«Try me,» he'd said.
No doubt, the man could deliver. In a swift move Cowley was hauled up by strong arms over broad shoulders. Suddenly he was taken back to another place, another time, when another man, as bold and brash as this one, and bigger, had risked everything and his life to get him free and safe from harm, a man who now was buried in his own skin, having lost everything but his life. He wondered what it was that was rooted so deep in some men's hearts to grow such loyalty; and whatever it was, if this was in Bodie's too.
He came back to the present. Bodie was progressing cautiously but steadily. There was a safer path along the river bank, free from branches and roots, if not from rocks and stones. The slope was steep though, and again Cowley marveled at the uncommon strength of body and will the young man had in him. Feeling so powerless under another man's total control was at the same time frightening and exhilarating. He didn't know whether he should fight it or enjoy it. To his utmost humiliation he was obliged to admit that his treacherous senses, at odds with the sounder part of his mind, were only craving for more bodily contact, more physical intimacy. The nervous tension was almost painful, overwhelming any other sensation from his bruised limbs.
«Need a break, don't you?» He was gently laid down on the ground, on a grassy spot, his back resting against a rock. He breathed deeply and looked up. Bodie had removed his own jacket and rolled up the felt-lined leather garment into a thick padding, to provide him a convenient cushion. «Whoof! It's hot.» Bodie was really sweating now, his brow shining with droplets of perspiration which ran freely, like unnoticed tears, over his grinning face. Yet, he wasn't out of breath, he didn't even look tired, just a little stiff. He sat close by and stretched himself to the brink, voluptuously, like a big domestic cat playfully responding to his master's caresses. Cowley turned his gaze away and swallowed, mouth dry. Weird how far an imagination let loose can drive a complacent mind to wander into the realm of fantasy. Sick, he thought, that's sick.
Bodie considered him attentively.«Are you okay?»
«Yes.» Cowley snapped.
«You don't look it.»
«What d'you think? That the best I can wish for is to be roughly manhandled by a muscular lout?"
«You don't even think what you say,» was the dignified reply of a serene Bodie.
«You read minds now?»
«That's a survival skill.»
«What?» Cowley almost jumped, forgetting his disabilities, and choked. «What did you just say?»
Bodie frowned, looking perplexed. «OK, ok; I don't know where that came from, really. Whatever, it's not hard to guess what's in your mind now; all this stuff about my past, mercenary life and arms running... but see, you've to admit all my information comes from you.»
«I admit nothing of the sort,» grumbled Cowley, «I only grant you the benefit of the doubt.»
«Thank you so much. Couldn't be more gracious; I wonder why I don't actually manhandle you a little roughly.»
«Because you know where your true interests lie.»
The way back to the lodge was more of the same, except that Cowley managed to get a better hold on his gusts of unrequited lust. They still had to stop a few times and Bodie made a show of displaying the most exquisite gentleness and solicitude in his new role of caregiver.
He carefully laid down his live burden on the bunk and spread a plaid over him before setting about rekindling the fire in the hearth.
"It's hard and it's damp," grumbled Cowley.
"So I told you, didn't I?"
"Well, you were right."
"Glad to hear you say it for once." Bodie's voice was devoid of grudge. "You're wet and you're stiff; what you need first is a nice hot bath."
"In case you hadn't noticed, we're not in a 5-star hotel."
"I saw an old tub in the shed. It's rusted but, hopefully, not to the point of leaking."
"Don't bother; all I need is to call Angus."
"Is he a medic? He didn't say."
"No, just a living medical library, but he's perfectly able to perform first aid."
"So am I."
"If you don't mind, I'll rather rely on my cousin's skills and experience, which I've good reason to trust."
"As you please. But do you really want to subject yourself to your cousin's scrutiny in that pitiful state? You'll freak him out."
Cowley gulped at the sheer audacity of the words. However they gave him matter for reflection. He could easily figure how he'd look in another man's eyes: bruised, battered, rumpled, covered with mud, face and hands scratched from their harsh encounter with thorns and stones; the last thing he wished was to appear that defeated in front of Angus. No way though he was going to concede as much to the young rascal.
"Stop the insolence and get me the RT."
"I do, I do, Mister Bwana."
Cowley's glare would have frozen embers.
