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American Jungle

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The surroundings were absolutely, positively, beautiful. It really was everything he had been hoping for when they'd left on the ship from England. He could remember dreaming about this as a child: hoping, wishing, and praying for the day when he and his Father would be granted a voyage into the rainforest—and now it was finally coming true. It was everything he had ever dreamed of : the colors, the sounds, the feel! It completely exceeded his expectations.

The plants were simply fantastic! In just two days he had probably seen more flowers than he'd ever seen in his entire life! He hadn't even known that most of these species existed. They were in fairly new, uncharted territory. What information they had was scarce and vague. All the research in the world couldn't have prepared him for sounds. Goodness, it was like music.

The cacophony of noise that erupted the the rainforest was incredible! The macaws, the toucans, the parrots—they seemed to all sing at once and all on their own—and yet when mixed with the buzzing of insects and rustling of shrubs, it seemed a once a beautiful orchestra, better than any piano concerto he'd ever attended.

Unfortunately, he really couldn't seem to enjoy the current birdsong colliding into his ear drums, nor the vivid color assaulting his retinas—if anything, it was beginning to give him a headache. How could he concentrate on anything when was fairly sure he was atop one of the tallest trees on the whole god forsaken rainforest—a Kapok tree—next to what was almost surely some barmy wild man!

"Oh goodness, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do?"

He kept murmuring to himself, more out out of anxiety than any real yearning for answers. Honestly, he couldn't believe this was happening to him, especially when he'd encountered nothing but good luck thus far.

The Englishman had managed to observe several different colors of orchids, a three-toed tree sloth, a trail of leaf-cutter ants moving slowly and dutifully across their set path, and to top it all off, a group of ten, possibly twenty, pink river dolphins!—and that had all occurred on the first day! With luck like that, the green-eyed man was sure that he and his father would have ample time to study the animals they'd journeyed so far to see in the first place: the gorillas.

"Can't believe this..." he kept saying, trying to keep his footing on the slippery branch. His hiking boots would have been useful at a time like this, he thought bitterly.

Sure, Clayton had been a little unorthodox in what he liked to call 'protecting', and his Father may have been a bit out of sorts and unorganized when it came down to their research methods, but in the end, he was sure that everything would pan out well. Or at least, he had been sure. In fact, he'd been sure up until about twenty minutes ago, when hundreds of enraged baboons had begun chasing him.

It had all started when he'd begun a sketch of a little baboon that had wandered by seemingly unattended, and when he'd finished the picture he could feel his spirits skyrocket straight through the forest canopy. Then of course, the wretched little thing had wanted it—his picture. He'd taken the time to draw it, and grant it, it had only taken a few minutes, but it was the principal of the matter!

Just because he was in the Jungle did not mean he was going to act like an uncivilized animal. There were rules of ownership that needed to be followed, wild baboons be damned!

Unfortunately, when the tiny monkey had begun wailing, crocodile tears—he could tell—his parents didn't seem to agree with the blond man, and they had unjustly attacked him, and all at once! The animals had been absolutely beastly! Could you believe the nerve? It was about then that the flying wild man had entered the scene and saved him, swinging from the vines like some sort of monkey.

"What, what is this? Some sort of m-moss?" He nearly lost his footing on the branch again, scarcely avoiding a frighteningly painful plummet to his death. "What sort of place? Honestly..."

Alfred stared in awe. He had never before seen any creature so, so...uncoordinated.

The other man began speaking again, and geeze, he had the largest eyebrows he'd ever seen—well, actually, some of the only eyebrows he'd ever seen. They were nearly hairy caterpillars sitting atop his eyelids!

"Oh, I'm in a tree with a man who talks to monkeys! Oh, I can't do this, I can't-oh, this is good, this is very good, I-wait, one two, aah!"

Alfred had almost thought that the creature was going to fall again. What was this...thing doing in the jungle if it couldn't even defend itself? It reminded Alfred of when he'd been young, barely able to gather any fruit from trees. But that had been ages ago. Surely this animal should have learned to defend itself in some way. Shouldn't it at least know it's way about the treetops, know that there was moss on tree branches and that you didn't aggravate the baboons? These sorts of things were common sense. Perhaps the animal wasn't completely grown yet? While that could account for it's size, the animal itself didn't seem all that young…

"Oh, it can't get any worse, can it?"

While Alfred couldn't understand a word of what the other man was saying, the tone in a creature's voice could reveal an awful lot, and this particular tone seemed rather troubled, even anxious. Speaking of the creature—he should call it something, shouldn't he?—fuzzy brows seemed to suit him.

"Obviously it can."

Rain began pelting down, at once cool and refreshing. Alfred felt relieved, but the other seemed almost...upset? Who could be upset when it was raining? Rain was always a good sign. He was obviously one of those grouchy sort of animals that didn't like the rain.

"Oh, stuff it already..." The Englishman managed, thoroughly exasperated.

Alfred couldn't make out what the other was saying for the life of him! That in itself was frustrating; the blond could understand all of the languages spoken in the Jungle to some extent, but this, this just sounded like gibberish. He peered closer. There were such similarities between them, and yet, they were so different from one another. The rain-hater was smaller, and lighter, and it's scent...

