Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 (28 page)

Not like us.
The words seemed to echo in Dante’s ears. Simon and Frances did everything together, and somehow, Dante knew that Simon needed to join them. He needed to know what this meant.
He turned Frances in his arms, so that the boy faced Simon.
“Look at him,” Dante said. Because nobody could look in Frances’ eyes and not know what he was feeling. Simon couldn’t see Frances’ eyes and not know what it meant to his friend.
Simon still hesitated, but suddenly Cami broke from their group. She went to him. Dante couldn’t hear what she said. It seemed he should be able to sense what was passing between them, but the combined consciousness of himself, Deacon, Aren and Frances drowned it out. He could only watch. He saw the way Simon stared at her, as if he were half in love and half afraid. She put her fingers on Simon’s lips to keep him from talking. She said something to him. Simon turned to look at Frances, his eyes bright with a new understanding. He said something back. Cami nodded, replied. And like a rabbit being lured from his burrow, Simon came. Slowly at first. Then quicker, and then he was there, pulling Frances into his arms and kissing him as though it were the only thing in the world he’d ever wanted to do.
The earth throbbed. The sky shook. The universe seemed to draw its breath and hold it.
Waiting.
Anticipating.
Then plummeting.
Dante fell hard and deep into a raging sea of desire. There were hands, and lips. One minute it was Frances in his arms, then Aren, then Cami. Warmth on his cock, hands gripping his ass, and Dante’s perception of himself turned over and upside down. Suddenly he was on the ground, and the whole world was made of gasping mouths and hard, beautiful cocks.
“It’s the tea,” somebody said, and Dante had to agree.
Whatever was in Olsa’s concoction continued to blur the lines of reality. Dante gave up keeping track of who was where. If there was a cock in front of him, he sucked it. A mouth, he kissed it. At one point he felt warm lips on his own cock. When he put his hand down to the head at his groin, he found hair he knew in a heartbeat, even in the drugged state he was in. It was heavy and long and smooth, and Dante knew without looking that it was jet black.
It was Deacon, spread out on the ground in front of him, his head between Dante’s legs. Deep in his brain, a voice told Dante this should matter. This should be momentous or miraculous or disastrous. But it was none of those things. It just
was
.
Dante closed his eyes, revelling in what Deacon was giving him. He let himself drift, and he found it wasn’t just the lines of reality that were blurred. It was the lines between him and each person he touched, and each person they touched in turn. Somehow, he wasn’t just himself, sucking Cami while Deacon sucked him. He was also Cami, who was kissing Frances, stroking the boy’s erection, and he was Frances, kissing Cami, while Simon fucked him from behind. He was Deacon, sucking Dante’s cock. He was Aren, spreading Deacon’s cheeks and using his tongue on Deacon’s rim. He somehow knew without using his eyes when Deacon rose up and slid his callused, wet fingers into Cami. He knew the pleasure she felt and the way she arched her back to receive him. He knew when Aren spread his legs and let Simon fuck him. He knew when the tight warm ass his cock sank into belonged to Frances, and he knew the joy Frances felt at being fucked by him.
They were no longer six. They were one, the pieces made whole. One body. One brain. One heartbeat. They were bound by love and friendship. And yes, somewhere between them, there was the sting of betrayal and the ache of loss, but overshadowing it all, there was forgiveness. There was trust. There was healing. More than anything, there was hope. They left themselves behind and became something that was more. Something that was divine. Something that was and holy and ancient and supreme.
One life. One land. One dream. One desire. One gasp away from orgasm, all of them holding a collective breath. Trembling. Straining.
Reaching.
They hung there impossibly long, wonderfully intertwined, the entire universe waiting to exhale.
And then there was release.
It was a climax like no other—six voices crying out as one, one perfect awareness splintering into six separate beings on the cold, hard ground. Six flawed creatures huddling together, a panting, shuddering tangle of limbs. There was cum in Dante’s throat, and on his chest, and on his hands. He had no idea who any of it belonged to, and he didn’t care.
“Sa’ahala nai’alini,” somebody sang quietly, and this time Dante knew it for what it was. It was a song of thanks.
A familiar form found its way into his arms. He knew this lithe, slender body. He pulled Cami tight against him, buried his face in her hair, and gave himself to sleep.

