A Hunter's Moon

It was sunset and the golden tresses of a queenly summer's day lay draped on the shoulders of the hills. I was sat with Danny and Old Pike outside the Beehive, enjoying a mug and the cool evening breeze on my sun scorched skin, watching as the village lads put up coloured tents and awnings around the square, or lugged wood to the large bonfire beginning to burn in the centre.

People had begun to arrive from the surrounding farmsteads and hamlets, most coming on foot, but there were some donkeys and a wagon or two, laden with provender for the festival. As Danny blathered on about the maid he had his eye on I spotted a familiar face among the newcomers, one I was surprised but pleased to see.

I bid my excuses to Pike and Danny as I stood, before looking again for the man I had seen. He was easy enough to spot, standing taller than most, with hair and beard of a red not seen often in these parts, only half covered by the wide brimmed hat he always wore. He caught my eye as I made towards him and he gave me one of his rare smiles.

"Well, good evening to you, Jack." I said with a nod to him. "I haven't seen you in a while. Are you keeping well?"

Jack nodded. "Aye." He said. He was never much of a talker. "And you, Carl?"

I'd known Jack for perhaps five summers. He had a cabin way up in the downs, south of Knock, and lived from hunting and foraging mostly, with some guard work with the caravans here and there. As such it was rare to see him in the village, especially on a night like this with so many folks around.

"Same as ever." I span around and grinned at him and he managed to crack his second smile of the evening. "Though I have to say it nearly knocked me off my stool when I saw you."

Jack gestured to the large, heavy looking bundle he carried on his shoulder.

"Brought a boar for the roast." He said, and we made our way towards the Beehive. "Old Tanner came see me about a month ago, asked if I'd bring it."

The gathering crowd outside the inn parted before the large man, and I followed in his wake as we went inside. Tanner, the innkeep, saw us enter and waved us over.

"Jack, Jack. Bless your boots." He came out from behind the bar and bid us towards a large table along the far wall. "Just put it here for now. I'll have the lads prepare it."

Jack heaved the bundle onto the table and it landed with a satisfying thud.

"Now, what would you lads say to a mug for your trouble?" The old innkeep nipped back to his customary spot behind the bar.

"Well I wouldn't say no, that's for sure." I replied, though in truth I hadn't helped at all. Jack simply nodded and in a moment we had ales in our hands and the night before us.

Jack had always been a man I admired, in more than one way. Ever since I met him that hot, still summer's day by the lake when I had rounded the hill to see him fishing shirtless by the water, his body an arrangement of pale boulders on the shore, gleaming in the sun. Being of the sociable sort, and a little lonesome from my hike, I had hailed him. At first I could tell he was irked by my company, but I was persistent and, with the help of a bottle of blackberry brandy I had brought along for the walk, I saw him smile for the first time.

I looked to him now, at the bar, a little greyer here and there, a new scar on his cheek, but still the same stone solid man.

"Do you plan on staying for the festival?" I asked and he furrowed his brow.

"Well...." He drawled out the word as if reluctant to let it go. "I had planned on just dropping off the pig..."

Jack was unreadable to most folks. Indeed, most took him for a hard man. Not me, though. I had seen his tender side more than once through the years and I knew just where to tickle. I stepped closer.

"Old Tanner has bought in some blackberry brandy for the night." I leaned closer to his ear. "As I recall you like blackberry brandy."

We'd spent that afternoon by the lake fishing together, though paying less and less attention to the line and more to each other as it wore on. Once I'd gotten him to relax and lower his guard I found Jack to be softer underneath. I found he was caring, maybe a little too caring. It seemed to trouble him. I thought perhaps that was why he kept himself to himself so much. My being much the opposite, as careless a fellow as you could meet, we fit somehow, least that night at the lake we did, and more nights since. As evening fell we had rolled into each other's arms, and we shared tender kisses, tasting of sweet, dark fruit, one for each star that appeared.

Long fingers of music stretched from the town square. I let my hand brush Jack's wrist.

"Come on." I said with a wink. "At least until you get to try the boar you brought"

He shook his head but I knew I had him and, with mock reluctance, he followed me back out into the square. The sun had gone to her rest by then, her lights replaced by torches and the fire now roaring. Folk were milling about, eating and drinking, laughing and dancing. I led him to the table where Masie, Tanner's daughter and the poor girl Danny had his eye on, was pouring out cups of the promised brandy.

"Two?" She asked as we approached, arching an eyebrow and giving Jack an appreciative look.

"Each." I said and she turned to me, and knowing me she smiled.

"I'll make it six to be safe, Carl." She said as she handed Jack and me our first. I led the toast.

"To the beauty of summer!" I said, raising my cup and bowing my head towards Masie, and when Jack did the same I could see her blush despite the firelight. Poor Danny, I thought, as we drained our cups. Poor Masie too.