Alfred sniffed the air nearby and was surprised to notice that it smelled strangely sweet. Not sweet like flowers, but something faint and powdery, and surprisingly familiar. He could feel himself moving closer, curious. He wanted to know everything about this animal that resembled himself so closely.

"Stay back, no, don't come any closer, please don't. What are you doing? Ah, hahaha. Please don't."

Oh god, what was he going to do? This man looked like some sort of heathen. What was he wearing, a loincloth? Goodness, he felt so exposed. What would Father think?

Alfred picked up the Englishman's foot, pushing calloused fingers against the small toes. They were so soft, but they looked just like his. How could anything have such soft feet?

"That tickles." The touching had been unwelcome at first, but at the very least painless, but—this—this was just indecent! Lifting up his dress? "Get off, get off, get-GET OFF!"

Furious, but without really meaning to, he kicked that strange tanned wild-man straight in the face, thrashing about wildly. What if he'd gotten further? Gotten a good look up his dress and then he would've known that—well, not that it would have mattered too much anyway—it wasn't as if the man could go off and tell anyone. Eyeing the wild man warily, he scooted as far back as the tree would allow, anxious to escape the piercing gaze.

He scoffed.

"You're glaring at me—you must be daft! You're the one who went about lifting up my dress!"

Sheesh. Alfred really hadn't meant any harm. He'd only been trying to figure out if he—she—he'd only been trying to figure out if the strange mammal was male or female. He'd have pounced on anyone else for the kick to his face too, but it wasn't like Alfred was the type to go pouncing on things so much smaller than himself like some sort of ruthless jaguar or something. No, he was much more the sort that wanted to save all the small things being pounced on.

"It serves you right. Now you stay away from me, like a very good wild man."

The Englishman attempted vague shooing motions, but the said very good wild man didn't seem to understand in the least. In fact, the man seemed to think the opposite, edging closer and closer. Oh God, he just didn't get it!

"You stay! I'm warning you, my Father won't take kindly to you-what are you doing?"

A strong hand was wrapped tightly around his wrist suddenly, and the Englishman felt himself swallow, as he realized just how strong this man was. He watched, paralyzed, as very slowly, the wild-man began removing his glove.

It was about then that he noticed that as wild and unrestrained as the man was, he had the most intense eyes he'd ever seen. They were like the sky, so blue and captivating, and just...endless. God, he could just get lost in eyes like that—goodness what was he thinking? They really were very blue and all, but what, was he some sort of heartstrung school girl all of a sudden? One gaze into sky-blue eyes and he was elbow over arse? It was nearly embarrassing.

He kept telling himself that too, that it was embarrassing, that he really oughtn't be noticing those sorts of things. Things like the face attached to those broad shoulders, and that thick beautifully shaped collar bone, or the fact that the man's face was hairless, that he couldn't be much older than himself. He kept telling himself not to notice, but bullocks if that wasn't making things even worse!

Blimey, what was the man doing know?

He stared at the place where their palms were currently pressed against one another, fascinated. They had the same hands, Alfred kept thinking, straightening his fingers and pressing his hand flat against the other's. The same hands! This other—this big yellow creature—it had hands just like him! There was no fur or paws or claws, or anything—

He laid his head easily against the caterpillar-brow's chest. There was a heartbeat! He could hear it through the strange bright fabric—there was definitely a heartbeat in there—steady, strong, and rhythmic, just like his own.

"How dare-What? Oh dear, ohdearohdear oh dear!"

As if having a head against his own chest wasn't enough, now the heathen had to go ahead and switch their places. A few tense moments passed, the thick feel of skin under his ear and the the steady thrum of a heart and heavy breathing.

After a few moments ticked by without any change, he'd had enough. As gently as he could manage with trembling hands, the Englishman gripped the loin-cloth man's shoulders and pushed him away, breaking the intense moment.

"Yes thank you," he croaked. "That's a lovely heartbeat. It's very nice." His voice felt unusually strained.

Why did the man have to be so close all the time? The Englishman inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and attempted to clear his mind. He was unused to such close contact and the invasion into his personal bubble. Once he convinced himself to open his eyes again, logical thought seemed to return to him in one foul swoop, and almost immediately he began running his fingers through his short tan-blond hair, now thoroughly soaked and ruined—all those hours in front of the mirror gone to waste!

"It's very nice." The compliment was nice, but it wasn't any real consolation. It wasn't as if this wild-man knew a thing about how proper hair was supposed to look anyway.

"Oh thank you, I can't do a thing with it in this humidity though, it's-oh, you do speak! And all this time I thought you were just a big wild quiet silent person, thing. Why didn't you tell me, I mean I must seem rather curious to you, I mean I'd love to- " So he talked a little more than usual when he was nervous, so what.

Alfred pressed a finger against the soft babbling lips. Geeze, did the creature know how to talk or what? It reminded him of the morning songbirds: all soft and fluttery with their voices, but by midday and after so long of hearing them going on and on and on, it just became one loud, high pitched annoyance.