Simon awoke first. It was a slow, strange awakening. His limbs were heavy, his mind foggy. The sky to the east was just beginning to glow with the hazy light of a distant dawn.
Where am I?
But in the very next moment, he knew the answer.
At the mesa.
With that thought came a memory of the night before. It was fuzzy and strange. The tea and the chant, the sudden knowledge that the wraiths were gone and the laughter they’d all shared at the end. All of the others had been together, kissing and touching, and Simon had stood alone outside the circle while Frances looked at him with his huge blue eyes, begging him to join them.
He’d been afraid, but then suddenly, Lena had appeared there next to him. He’d struggled, not knowing if he should embrace her or apologise, not knowing if he should rejoice or be afraid.
“Six points,” she said. “Three lines. Three couples. It takes us all.”
“Lena—”
She’d put her fingers on his lips to hush him. “No more grief, Simon. Grief is just love with no place to go.”
He’d looked at Frances then, suddenly understanding. “My grief has a place to go now.”
She nodded. “Go over there. Touch him. See how much joy it brings him to be the one to receive it.”
And she’d been right. He’d left Lena and gone to Frances, and as he’d kissed him, he’d felt the way Frances’ heart soared and raced at Simon’s touch, and the way his whole soul seemed to come alive.
After that, there wasn’t much he remembered at all. Only the incredible pleasure. It made his cheeks burn and his groin ache to think of it now. He had no idea who all he’d touched, or who exactly he’d fucked.
Well, if he didn’t remember, it was a safe bet none of the others did, either.
He took stock of their positions. He was on his back, Frances cuddled comfortably against his side. The boy’s head rested on Simon’s chest, and Simon put his face into Frances’ curls and smiled.
I love you.
Maybe he didn’t say the words when he should. Maybe he didn’t even mean them quite the way Frances wished, but it didn’t make it any less true.
Simon turned his head the other direction. It was still mostly dark, but he was able to make out the shapes of the other four next to them. They were all wrapped up together in a tangle of limbs and hair. Nobody else was awake.
Simon moved out from under Frances, who barely stirred. He scrambled down the side of the mesa to where the horses waited below. He went to the creek to piss and to wash himself. He was a bit embarrassed to realise just how much dried cum he had on him, and where. It was even in his hair. He swam in the near-dark out into the cold water of the river and let it wash him clean. He felt clearer-headed for it. He floated there in the water as the eastern sky began to turn pink.
When he came back out of the river, he found Frances at the bank. The boy was dressed, his hair still wet where he’d apparently dunked his head into the river. He watched as Simon went to his clothes and got dressed.
Simon hated the weight of the boy’s gaze. He hated the doubt and the fear in his blue eyes. The light was too low for Simon to actually see it, but he knew it was there. He knew Frances well enough to know what he was thinking. Of course, he understood it, based on how Simon had behaved that evening at Aren and Deacon’s house.
“Will you stop looking at me like that?” Simon said. He turned and smiled at Frances, doing his best to be reassuring. “I ain’t mad or anything.”
Frances sighed in relief and came to stand with Simon. The pale light to the east was just enough to show Simon the hint of embarrassment in Frances’ eyes. “I woke up and you were gone. I was worried…”
“Worried that I’d freaked out on you and left?”
Frances nodded.
On some level, Simon wished he could take Frances in his arms and tell him it was fine. He wished he could tell the boy how much he depended on him and how he never wanted them to be apart. But he couldn’t do any of that. If Frances had been a girl, he would have, but right or wrong, behaving that way with Frances wasn’t his nature. He worried once again that it wasn’t enough.
But then he remembered the night before, the way he’d been able to feel what Frances felt as he touched him. The way in that moment he’d known Frances’ heart. Didn’t that mean Frances had known Simon’s too? Frances probably knew Simon’s feelings and his doubts, and yet Frances was still here, happy with what Simon offered.
Simon put his hand on Frances’ shoulder. “I won’t leave you.”
Frances’ smile was shy and sweet. “I think I know that now.” He ran his hand through his wet hair and shook his head, laughing nervously. “Last night was all a bit strange.”
