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ONE
Mississippi, 1858
He cursed the swamp, cursed the rain, and cursed the mother who'd taught him the family "business". He also cursed the man in Memphis with too much money and odd tastes, but mostly he cursed the damnfool of a slave who had attempted escape only to be recaptured in time to be chained to him.That fact had done nothing to keep the fool from trying to escape again and dragging him along.
He couldn't remember when the man had picked him up and started carrying him.
"Please," he begged, "at least put me down long enough to allow me liberate us from our fetters."
"How?" the other man asked. "You steal the key, like you robbed that man in Memphis?"
"I didn't rob anyone," he snapped. "The soi-distant 'gentleman' wouldn't care if I had taken his money." He sighed. "That's not what he wants from me. As for releasing us, I learned to pick locks from my dear, sainted mother; she said it might come in handy some day."
The large black man put him down and held out his hands. "Get 'em off," he said, nodding at the shackles.
Realizing discretion was indeed the better part of valor, he pulled a pick from one of the seams of his clothing and quickly freed the man. His former companion was away as if Hell's own demons pursued, leaving him lost and alone. He released his own shackles and followed as best he could.
It was perhaps half an hour later he heard the man swearing and fighting against something. Breaking into a small clearing, he saw him kneeling on the ground, one leg caught in a trap. He quickly found a downed branch big enough and levered the trap open. Once free, the other man took a few limping steps before crashing to the ground.
"You're not going anywhere on that leg until it's at least bound," he said, pulling off his soaked jacket and vest to remove his shirt. He used the sleeves to clean the wound and the rest to bind it. "I can't feel any broken bones, but I'm going to splint it anyway." He used sticks and shirt sleeves to fashion splints.
As soon as he was finished, the other man stood using the fallen branch which had earlier pried open the trap and started walking away. His rescuer darted in front of him and stopped his progress.
"There's no way on God's green Earth they could possibly be tracking us in this monsoon!" he shouted over the renewed downpour, which had fortunately ceased earlier but now returned with equal force."We need to find some sort of shelter for the night!"
"Where's there's a trap there's a trapper!" came the reply. "What you think he's gonna do when he sees us? Invite us to sit for a while?"
"Neither one of us can go on much farther," he reasoned. "Let's just find a slightly drier place to rest and plan our next move."
They staggered on a little further until they found a large weeping willow whose branches hung to the ground, providing a small amount of slightly drier shelter near the trunk. The pair sank gratefully to the ground and simply lay there breathing for a few minutes.
Having caught his breath, he turned to the other man and said, "I don't believe I ever caught your name."
"It's Nathan," he replied. "What's yours?"
"Ezra."
"Well, Ezra, we're gonna need to snuggle up like puppies in a pile 'less ya wanna die from the cold, and that means gettin' outta them wet clothes. It's the only way we survived some o' the time. Master's didn't always notice holes in the walls or leaks in the roof."
TWO
Ezra grimaced, knowing Nathan was right but feeling distinctly uncomfortable about it. He removed the jacket and vest he'd recovered earlier, as well as trousers, boots and stockings, but insisted on retaining his underdrawers, claiming they were still mostly dry. Nathan shrugged and shucked his tattered shirt and trousers, revealing his naked body, drops of water running down his chest, back, and legs. He brushed off what he could before spooning himself against Ezra's back."You're not gonna sleep if you're all tensed up like that," he whispered in the smaller man's ear. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. Didn't think white boys needed t' worry 'bout things like that."
"I don't know what you're referring to," Ezra replied.
"Had an overseer a few years back on the plantation liked to take young boys out and pleasure himself with them," Nathan told him. "Almost never touched the women, 'cept every so often, like he didn't want people to notice what he was doin' to the boys. He'd take 'em inta the outhouse and shove his manhood up inside 'em, using 'em like they was girls. Hurt so much he'd haveta warn 'em not to yell or he'd do worse things; they usually bit down on their fist to keep quiet." He noticed the other man -- or possibly boy -- had started to shake, and he didn't think it was from the cold. "Just how old are you, anyway?" he asked.
"Seventeen," came the reply, "well, almost. You?"
"Just turned nineteen. How close is almost?"
"Not really close. But I'm old enough to make my own way, even if Mother doesn't think I can. It was just bad luck to run into a man with too much money and -- well --" he paused, suddenly aware he might have said too much. To change the subject, he asked, "You ever been with a woman?"
Nathan snorted. "You only got to be with a woman if the overseers allowed it. I never managed to impress 'em that much. Lot o' us were like that, so we sorta helped each other."
"You mean -- like the overseer?" Ezra asked timidly.
"Hell, no!" the other man replied. "Nothin' like that! We never forced anybody! What kinda question is that, anyway?" He immediately regretted the words, feeling the body which had begun to relax against him resume its stiffness.
"I'm sorry," the smaller man replied. "I -- I only meant -- did you -- with each other?" he stammered.
"Sometimes," Nathan admitted, "when we could get oil or grease to ease the way. Sometimes we'd use our hands, either on ourselves or each other, or put it between somebody's thighs and thrust like that."
"Frottage," Ezra remarked absently.
"Beg pardon?"
"The ancient Greeks used to do something very similar between grown men and young boys, and frottage is what they called it. The root word means 'to rub against', " he answered.
"You ever do that?" Nathan asked.
"I've never had the occasion," Ezra said. "Why do you ask?"
"I was thinkin' -- maybe we could -- sorta -- do that," he replied.
Ezra rolled over to face his fellow fugitive. Uncertain green eyes met equally unsure brown ones. "I suppose we could try," he said, slipping out of his drawers. "You between mine, or me between yours?"
"I'm oldest, so by rights it should be me between yours," Nathan pointed out.
"Reasonable," the younger man replied, parting his legs slightly to accommodate the other man.
Nathan slipped his cock into the warmth just below Ezra's balls and began to thrust, pulling the younger man into an embrace and covering his lips with own. His tongue slid across the other man's lips, seeking entrance, which was gladly granted. Tongues danced, tasting each others' mouths. One hand slid into his hair while the other came around to the front, teasing nipples to hardness before slipping between bodies to stroke the erection it discovered.
It was over too quickly, youth and inexperience combining to hasten their mutual climaxes. They cuddled together, no longer cold, and slipped into slumber.
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