He realized that although he could not understand what fuzzy-brows was saying, that did not mean he couldn't attempt communication with him. It certainly hadn't stopped the rain-hater, after all. After some thought, he decided it would be easiest to merely start at the beginning, and introduce himself.

"Alfred. Al-fred." The brute announced suddenly.

The Englishman blinked. Alfred? What sort of a name was Alfred, and where did some wild-man-creature like this even get the sort of civilized name like Alfred in the first place?

"Alfred!" Loin-cloth man said again, louder.

"Alfred?" The Englishman questioned, cocking his head.

"Oh, I see!" he said at once, almost embarrassed at his lack of understanding. He was a well-researched professor, and yet it was a wild brute who had to do all the thinking in the situation.

"Oh, I see," Alfred repeated. "Alfred, Ohisee." The man repeated the gestures and phrases, as if to ask for confirmation or correction.

"No no no, no."

The Englishman wanted to smack himself in the forehead. It was understandable that the man didn't speak English, what with running around in the Jungle all day and night, but honestly! He cleared his throat and coughed.

"I'm Arthur." The Englishman attempted to clarify.

"No no no, no. I'm Arthur," Alfred repeated in a much higher voice, right down to the cough and all. Goodness, it wasn't as if his voice was really that high!

"No, no!" Arthur screeched, sending the wild man wincing.

The green-eyed man could feel his temperature rising. His voice really wasn't that high pitched! The man had obviously developed some sort of over-sensitive hearing from living in the Jungle all the time. He gestured to himself, with a little too much anger in his movements.

"Arthur," he said again. Then he gestured to the ape-man. "Alfred," and back to himself, "Arthur."

Their eyes met, and it really was like all those soppy romance novels. Like electricity. Goodness, this was a man. As if having to camp it up and wear a dress wasn't bad enough—gosh, there wasn't any denying it now—he really was a poof, wasn't he? He swallowed thickly, and he could feel his hands trembling. It was ridiculous! A few minutes of swinging through the rainforest vines with someone and his insides were feeling like Yorkshire pudding.

"I think I have to—" Arthur started, but he wasn't sure quite how to finish it. It wasn't as if Alfred was likely to understand him anyhow.

Alfred stared. So the name was Arthur.

He tested it on his tongue. "Arthur," he said aloud.

Arthur looked at him, and Alfred flashed him one of his best smiles. At least that was something easily communicated without words. Arthur tried to return it, but then his face started filling out pink, and then a bright red—almost like a poison dart frog.

Even though his face was all red, and he had that awful habit of screeching like a baboon when startled, Alfred still found the smaller—was it a female? The voice was clearly high enough—creature attractive. He supposed it didn't really matter one or the other anyway. With Arthur being the only person of his own species that he'd ever seen in the first place, now really wasn't the time to get picky. Besides, the river dolphins were always telling him that there were other reasons to mate besides reproduction.

Alfred himself wasn't so sure what those reasons were yet, but those dolphins were some of the smartest animals he'd ever met, and he took any advice they offered very seriously.

Alfred moved in closer still, taking the Englishman's face within his tanned hands, and turning it to face his own.

"Arthur," he said again, because it was the only word he knew the other would understand.

That was when he finally saw it. Arthur had the most fascinating eyes he'd ever seen. They were the most amazing shade of green, and it reminded him so much of the trees and foliage around him that—

"Get away!" Said green-eyed man finally managed, with a push. "You've got no sense of personal space at all, do you?"

Alfred huffed. This creature! Did all of his species act so strangely? Constantly screeching like baboons and switching colors like chameleons? How unpredictable! With other animals at least he knew where stood! Elephant's were easily scared, Kerchak was easily angered, but this—this creature seemed to be all of the above!

"The nerve! First you lift up my dress, then you shove your face against my chest, and now you're pulling my face all over!"

And the chatter. It just babbled on and on and on. He would have screamed back if he thought it would do any good.

"I need to go back home! You think I can just stay here swinging through the trees like some wild..ape...creature or something!"

Alfred rolled his eyes. What could possibly be so dramatic that this big banana felt the need to yell about it all the time? Huffing and puffing, Arthur was moving closer and closer, still yelling—

"Well I can't, I can't!" He punctuated each can't with a harsh poke to his chest.

Quite suddenly there was a loud bang, and with recognition in his forest eyes, rain-hater shouted,

"Clayton!"

Alfred turned his head in the direction of the noise. He identified it as the same noise he'd heard earlier in the day. The noise that had drawn him to them—the animals that looked like him.

"Clayton!" Alfred mimicked, half-understanding.

Arthur couldn't believe it! At his age, to learn to quickly, to catch on so easily—

"Extraordinary! Um, please, can you take me to my camp?" Green-eyes was saying something again, pointing in the direction of "Clayton." He was fairly adamant with the pointing, and he had a very pleading look about him.

"My camp!" Arthur repeated again, gesturing wildly.

"Clayton?" Alfred asked, pointing.

"Yes, Clayton, wonderful!" he exclaimed.

When Alfred scooped him up, for some ungodly reason he'd honestly expected that the ape-man would, I don't know, take him down the trees or something—

"Um, we, can't we waaaaaaalk?" Arthur managed out, as Alfred began his descent through the vines.

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