river instead. Straying too far from the camp is potentially hazardous, but he wouldn’t care if a sloth of bears were to emerge from the shadows and tear him to shreds. He just needs to get away, find a deep dark hole somewhere and hide for the rest of his life. He wants to scream and pound the earth until his hands are broken and bloody. He wants…
Kocoum doesn’t know what he wants. He’s never known.
He arrives at the river bank, and is only just able to keep himself from cursing out loud when he realises he has company. Namontak is a stone’s throw away, emptying the contents of his bladder into a nearby bush, and were he not so miserable, Kocoum might have made a quip about sticking your shaft where a muskrat could bite it off.
No doubt Namontak would know what to do about his current predicament. He’s always been the pragmatic voice of reason in Kocoum’s flock, a seemingly bottomless vessel of wise words and rational solutions. He’d make a fine shaman, were he not indispensable when it comes to hunting.
His oldest and most trusted companion. Kocoum would give anything to be able to wrap his arms around his beloved confidant, feel those rough hands stroking his hair and rubbing his back as Namontak whispers words of comfort.
But he can’t, trapped the way he is in this wretched body. For the first time since this entire ordeal began, Kocoum realises he is truly alone.
Namontak steps back to re-adjust his loincloth, and catches Kocoum’s eye before he can make a hasty exit. He acknowledges him with a polite, but indifferent nod, and kneels by the water to start cleaning himself off.
Kocoum snaps.
His feet move faster than his brain, and before he knows it, he’s looming over Namontak like a snake stalking a rabbit, pulse racing, palms sweating, as his fellow warrior senses his presence and turns around to stare up at him with a furrowed brow.
Kocoum doesn’t speak, doesn’t trust himself to say the right words. He just stares, hoping, praying that Namontak will see through this false skin and recognise him.
A drop of sweat rolls down his temple as Namontak slowly rises to his feet, clearly anticipating a conversation that will never come.
Smith is going to kill him. But Kocoum can’t bring himself to care.
He leans forward and presses his lips against Namontak’s own. The contact is brief, yet firm, and he immediately keels back to widen the space between them, should the other man take offense and try to break his jaw with his knuckles.
The blows never come. Namontak’s dark eyes grow large with shock, then soften to gentle curiosity, which in turn becomes…
Kocoum knows that look. He’s seen it a thousand times before.
His hesitation expires and he seizes Namontak by the waist, mercilessly crushing their lips together once more. Familiar hands tangle in his hair, gripping blond locks, and Namontak’s warm, wet tongue pokes at his teeth, seeking entry.
Kocoum welcomes it like an old friend.
‘You’re sure about this?’
Keme’s breath is hot against Thomas’s flushed ear, sending a pleasurable chill down his spine that makes his whole body shudder as he’s carefully lowered down onto the bear fur below. Thomas is too far gone to give a verbal response. He answers by wrapping his legs around Keme’s hips to lock him in place, fingers buried in his sleek, black hair as he grasps it like a lifeline.
Memories of home come flooding back like water breaking through a dam. The smell of the barn, straw scratching bare skin, Henry’s flushed, naked body thrusting above him as Thomas grasps his leaking shaft in a trembling hand.
They never do more than this; kissing and rutting like dogs until they silently come undone. It isn’t sodomy if they’re not inside each other.
Henry’s eyes are half-lidded, lips plump and bruised, skin glowing gold beneath the warm rays of sunlight peeking through the rafters. He lays his head against the curve of Thomas’s shoulder, and between shaking breaths utters the words, ‘ I love you .’
A declaration that Thomas is far too afraid to say out loud, but he doesn’t need to, because Henry knows. He always has, and he always will.
‘Promise me.’ Henry whispers against his neck, a stray tear rolling down his cheek and trickling down Thomas’s collarbone. ‘If this New World is any better than the one we’re living in now, promise me you won’t return. I love you, Thomas, but you’ll never be happy here. They’ll wear you down until you’re just another body working the fields under the sun, breaking your back for pitiful coin before going home to the wife you never wanted. If you have the chance to start a new life, Thomas, you must run. Run, and never look back. Promise me.’
They’ve talked about running away together before. Escaping the prying eyes of the city and finding somewhere nobody will ever find them. It’s a dream that Thomas always imagined they would fulfill together.
He wonders where Henry is now. If he’s still polishing saddles and mucking out the horses. Or perhaps he finally gave in to ambition and left for greener pastures. Wherever he may be, Thomas prays that he’s happy. That’s all they’ve ever wanted for one another.
All thoughts of Henry abruptly fade to black as the deerskin around his shoulder is slowly peeled off. Thomas finds Powhatan clothes far more liberating than the shirt and breeches he usually wears around Jamestown, which can prove hazardous when working long hours through the sweltering Virginia summers. He recalls a particularly hot afternoon when he was struck with a rather severe bout of heat stroke while harvesting corn, and spent two days recovering in Kekata’s longhouse before he was presented with a tunic, carefully tailored to fit his leaner frame.
Kocoum had been in the cornfield that day. He had picked Thomas up in his large arms and carried him all the way to Kekata’s tent. According to Nakoma, he had refused to leave until Thomas opened his eyes.
He feels a dull ache in his heart at the thought of his unattainable warrior, but he won’t allow his pining to ruin his decision. He focuses on this moment, right here, Keme stripping him bare, exposing his flesh to the cold of the night. Warm, wet lips suckling against his throat, scattering kisses down his chest until he’s squirming desperately. That familiar, insatiable hunger returns, pooling in his belly and sending blood rushing to his cock.
