Master
Apprentice  Archive
One Day To Junín
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The bull is struggling like crazy, screaming torn wet roars from a throat long since hoarse and ragged with the pain. I have both hands full trying to keep its head down out of the danger zone, and even though I've done this dozens of times before I can't help feeling in awe of the sheer raw power of the thing, the wild warm brutal strength that knows not what's hit it, and knows not what's about to hit it.
Even with Obi-Juan's help it's a close shave, and boy's doing a great job holding the bull's front legs back so it can't get up off its knees. Still he's white as a sheet, clearly has never seen so much blood in his life and I think he reads it in my face that there's more coming... my forehead's itchy with sweat and dust and I wish I had a hand to wipe the hair out of my eyes but to let go of the horns now would be certain death, and I'd rather the blood that's about to be shed wasn't my own.
"Hold on!" I yell, feel how my own voice has gone hoarse as if I had eaten the bull's desperate cries, and Obi-Juan gives a tight gritty little grunt as he reins in the last of his strength. Leap, Quijón, kick -- and the boot heel comes down on the thrashing animal's neck, well-aimed and with all of my weight on it, and I wish like I wish every time that I couldn't hear the sickening snap of spine and the last scream as it dies down in gurgles, drowning the last breath... then, silence.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Obi-Juan slowly unclasping his white-knuckled hands from the bull's slack limbs. He is pale as death, sweaty and dirty like me, and what wouldn't I give to have time for him now, time to comfort him, time to caress and clean him and make him shine like the flame of flesh that he is... but there's other things to do first, and fast before the predators get wind of it, and before it gets dark.
Silence.
It wasn't even one of mine, I think as the bright red blood gushes from the deep slash in the beast's throat, God knows where it came from and how it managed to get itself entangled in the bloody barbed wire. God knows where that barbed wire came from, but it's been there a long time, on and inside the animal I mean. Rusted. The flesh on its legs and hindquarters is shredded to bloody tatters, deep gashes with dried-up edges leaking blood and water and throbbing with pain and angry yellow infection. It's a sight even I find painful to look at. I can't even imagine what Obi-Juan must feel, he who's never seen anything bleeding and suffering.
He's crouching on the ground a little bit away watching as I sink my knife into the dead beast again and again, methodically. Strip the skin off, lay it on the ground as a blanket for the good meat to lie on. There's not much on this one -- for all the strength it had in its last moments it's quite skinny, and half of it is simply useless because it's torn to bits and eaten up by stinking, oozy wounds. I'll have to build a fire if I don't want to attract the predators, and it's getting dark. I nod to Obi-Juan, and he raises his eyebrows a little. His eyes are weary, grey as I've never seen them before, and when I ask him to go gather wood he quietly walks away as if relieved to not see this scene any more.
I wouldn't have showed you, my precious one, but it had to be done. That's what we are here for, even a day and a half from our homes, even in our Sunday clothes... God knows we were going to Junín and I wanted to show him Llisa and her wonderful songs, and now I'm here in the dirt, slashing away at the steaming dead beast, blood all over my pants and boots and showing him death.
I just hope, I hope he can look at me again after this.
When he returns, with a huge bundle of gnarled deadwood strapped to his shoulders, I have made as much of a home as I could. I've set up some shelters with the rugs we've got, quite a way away from the pool of blood that's even now seeping into the dry earth. I've rescued some of the larger marrowbones from the carcass and cracked them open and set them on fire, and now he offers me his wood, silently, and I pack it on top and relish the clean smoky scent of burning wood. I motion for him to load the wood on to my arms, but he smiles, a pale uncertain smile, and follows me to the carcass. He knows what needs to be done, I guess.
Piling wood all around the remains of the dead bull, we work alongside each other quietly for so long I need to make an effort to speak. If only to hear his voice again.
"A brand, Obi. Would you..." God, I think, I've lost words. Every time I go in so deep that the blood soaks through my clothes I come away and think I've lost words, I've become a bit of that animal and give a bit of my human soul away. And one day when there's no man left in me they'll hold me down and break my neck like I've done so many times before, and burn me, and it'd be only right for me, Quijón, the old beast... if there wasn't this... light.
It almost makes me laugh, and maybe that's where the tear in my eye comes from, I don't know. Obi-Juan is coming towards me holding a burning branch at arm's length, the bright dry light flickering and dancing on his pale skin, making his hair shine like raw gold and his grimy face look so alive it's not even real. The fire fills me, pouring into me reflected off him and
it flows right into the empty space left by the death of yet another living thing and the loss of yet another bit of human soul, and it feels so right and so warm it brims over my eyes and runs down my cheeks in hot white streaks.
Maybe when there is no more man left in you, Quijón, you'll be all light, all Obi-Juan's bright light...
He throws the brand on to the pyre and turns my face towards the fire, unbelieving fingertips tracing the streaks my tears have left on my cheeks. So gentle, so pure, my Obi-Juan, and I cling to him like a drowning man and drink his kisses as he wraps his arms around my neck, hanging on. Which of us is the strong man and which the weak, I can no longer tell.
We walk away from the burning carcass, my arm around his waist and his around mine, and I know it's the only way either of us can walk right now. Away from the dark mound of rotting dead flesh, away from the greasy licking flames, toward the little wood fire and its crisp smoke and the noise of the river nearby, drowning the terrible silence that still sticks to my skin from when the bull screamed its last.
Wordlessly, we undress, and I carry my blood-caked pants and boots to the river with me, to try and wash them as best I can in the darkness, and myself too. Obi-Juan stands out like a sliver of light even here, under the dark sky, half in the dark water, a flickering flame of a boy, all soul and light and so so beautiful.