Talking with Angus a few minutes later, he briefly explained the situation, as reassuringly as he could (he didn't want to have Angus and Bart rushing down the steep forest path, at risk of breaking their old necks: one casualty a day was quite enough). With some extra information from Bodie, Angus agreed it was not a case of emergency and they would come after dinner, with a fresh batch of cookies from Martha and the first aid kit.
"There's one in the medicine cabinet."
"Too old; haven't replaced it in ages. I'll bring a new herb balm of my invention." "Would've been surprised if you hadn't," mumbled Cowley, off the mike. "In the meantime," Angus sounded more avuncular than ever, "have a rest, take a generous dose of my potion and..." he paused, "I remember there's this old tub in the tool shed, if it's not falling to pieces, I'd recommend you a long hot bath to relax your strained muscles."
Bodie sniggered impudently. Cowley suddenly felt too exhausted to fight back. In his current condition, the prospect of a hot bath was too appealing to be denied only for reasons of impropriety. He had suffered worse in his war time; besides, he and Bodie belonged to completely separate universes; it was not as if he would risk meeting the boy later in the circles he used to move in: at his club or on the golf links, among his old friends or colleagues.
"Happy to be right again? I just wanted to spare you the chore, but if you're so eager to serve, I won't discourage your budding vocation; I have to warn you my income doesn't allow me to employ a full-time butler."
With his usual efficiency, Bodie had brought the tub to the small bathroom, where there was barely room enough for it, and scrubbed it thoroughly in no time.
"Guess what? It's not rusted, just a tad dented and very dirty."
"No wonder, it's zinc; doesn't rust."
"Very solid stuff: soon, it will be good as new."
"So will I," Cowley replied, "good 'ole-time' quality!" He flashed his guest a pinched half-smile.
Bodie smiled back, visibly happy with the renewed cordiality between them.
"But now I'm filthy; need to wash myself. If you don't mind I'll have a quick shower first. I won't use much hot water."
Cowley heard him singing softly, not off-key this time, with a pleasant light baritone. He didn't know the tune but it seemed to him the words were German. Was he imagining things? Then the noise of running water from the tank muffled the sound of the voice.
A few minutes later Bodie was standing at his side, and all sensible thoughts fled his mind like a flight of frightened sparrows, leaving him dazed, gaping at the sight: save for a scanty made-up loincloth, loosely wrapped across his hips, the man was naked. Plainly, gloriously naked. The glow from the hearth cast a rosy shade on the pale, hairless skin of his broad chest; sleek and glossy skin, shining with droplets he was wiping off casually with another towel. There was hair on the long muscled legs though, and a thin line of black curls growing down from the navel to a lower spot, barely covered by the loose cloth. Cowley tried not to look at that hidden spot, not to think of that forbidden spot. And failed.
"Go get your dressing gown if you don't want to add pneumonia to amnesia."
"OK Granny!"
But when Bodie came back with the robe on, it was worse. The young man was leaning over him close, too close. And the ample garment, which lacked the tie, was wide open, letting him see lower, down the trail of pubic hair to the base of a notable bulge, distinctly outlined by the light material.
And, speaking of bulges...Cowley held his breath, feeling the heat of blood rushing to his nether parts, fearing the telling signs he would be unable to conceal once he had been stripped of his clothes. Breathing slowly didn't help. There was nothing to do but bite the bullet and wait for the flood in his rebellious flesh to recede.
Being better settled on the bunk than he was on the stony ground by the river, he managed to undress more or less on his own, with some help from Bodie to take off his shoes and pull his trousers off. In spite of the blazing fire, the residual dampness pervading the room gripped him. He shivered. Bodie wrapped him in the old plaid and the dust made him sneeze.
"You're catching a cold; we must hurry up with the bath now, the water was just at the right temperature two minutes ago."
"We? What do you mean with that 'we'?"
"You need me to help you getting in the tub,"
"I don't need you any longer. Stop playing Florence Nightingale with me."
"Come on, you're in no condition to walk."
"Let me be the judge of it, would you?" Cowley stood up and took a step forward. His leg yielded and instinctively he clutched Bodie's arm. The other's move was too swift for him to resist: grabbed under the armpits and knees, he was lifted and carried to the bathroom before he could protest. A fierce sentiment of ridicule and resentment assailed him but did nothing to ease his physical discomfort. Once again he was overwhelmed by a surge of that revolting bout of craving for the man's male strength and dominance, a feeling he would never acknowledge, never mind willingly submit to it.