After the third cup the night took on a fringe of pinkness, as if the fairies were painting on the world, and it took me back again to the lakeside and Jack's rugged features lit by a different fire. We had swapped our clothes for blankets by then, and lay together under them and under the great bowl of stars; we discarded them along with words and mated like animals that liked the smell of each other; Jack was a bear, clumsy paws that gripped me, and I was the otter that slipped through them. He had growled, sure enough, when he tired of my teasing and pinned me down. It came low from his belly and I felt it in my ribs, and he spilled his seed in me as my hands grabbed at the earth.

He caught me staring and waved me out of my recollection, a look on his face that told me that I wasn't the only one reminiscing.

The fire was blazing, sending orange cinders skywards, and the boar was beginning to sizzle on the spit.

"Are you hungry, Jack?" I asked, intending both meanings, and his eyes went wicked dark for a moment. Soft as I knew he could be, I had also seen that look before. I'd seen it close as I could kiss, and shortly after did kiss, at the lake and other times and places since, when he was in his rut and became like a storm cloud. He licked his lips.

"I could eat." He said and held my eyes. I didn't blink. He liked this game, I knew. He liked me to tease him, to poke him, to coax him from his den so that he can run me down. He is a hunter in his soul.

"Then let's eat." I smiled at him before turning towards where Tanner was deftly slicing and serving the fat boar by the fire.

The meat was rich and succulent, dripping thick grease as we took it to a bench by the inn to eat, and we sat and watched as the dancers formed a chain that snaked around the square, growing longer with each pass as more joined in its chant, a song for the harvest. I turned back to Jack who was sucking the last of the grease from his fingers.

The air was full now; of pipes, drums and fiddles, with smoke and laughter, movement and song, the light was a hundred flames and their reflections. I looked into Jack's eyes and saw some of those reflections there, dancing before the storm I'd seen brewing.

"Follow me." I said and stood. He sat there for a moment, watching me like a cat. I quickly snatched the hat from his head and brandished it above him. "I have something to show you."

He smiled again, but it was his hunter's smile now, the one I'd seen on the trips I'd taken with him over the years, into the deep woods where the best game played. It was a smile like a knife. He leapt up, still catlike, deft for a man his size, and prowled after me as I led him away from the village, purloining a bottle of the brandy as I went.

I thought back to the last hunting trip we had taken together, late in the autumn two years ago. An early winter storm had come on us, and we had retreated to a cave Jack knew of and sometimes used to wait it out. The night came early and was long and we huddled together under blankets by what little fire we could keep going as the clouds shook their soft death outside. I don't think I had ever been as close to someone as we were that endless night as we kept each other awake with stories of ourselves, both afraid to fall asleep in the cold. I told him of my life, of farming my father's land as he had his and he had his. I told him I would be the last, that I would never marry, and he understood why. He told me that he had loved once, had been married, and that she had died on her birthing bed. I'd asked him if he would ever marry again. He had shook his head, and I understood why.

The trills and clatter of the festival were dimming now as I led Jack further into the night. The moon was full, a hunter's moon, and she had dusted the land with silver.

"Keep up." I said and broke into a run and heard his heavy bootfalls speed up behind me, his deep and steady breaths keeping time. I laughed and veered into the wood that lined the trackside, weaving between the trees, daring the bigger man to follow. And he did, in the persistent way he followed any prey and soon I was tiring while he was not. We were at the far edge of the wood when he caught me, tackling me down onto the soft ground and crawling on top of me, letting me feel his weight and strength, that look of thunder on him. He yanked the hat from my hand and set it back on his head.

"So, Carl. What did you want to show me?" It was a growl. I could feel his manhood hard against me now, pressing at my hip so close I could feel his pulse. I returned his look, holding it, a grin creeping across my lips. Then I gestured my head back, across the meadow that the wood fringed. Jack looked and saw the silhouette of a building. He looked back to me, confused. "A house?"

I smiled at him.

"Yes." I said. "My house."

In the years I had known Jack we had shared much of ourselves with each other, but in all that time he had never visited my home. I had always wondered why, because its not like I didn't invite him often enough. It was as if it was a door he was afraid to open. I had been to his cabin, of course. It was simple and solid and built for its use, but it was a lonely place I'd always felt, even on the nights when we curled together under furs by his fire it had somehow felt empty, and on nights when I sat by my own hearth I would think of him out there on those uncaring hills and I would miss him.

Jack looked down at me, a shade to his eyes that could have been sadness or could have been hope. He regarded me like that for what felt like a long while, and I worried that I had been a fool to bring him there. Finally he nodded, as if coming to a decision, and his expression resolved into determination.

"Well, let's not wait here on the door step." He leant forwards and kissed my lips and I felt my heart beat like wings. He let me up and I led him the way to the door and he kissed me against it before pushing me through. Once inside I lit a few lamps and restored the fire and soon the room was glowing cozy. Jack looked about the room, at the furnishings and oddments, at the generations of love and family it held. He stepped towards me and put his hands on my hips, pulling me into the sweetest kiss. "It's perfect." He said and kissed me again.