Simon laughed. “Saints, that’s a nice way of putting it.” He was just as glad he couldn’t remember it. He didn’t want to recall the details. Instead, he turned to the west, where the sky was still the deep indigo of night. “It’s all gonna change, you know,” he said. “It’ll take a while, but eventually word will get out about the wraiths. And all those fools in the east and on the continent will be headed this way.”
Frances frowned. “Seems wrong to think of this land being taken over. Almost makes me wish the wraiths were still here.”
Simon shrugged. “Whether change is for the good or for ill, makes no difference. A smart man will adjust and learn to survive. A smart man may even thrive.”
“I guess that means you have a plan.”
“Jeremiah agreed to let me build on the land west of the BarChi.”
“Really? You going to start your own cattle ranch?”
“I figure the Pane’s got the beef market covered.” He’d been thinking about that, but the truth was, there were plenty of other options. He’d worked a lot of different kinds of ranches over the years. He smiled at Frances. “You know anything about sheep?”
“Sure. They’re white and fluffy and say ‘baa’.”
Simon laughed. “Well, it’s a start. You’re in, right?”
Frances smiled. He moved closer to Simon and looked up at him with his huge blue eyes. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”
“We are.”
Frances smiled. He stood on his toes, and Simon held very still as Frances kissed him. It was sweet. The boy’s fingers in his hair, the softness of his breath against Simon’s lips. It was still a bit strange to him, but he loved it for what it meant to Frances. They were a team, and like any team, they’d learn to accommodate each other.
That’s what it meant to be partners.

Dante’s first conscious thought was utter confusion. He was lying on something that felt suspiciously like rock. He had no blanket. He had no clothes.
He wasn’t sure why that would be.
He sighed and decided he didn’t care. Naked on the ground or not, he was content. Somebody rested comfortably in his arms. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Cami. He knew the feel of her skin, the shape of her body, the smell of her hair.
Somebody else had their arms around Dante. Somebody big. And warm. Dante could feel the man’s genitals nestled against his ass. Not erect, but warm and pleasantly erotic. Dante kept his eyes closed. He settled back into whoever was behind him, happy to share their warmth. He pulled Cami more firmly into his arms.
Wait…
Dante opened his eyes, still unsure what was wrong. Yes, he was asleep on the ground. When he moved his leg, he felt hairs pulling in his groin, and he groaned. Either he’d come in his sleep, or he hadn’t cleaned himself off the night before.
He felt the person behind him stir, and suddenly, the strangeness of the situation hit Dante. Exactly whose hard muscular body was that? Dante looked at the arm flung over him, and his heart stopped beating.
Deacon. Nobody else had skin so dark.
Dante turned slowly to look behind him, thinking he had to be mistaken.
No, that was definitely Deacon behind him, still sound asleep. Dante sat up, and as he did, Deacon stirred. He blinked at Dante in confusion, but only once. He turned over onto his other side, where Aren rested. He put his arm over Aren and went right back to sleep.
Dante sat for a moment, replaying the moment in his head. He was sure he should be feeling something much more profound than he was. He’d loved Deacon for so long. He’d longed for them to be lovers. And yet now, he didn’t feel elated or validated.
More recently, he’d let that dream go, and he’d embraced a future with Cami. She lay next to him, still asleep, her male body naked and exposed, her smooth, flat chest smeared with red paint. Just looking at her made his chest ache in the most beautiful way. He loved her as much as ever.
He turned again to Deacon and Aren.
Should he feel guilty?
No
.
It took him a second to think why that should be, but suddenly he remembered the night before. It was muddled and confusing and completely surreal. It was hard to say which things had really happened and which hadn’t, and which had happened, but not to him. But what he knew was—it was over. They had laid the wraiths to rest. They had saved Oestend. And somehow, they’d healed themselves as well.
Dante stood up, wincing as the dried mess at his groin pulled more hair. He found his pants and boots and put them on before going down the hill. He found Simon and Frances in their campsite, playing dice.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Frances called.
Dante waved at him as he headed for the river. He noticed Simon seemed a bit too embarrassed to meet his eyes.
The thought made him laugh.
Eventually, the rest of their group made it down from the mesa and took their turn at the river, washing themselves clean. Simon and Cami were both red-faced and unable to meet anybody’s eyes. Aren and Frances seemed to find the entire situation quite funny and took every opportunity to joke about it. Dante laughed with them a bit, as did Deacon, but Dante knew there was one last thing to be done.