He was now seated on the lid of the toilet, under the slightly derisive scrutiny of his self-appointed minder. As infuriating as it was, there was no way he could get into the high-sided tub without help.
"Do you intend to keep your underwear on?"
"Aye; I do."
"That will be most inconvenient."
"And it's none of your business."
Bodie laughed. "Are you in the habit of bathing with your pants on?"
"Only when I'm forced to bathe in public."
"What public? It's just me."
"So what? Have you lost every sense of modesty? If you ever had any."
"Never with men."
Which was of course the core of the matter. Though, thinking of it, never before had he to take such precautions with other men, either in the inevitable promiscuity of the army or among his former colleagues and subordinates in the services...except in one case, and the need for modesty hadn't lasted much because...Ach! stop the nonsense; that memory was anything but safe in his current predicament.
Eventually he took off his undershirt and kept his briefs on, wondering if this wasn't in itself a sufficiently incriminating evidence of his illicit yearnings. To his short-lived relief, Bodie seemed not to have noticed anything. Or was he pretending? He had conspicuously averted his gaze as Cowley was, rather awkwardly, trying to get out of his vest, and had stepped aside for the time it took, tactfully not offering to give him a hand, (or, it could be, repelled by the sight of an older man's narrow chest and slack flesh?). But then, he had taken hold of him from behind, grabbing him by the waist to lift him over the edge of the tub into the warm water.
For a moment, which was in the same time too brief and too long, Cowley had sensed those strong muscled arms circling his chest and hugging him tight; he had felt the man's bare skin pressing against his own bare back, felt the light rubbing of hard nipples on his ribs, the touch of rough fingers on his stomach and, lower, the tickling of soft curled hair on his loins, Light-headed, he had melted in the heat of the other's body, in its smell and moisture. It was an instant of sharp, searing bliss.
The contact of a sponge on the nape of his neck and the grip of a hand under his left arm brought him back to reality.
"Get off! What the heck are you doing?"
"Scraping the mud you've got in your hair."
"Damn it! Had I asked you to do anything?"
"Sorry; thought you needed the support: just a moment ago I had the impression you were fainting."
Cowley's heart skipped a beat. He had noticed.
"You were wrong. Get off and give me the sponge. I may be bruised, but I'm not crippled. I'm still able to wash myself on my own."
"I'm not so sure. You just had a kind of dizzy spell; don't deny, I saw it."
"You were crushing me. Couldn't breathe. It's over now."
"Don't be unreasonable: the tub's narrow and your right arm is numb. I noticed when you were pulling off your vest."
You notice too much thought Cowley. "Don't bother. I can manage."
"Eh! I can manage better! And I'm very good at back-rubs."
"And at being stubborn and cheeky?" He sighed.
Bodie took it as permission. He started lathering Cowley's back with the sponge, then went on massaging his reluctant patient's neck and shoulders.
Cowley's exasperation, by distracting him from the more physical focus, had slightly alleviated the painful tension he felt in the most sensitive of his body appendages. But not for long. The back-rub was straying to the front and he didn't find any acceptable reason to protest. The 'pants-on' bathing was ridiculous enough (and revealing enough) without playing the prude like a wee lassie trying to keep her swain at a safe distance while dancing at the village fair. Meanwhile the ill-placed blood pressure was becoming positively unbearable, bordering on sheer torture. And nobody is bound to stand torture when the good of the country is not at stake.
His only relief was knowing that, from his position behind, and thanks to the relative dimness of the bathroom, Bodie couldn't see much anything of what was going on under the surface of the water. But could he guess? It was difficult to believe the young man could be that innocent. As if to belie such a wishful thinking, unexpectedly a prying hand sneaked under the brim of Cowley's boxers, to spread more soap. He jumped, taut as a bow-string and rock-hard. "Stop that!"
Bodie's hand withdrew. "Sorry, your pants were in the way."
"I think I can get undressed without your assistance." Cowley said, icily. And Pete knows how difficult it is to speak icily when your blood is steaming and your crotch on the point of bursting.
"Don't you want...?" Bodie's voice was inviting but uncertain.
"I want to be left alone!"
"You still need me to help you climb out of the tub."
"Out! Now! Get away, for God's sake!"
"OK, I'll come back in ten minutes. You mustn't stay there too long; the water's getting cold."