‘ Please …’ He gasps as though he’s choking; he can’t stand to wait a moment longer, he needs Keme, needs him now . ‘Please, please , Keme…’
The larger man pulls back a moment to peer down at him in the darkness, his gorgeous bronze skin already flushed and perspiring. ‘Not yet, little one. I want to make this a night you will never forget. I want to grant you all the pleasures you were denied by your people. I want to show you how beautiful you are.’
His words shock Thomas into compliance. He lies still as Keme kisses his way down to the throbbing appendage between his legs and gently takes it in his mouth.
The moment she walks into the clearing, Pocahontas swerves to avoid a head on collision with Lon, who is still blindfolded and demonstrating his infinite strength by carrying Giles about on his shoulders.
‘They’re drunk.’ Nakoma bleakly remarks, wincing as Lon loses his balance and catapults them both head first into the shrubbery. ‘So much for a quiet gathering.’
‘My father’s going to have someone’s blood for this.’ Pocahontas replies, only slightly amused.
She scans the premises for any sign of sober life. Most of the settlers are too caught up in a spontaneous singsong to notice her. Matoaka sits quietly on a log, apparently trying to console his younger brother, who is sobbing into his lap. A familiar Scotsman prowls around on all fours in the tall grass nearby.
‘Ben?’ Pocahontas calls down to him. ‘Have you seen John?’
‘Sorry, chicken! Can’t talk!’ Ben slurs, proudly holding up a bunch of wilted bluebells in each hand. ‘I’m helpin’ Achachak pick flowers fer her beautiful wife!’
‘Saw him head down to the river.’ Lon pipes up, still dazed from his fall. ‘Looked angry. Approach with caution.’
Pocahontas’s chest tightens with concern. She turns to summon Nakoma, but her friend is too preoccupied soothing Giles’s bruised ego to heed her. Throwing her hands up in defeat, the exasperated princess steps over a snoring Edward and sets off in the direction of the river, ready to drag her husband back by his ear if necessary.
There’s a loud thud as Namontak’s back hits the earth. Something ancient and primal emerges from Kocoum’s soul and he becomes a starving animal, driving his teeth into the curve of the man’s neck to suck a possessive mark against the skin.
The grip on his hair tightens, igniting his lust like dry wood to a raging fire; he smears kisses down the length of Namontak’s body until he’s between his legs, and wastes no time taking the pulsing organ in his mouth, sucking without abandon. Namontak jerks violently, driving his cock to the back of Kocoum’s throat, but Kocoum reaches up to grasp his thighs with strong hands, pinning him in place.
He doesn’t realise just how much he’s missed this until Namontak’s moaning and quiet curses reach his ears. He is accustomed to being the recipient during their many trysts, a rare opportunity to remove his mask and allow himself to be at someone else’s mercy. But right now, in this haze of rage and desire, all he can focus on is tasting, and fucking, and making Namontak fall apart beneath him.
Namontak is already close, teetering on the edge of an orgasm, and it’s only now that Kocoum realises they don’t have any lubricant. He growls and frees his mouth, taking the swollen cock in his fist and stroking until his hand is damp. Once his fingers are suitably coated, he parts Namontak’s quivering legs and rubs his thumb against the small ring of muscle, teasing the entrance with his index while his companion sobs and writhes at his touch.
‘John!’
Pocahontas’s voice rings loudly through the forest, and Kocoum freezes like a frightened deer, quickly covering Namontak’s mouth with his free hand. He can hear the princess stumbling about in the dark, swearing under her breath as she trips over roots and stone, and he watches her carefully as she makes her way towards the river and studies the surrounding area.
The thicket only just obscures them from view, but Kocoum knows that one wrong move could have her clambering through the bushes and happening upon this sordid liaison.
And yet, the threat of being caught doesn’t deter him.
His heart begins to race, sweat beads along his forehead, and this sudden burst of adrenaline only seems to intensify his urge to copulate. He forces his fingers further into Namontak, pressing down harder on his mouth to muffle his mewls of pleasure. He adds another finger, scissoring and curling until he finds that golden spot that has Namontak clinging to his pale arms, nails piercing flesh until they draw blood.
It’s not enough. Kocoum needs more.
He keeps a watchful eye on Pocahontas as he pulls out his fingers and releases his own cock from the confinement of those ridiculous breeches, pressing his leaking tip against the widened hole. She appears to have given up on shouting for John, and is now staring across the silent lake, looking so lost and alone, Kocoum can feel his stone of a heart begin to ache with sorrow for her.
He numbs this unfamiliar sentiment by burying himself inside Namontak as far as he can go, using his companion’s shoulder to stifle his cries as he begins to thrust like a frustrated dog.
Time seems to fade into non-existence. He fucks Namontak as though both their lives depend on it, quickly forgetting about Pocahontas and her heartache, unable to concentrate on anything but the tight walls clenching around him. His eyes go cloudy. His breathing becomes short and rugged. Strong legs lock around his back, trapping him as Namontak finally climaxes with a silent scream. Kocoum doesn’t relent until he joins him.
By the time he returns to his senses, Pocahontas is long gone. He removes his hand from Namontak’s mouth and leans down to kiss him, but his friend immediately withdraws into himself, scooting out from beneath the tangle of limbs, chest heaving, hair askew, eyes gleaming with fear and regret.
‘This was a mistake.’ He says, his voice a broken whisper.
He retrieves his loincloth, clumsily pulling it back around his waist, and hurries off in the direction of the camp before Kocoum can say a word.