I sometimes wonder what it is he sees in me, but frankly I'm scared to ask. I feel so much like an old savage next to him, like such a grimy brutal beast... and yet he's told me in so many words how he loves me, and told me without words in the moments even his mouth stops making sense and gives nothing but moans and cries. These moments, when the hard old beast Quijón is on top of him, and I see the pure joy and love shining from his face -- these are the moments that make me want to die because it can't get any better than this. And then I think no, it can't get any better than this, but it can get as good as this again, and again, and that's what keeps me living. I haven't lived this hard in all my life.
When he comes out of the river finally, after a much longer wash than my own, he is nothing if not adorable, pale smooth skin glistening with drops of clear water, feet leaving dark damp patches where he's walked. His hair falls about his face in long dark waves and it's the same colour as his nipples now, and when I say that he laughs, one of these bright dancing laughs and I know he's not disgusted with me as I kneel down on the rug and stroke his nipples with my roughened fingertips and rub my cheek against his soft silky cock and he purrs, low in his throat. And lower in his belly, and laughs that musical laugh again.
"Hungry?"
"I could eat you whole, if that's what you mean," he grins, "but some food would be nice too... I take it there's fresh beef on the menu?"
I'm almost alarmed by how cheerful he has become now that the dead beast is dragged away and going up in flames, and he picks up the look of surprise on my face. "It was - yes, I guess I was terrified. I've never seen death happen. But when I was out searching for firewood... well, it was good to be alone, have some space to think. And to remind myself that I hadn't felt life happening up close until I met you either. And that ultimately, even the death you brought upon that poor beast was a mercy. You're so good for me, Quijón..."
"I could say the same, Obi, if I had the words. And that death that waylaid us on our way to Junín will at least give us something to live on tonight." I stroke his taut belly, fingertips unwilling to let go of his warm skin. He nods, smiles, then goes to hang up my soaked clothes on a rock that still holds some of the day's heat, while I rescue the small pile of good meat I managed to get out of the stricken bull.
When I turn to go back to the fireplace I am struck by the small bolt of lightning that is my Obi-Juan, running into me at full speed because he wasn't expecting me to stop. He falls and sits on the ground, gaping, mouth open, eyes locked with mine, on fire. What? What has he seen? I stare into his face, but sense none of the terror of three hours ago. Drawing a deep breath, I look into his eyes, trying to catch the little mirror image of myself in their dark depths.
Feral. What he sees is a naked man, a big and strong and weather-beaten man with straggly wet grey hair falling on his shoulders. Standing in the dim firelight, holding a knife and a chunk of red raw meat. I look down at my hands. They are covered in blood halfway up my arms because I'd dug to the bottom of the pile for the tenderest piece. And the meat is still warm, steaming faintly in the chill of the night, away from the warming fire.
When I look up again to find his face once more, I am hung up on his own warm red flesh... rising from his lap is an urgent swollen erection, and when I find his face he's licking his lips, slowly, with a longing that's almost shy... and my hands know what they're doing as I can't tear my eyes away from him like that, so hungry and so gorgeous... I cut a thin sliver of meat from the bloodied chunk in my hand and place it on his lips, covering the moist pink perfection with raw warm red, and he opens his mouth as if to kiss the meat, runs his tongue over it, squeezes it between his lips and catches the drop of blood and juice that trickles from the corner of his mouth, with the tip of his tongue without missing a beat. He is ravaging that sliver of meat, squeezing and sucking it into a sensuous pulp, and before I know it I'm on him eating that lush raw heat from his lips, sinking my teeth in the red meat and feeling Obi-Juan's digging into my lips, devouring me greedily. So hot, so good... all I can think is 'more', and we fight for each other's lips and tongues, drowning in raw red warm need, eating the wondrous flesh of passion.
When I finally fall on top of him, heavy and heated, he moans at the feel of my hardness grinding into his, moans but doesn't let go of my lips, bites and licks them and I'm no longer sure if it's the bull's blood or my own that he's licking from my lips, an if that tingling sensation would be pain in any other state than the one I'm in, floating in a sea of thick red lust, hot and needy and so close, so close to him.
I rub against him like an animal, with all my weight and all my strength. He writhes and moans, crushed under me and loving every breath of it. His fingers dig into my shoulders, short nails scrape down my back, leaving fiery pink trails. Hands, small hands, grab my buttocks with unbelievable strength, almost bruising my hardened flesh, and then the thrusts come, a hard hot cock grinding into mine, making me shudder with the sheer heat of it, and moan into that greedy mouth that swallows me whole and smiles all the while. Oh, I'm on fire, Obi, I'm full of fire, sweet heavy fire and I press down into you, crush your throbbing flesh and devour your scream of pleasure as you come, spurting liquid fire on my skin and yours, setting my cock aflame with the sheer glistening heat of it and I rear up like a horse, and like I'm about to die, and consume myself in the firestorm of a mind-shredding orgasm --
Warmth on my fingertips is what brings me back to this life again. I may have lost words again, I have none to count at the moment. What I have is the man of fire, lazing languidly under me, holding my big bloodstained hand in his small white one and licking my fingertips... he trails my fingers through the splashes of my seed that are all over his chest and throat and face, and licks them slowly and hungrily, one by one, until I've gathered enough strength to pounce and bury his startled mouth in mine, and he kisses back feverishly until I'm quite sure that yes, he is biting my lips now!
I struggle to free myself from his embrace and tear away from that kiss, that demanding hot wet kiss and stare down into a beatific smile, a smile that's stained with the faint red of blood that could be my own this time.
As I roast the remainder of the meat on the fire, and Obi-Juan wraps himself in a blanket and sings softly into the cracking flames, radiating warmth and smiling like a man possessed, I wonder which of us is the savage.
--- The End ---