Bodie skirted round the tub and stood in front of him, looking worried. He had got rid of the impeding dressing gown, probably from the start, and the loincloth towel had slipped down to the floor. No modesty, indeed. He was as naked as a new-born and near as chaste. To Cowley's final humiliation, he showed no sign of outward interest, other than a friendly, compassionate gaze. The beautiful Greek statue, worthy of Phidias' chisel, was cold and smooth as marble.
He left the room. Cowley took a deep breath. He had got ten minutes. Enough for a life-saving release. Not enough for purging his system from the deadly venom those last hours had instilled in his veins.
When Angus arrived two hours later, followed by his basket-carrying, ordinance-turned-servant companion, they found a bouncy and busy Bodie trying to cheer up a gloomy Cowley with offerings of food and drinks, which were impatiently pushed aside.
"We're just in time; Martha's baked two different pies especially for you, and heaps of cookies."
"We've eaten already." said Cowley curtly.
"Trifles," retorted Bodie, "Only some beans on toasts; you've hardly nibbled one."
"I'm not hungry."
"Speak for yourself; I can have a pie."
"You even can have both." Cowley sounded as disgruntled as he was, and he was in no mood to feign amiability; in no need either: Angus could never guess the real cause of his sourness. His current physical condition was reason enough for it.
"You not eating Martha's pies? I don't even want to hear the sound of such a sacrilegious utterance!"
Cowley cast him a scornful glare. There were times when he decidedly hated his cousin's studied cheerfulness. Then he noticed Bart's look of disappointment. At the moment, the old man's bearing showed his age and tiredness only too clearly, in spite of his pretense of enduring vigour.
"I may have a little bit of it... Eh, not so much, Bart! Thanks."
Eventually he ate half of everything. The day had been trying, to say the least, and the picnic on the boat at lunch time was not even a memory any longer. When Cowley asked for a dram of scotch, Angus reminded him of the herb-tea.
"To hell with your damned potion!"
"Oh, cousin! Such language!"
"The fault's on you; your crazy concoction spoils my sleep; that's the only effect I noticed."
"It's just transient; it may unsettle you a little the first days because it stimulates some specific brain's areas, but..."
"None of my brain's areas is in need of being stimulated, thanks. I accepted this only to convince your reluctant patient that we weren't attempting to poison him, remember."
"I'm convinced," interfered Bodie, "I rather like your potion; taste's weird but it makes me feel good."
Angus looked perplexed and, for once, opted for openness. "I must think more about it. I know the effects may vary a lot depending on the subjects' conditions but, honestly, I was expecting the reverse." He shook his head. "Don't worry, the results have always been positive in the long term."
"I feel great." Bodie said.
"I wish I could say as much," Cowley said, "I thought this medicine was supposed to have soothing effects?"
"It will have soon, after the equilibrating process's over. Don't stop the treatment, neither of you. This complex is also perfect to counter trauma and shocks."
"I'm not in shock and don't need any treatment, other than a dressing on my leg; on my two legs," Cowley added with resentment, "quite a simple and easy task."
Which Angus proceeded to perform. After assessing his cousin's wounds, he confirmed no bone had been broken and declared his ankle has been badly twisted, but not sprained, apparently.
"Just renew the herb balm morning and night and have a complete rest for two or three days; it will heal nicely and quickly."
"Hope so, we'd planned fishing for trout in the river; was ready to show your cousin I could beat him at it any time, anywhere."
"But not anyhow; I want nothing of your odd tricks, if you see what I mean?"
"Oh boys, think I must let you have fun together now, it's getting late."
Just as Angus was leaving, Cowley remembered the infected machete wound Bodie had brought back from Africa. He wasn't wearing a bandage any more but the flesh stitched by the surgeon less than four weeks ago couldn't have healed fully so fast and the scar on his back should still be quite tender. With belated remorse, Cowley realised how painful carrying a body his size and weight in a fireman lift should have felt to a wounded man.
In spite of Bodie's protests Angus checked the reddish spot on his upper back and found the scar clean and sound, though a little swollen and smarting.
"I've nothing at hand now to soothe the inflammation but we'll see tomorrow morning at the farm, right? He turned to Cowley:
"Really you should have told me the lad had been injuried not long ago."
Cowley bate his lip: "I should have, but I had a lot many other things in mind,"
Angus scoffed: "You truly are a selfish bastard, cousin!"
Which summed up pretty well what Cowley was thinking of himself in that instant.