They began to break camp. Deacon and Aren were heading north, as Deacon had promised. Frances and Simon would be heading straight back to the BarChi with Dante and Cami.
Dante had just finished saddling his horse when Deacon came up behind him.
“Not even Jay there right now,” Deacon said. “Don’t you let my ranch fall apart while I’m off with Aren.”
“I won’t. First thing I’ll do is get Fred McAllen and his damn maids to go home.” Deacon laughed. “That’ll help a lot.”
“Can’t promise I’ll get any work out of Red, but the rest of them, I’ll whip into shape for you.”
“I’m pretty sure nobody in the blessed world can get work out of Red.”
Dante laughed, but it was an awkward kind of laugh. They stood in silence for a moment, both of them looking down at their boots. Dante had felt for years that there was so much for them to say yet here they were, both of them speechless.
“You know,” Deacon said at last, “if we’d been just a bit older, everything would have been different.”
Dante didn’t have to ask what he meant. “I know. A couple of years later, we wouldn’t have cared what he thought.”
“And he sure wouldn’t have been able to take a horse whip to us.”
“Not to you, at any rate,” Dante said, laughing. He hadn’t grown into his size quite as early as Deacon had.
Deacon nodded. He pushed his hat down low on his head. “He took a lot from us. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it once in a while. Can’t help but wonder sometimes how different things could have been.”
Dante couldn’t speak. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and nodded.
“Thing is,” Deacon went on, “seems like it all got set right.”
“It did,” Dante agreed. Their prayer for healing had healed more than Oestend. Still, he needed to say the words. “Deacon, I hope you know how sorry I am. About what I did to Aren. And to you. And about Daisy. About everything—”
“Stop,” Deacon said, holding his hands up and finally meeting Dante’s eyes. “It’s over, and you’re forgiven.”
Dante shook his head. “I don’t know that I deserve your forgiveness. I especially don’t deserve Aren’s.”
Deacon looked across the camp, to where Aren seemed to be trying to saddle a horse without getting within arm’s reach of the beast. He smiled. “Aren don’t know how to hold a grudge.”
Dante nodded. “I’m glad for that.”
Deacon gestured towards the river, where Cami sat watching them, yet trying to look like she wasn’t. “You love her?”
Dante’s smile felt so big, he wondered how it could even fit on his face. “Like a fish loves the river.”
Deacon laughed, the way he always did—a sudden, loud sound that came from deep inside his chest. Dante wanted to be bothered by Deacon’s laughter, but when he turned to look at him, he found he couldn’t. Deacon was smiling at him, his face open and friendly. “I’m a better man for having found Aren. I think the same might be said about you and Cami.”
“I’m thankful for her every day. And thankful to Aren for thinking to send her my way.”
Deacon’s smile went from one of laughter to something gentler and almost apologetic. “You were right, you know. When you said we’d once been brothers.” He stopped, staring down at his boots, but Dante knew he wasn’t done. He waited until Deacon was ready to say the rest. Deacon finally looked up at him again. “It might be nice to try for that again.”
The words and the hesitant question in Deacon’s eyes made Dante’s heart swell. They nearly brought tears to his eyes. It was hard to speak, and when he did, his voice came out hoarse. “I won’t let you down like I did before.”
“I think that went both ways more than I wanted to admit.”
It wasn’t quite an apology, but Dante knew the sentiment was there. “We were boys. I think it’s fair to see we’ve both come a long way since then.”
Deacon’s smile was hesitant. He gripped Dante’s shoulder. “I won’t let you down again, either.”
Deacon pulled him close. Dante closed his eyes as Deacon’s big arms closed around him. So many years he’d longed to have Deacon hold him again, and now that it had happened, it felt better than he’d dreamed, yet not for the reasons he’d anticipated. The wounds caused that day in the barn were finally gone. Dante didn’t need or want another lover.
But to have one of his brothers returned to him was the greatest gift he’d ever been granted.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Deacon kissed the side of his head. “Don’t be a stranger.”
He let Dante go and walked away, back to Aren, who still hadn’t managed to saddle the horse.
And Dante found, to his surprise, that he wasn’t sorry to see him go.