"The bedroom is over there." I smiled and gestured towards the door on the left. He grinned back and, in one deft and easy movement, he lifted me from the ground and into his arms, carrying me towards the door, his eyes flashing. He threw me onto the bed and a second later he was on me again, his thick arms caging me either side and his fierce mouth on mine, kissing me with a passion I had rarely felt in him. His thick cock pressed at me and I squirmed against it, struggling against his hold. Though he had me for the taking I knew he liked me to fight back a little and so with quick twist of my body I slipped from under him, laughing in triumph. A moment later his arm was around my neck and he forced me back down onto the bed, face down this time with his cock pressing at my ass and his mouth at my ear.

"You're not going anywhere." He told me as he ground himself against me. I struggled against his hold again, but even if I could have escaped I wouldn't have, and he knew it too. He tore at me then, the way wolves do, snatching a button then a buckle, pulling my clothes away while his mouth clinched with mine. I smelt him everywhere, a lustful fog that filled my breath, and his limbs were a tender vice that held me.

"Fuck...Jack...." It was all I could manage as his lips and beard went at my bare skin, tasting me from the nape of my neck to the small of my back. I had to reach up and grab the bedstead to stop wriggling as he teased his attention to my naked thighs, that big tongue of his lapping towards my taint. My dick was hard and flowing like a spring under my belly and it rushed when I felt him part my cheeks, his hot tongue finding my hole.

I craved him now and it was his turn to tease. He toyed with my hole, working his tongue first then a finger, then two and three. He had long known the strings to pluck in me as I had in him, and he played me beautifully, his fingers hitting every note until I moaned in chorus with his satisfied growls. Then in an agile movent up the bed he was at my neck again, and his prick lay heavy at the crease in my ass, pulsing.

"Damn, Carl, I thank the day I found your ass." His hands followed my arms to where mine still gripped the bedstead and enveloped them.

"Fuck..." His teeth bit my neck. "Me too, Jack. Me too."

He entered me then, easier than the first time all those years ago, when I had yelped and hollered from the pain. We had learnt each other now, it was a dance whose steps we both knew well. Still he never felt less than huge, and I gasped as he pressed his length into me and I breathed through my teeth. Jack made hushing sounds in my ear.

"That's good, Carl." A hot whisper. "That's so fucking good."

He began to fuck me and my discomfort melted under him, replaced by a need I knew he shared, and every time his hips press at my ass I felt it grow, a cauldron that simmered and shook its lid. I trembled under his calloused hands, every hair on me standing up. On he pounded, finding his rhythm, and I thought of the dancers in the square and heard the drums.

He flipped me on to my back. I had scarcely a moment to miss him before I had him again, slipping back into his rhythm with just a beat skipped. His eyes fixed on to mine, the tempest raging in them and his body beating against mine like waves in the gales. Thump, thump, thump, steady and determined, each inward thrust a little harder, a little nearer to home. He was running me down in the wood again and I could feel his breath on my skin, so close now.

He gripped me tight, his hands holding my shoulders for purchase as he kissed me deeply, chasing my tongue with his and pressing me down with his hips. He's catching me, I thought, as pleasure welled in me, reaching the top and then spilling onto my belly, and with a last, hearstopping roar Jack erupted inside me too. It seemed endless and too soon done and I held on to him as his body shook, my arms around his chest, lifted clear of the bed as he spent his last.

"I needed that." He said, his breath slowing, his sweat slick forehead on mine. I ran my hand through his hair and, for once, said nothing, and just enjoyed the feeling of his arms around me and his dick slowly softening. He lowered me to the bed, my head to the pillow and looked at me again. The storm had passed his eyes now, and they were calm blue pools again, as calm and blue as the sky when I first met him. In the distance I heard a popping in the air, fireworks to close the celebrations in the square.

"Let's go outside and watch." I said. We took a blanket and the stolen brandy and walked to a rise behind the farmhouse that gave a view over the valley. We could see the glow of the bonfire even from there, and from it the lines of light that shot skywards and exploded into showers of all colours. We watched them in silence, passing the bottle between us, each enjoying the company of another lonely soul.

"I didn't just come to bring the boar, you know." Jack said, his eyes still in the dancing lights. I found and gripped his hand and lay my head on his shoulder. I felt his heart beat, slow and happy and I smiled.

"Now that you know where I live you can come more often." I let the words hang in the air like the fronds of coloured light that draped the square. He didn't answer, but his arm coiled across my shoulder and he pulled me near.

The fireworks finished and the stars became our show, and we lay there together under them as we had the first time. The hunter stood on the horizon, his belt shining and his arrow pointed at the moon. The east had begun to purple before we slept.

When I woke hours later he had gone. I had half expected it, but found it bittersweet all the same.

Weeks passed without a sign or word of him, but that was his way. Then, on a chill autumn night, there was a knock at my door, and it was him.

Over time he would stay more often and for longer, a few days here and there. He would help me with jobs around the farm where his strength would be useful, and I would feed him and tease him and bed him.

Years passed that way and we both became greyer and less fond of cold, and perhaps of solitude, until one morning I rose to a sight that told me he would be staying for good this time. There, on a newly mounted coat hook next to mine, was his hat.