Note: Congrats for those of you who know Spanish- I honestly didn’t know that’s what the names meant. The names are actually a direct referral to a real wolf and his mate. Lobo was the greatest of wolves and he lived somewhere in Mexico. There was a hefty price on his head because he slaughtered herds of sheep just to prove he could and snapped traps and took the bait without getting harmed. He even ate a cow they’d poisoned, eating around the parts they’d poisoned. However, when they found out Blanca was his mate they killed her and while Lobo searched and mourned they caught him while his guard was down. They brought him back alive and planned to kill him once everyone had seen, but when they came back the next morning he’d died of natural causes. More like a broken heart. It’s a true story; ask any wolf freak such as myself. I have the one hundred year old book that has a bunch of animal stories in it. ^.^ So yes, that is the intended origin of the names. ^.^ This story won’t have such a tragic end though, I assure you ^.^

Blanca crossed the river for the seventh night in a row, feeling light and surreal as he walked the fallen log like a tight rope. On the other side was Lobo, sitting underneath a tree with one knee bent and the other straight, head resting back against the cool bark of the tree. He looked so blissfully unaware in his sleep that Blanca couldn’t bear to wake him. So, instead, he sat nearby and watched as the wolf-like boy dreamt in peaceful slumber.

            He, himself, fell into a sleepless stupor, watching Lobo like he was one of his photographs. Beautiful. He wanted to touch the sleeping portrait and suddenly found himself bent on all fours before him, just to get a closer look.

            It was then that Lobo’s lips parted in a quiet whimper- nearly inaudible, but Blanca heard.

            “Blanca…” It was quiet, nearly a whisper. Enraptured, Blanca leant closer so he wouldn’t miss a single word, drawn by the sound of his name rolling off Lobo’s tongue.

            The wolf-boy’s name was summoned to his own lips before he had time to contemplate it, his breath falling over Lobo’s face. The taller boy stirred, made a sound akin to a guttural purr in his throat, and said his name again. This time his voice flowed like red, silk-wrapped poppies- passionate, lusting. He couldn’t restrain himself, he leant forward and captured Lobo’s lips in his own, pressing closer with the encouraging moan that parted the other boy’s mouth.

            He didn’t know what was happening to him; suddenly he felt nothing but the burning need to touch every inch of Lobo’s bronze skin- trace the contours of his back, run patterns with his fingers over flat hips. He didn’t bother to resist temptation; he pulled Lobo by his shoulders on top of him so that he could feel nothing but the grass tickling his back and Lobo’s body heaving against his own.

            The words that came from his lips next were drowned out by a thrashing by his side, and he jolted awake in the graying dawn of his tent. One of the children was writhing, as though in a bad dream, so he shook him awake. He resented the boy for having woken him- that had been such a good dream.

            Wait… That dream wasn’t… That wasn’t normal, was it? He felt sick with himself, pushing his hair from his eyes and burying his face in his knee. How could he be having these feelings and these dreams for someone who could barely speak his language? Barely pronounce his name? It made no sense.

            But it made perfect sense… Lobo was the only one who had ever shown him true affection since his parents died in that car crash years before.

            Feeling sweaty and grim with the imposing heat of all the bodies and the encasing of his sleeping bag, he tore free and greeted the morning earlier than usual. He made a split-decision to go to the river and bathe before returning for breakfast, feeling disgusting enough as it was.

            How could I feel that way about another boy? A wolf boy? Is this normal?

            Such thoughts plagued him as he undressed by the river and waded out until he was up to his collar in water. It was frigid cold but he refused to acknowledge it while he washed away the accumulated dirt and sweat of camp.

            Suddenly, there was a shrill yelp and a splash, waves of water momentarily blinding Blanca until it settled once more, revealing a disheveled looking Lobo, doggy paddling in circles to test the water. Blanca chewed his lip, wondering if it were possible to make a dash for his clothes and go unnoticed. He didn’t necessarily want to be in a position when Lobo decided to investigate him and have nothing between them. Correction, that’s what he really wanted and he was insanely frightened of that desire and thus afraid of his own reactions.

            Unfortunately, Lobo had already paddled his way over and hadn’t hesitated in scouring the new, unclothed Blanca. The blonde stiffened instinctively as the wolf-boy’s warm, callused hands roved over his chest. He grinned suddenly, grabbing one of Blanca’s hands and pressing it to his chest. “Same!” he exclaimed triumphantly, obviously referring to their skin.

            Blanca nodded, trying to regain his breath to reply. “Same,” he agreed, the skin beneath Lobo’s hand scalding hot. Lobo looked inquisitive a moment before he let his hand drift down, reaching Blanca’s navel. His mind was telling him to pull away, remove Lobo’s hand, do something to stop all his blood from rushing southwards the way it was. Instead a piteous whimper escaped him, stopping Lobo’s hand dead in its tracks.

            “Bad?” he questioned, oblivious to the fact that every time he kicked his legs his knee was brushing Blanca’s thigh.

            “N-no, not bad,” Blanca said quickly, trying to formulate a response Lobo would understand. There wasn’t anyway to show Lobo anything except through demonstration, and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for that. Lobo still looked confused.

            “Good?” he persisted, fighting to comprehend Blanca’s strange reaction. Blanca shook his head.

            “I have to go get my clothes, stay here. Stay,” he said, waiting for confirmation that Lobo understood. The copper-haired boy nodded and began paddling over to the other side to wait for him.

            Blanca made sure Lobo had his back turned when he hoisted himself onto shore and grabbed his clothes, quickly getting changed. He couldn’t understand his yearning for the other boy, or why each day it seemed to grow and burn with greater passion than before. The ache was becoming so painful that he wondered how long he’d be able to hold it off before he simply gave in and probably scared Lobo off, never to return.

            Once dressed, he crossed the river using the log as he always had and approached Lobo on the other side, taking a seat beside him. The wolf boy tilted his head quizzically, and Blanca could have imagined floppy ears dangling over his eyes as he did so. “Tree,” he said, touching the bark of one beside him with hope shining in turquoise eyes, the eyes Blanca couldn’t banish from his sleep.

            “Yes, that’s a tree.” Lobo started gesturing wildly to the forest beyond, trying to indicate something, though Blanca couldn’t differentiate between his mad gesticulations and the tree he’d only just brought to his attention.

            “Tree,” he continued, pointing into the woods. He took Blanca’s wrist as the blonde stared dumb while being pulled into the forest. “Tree,” he repeated, nodding and dragging Blanca along. He had no will in him to break the hope in the wild boy’s eyes, so he allowed himself to be led. Minutes later, he regretted that decision, finding that the forest surrounding him was dark and frightening and that they’d gone too far for his liking. What if he couldn’t get back? Lobo just kept repeating ‘tree’ over and over, as though trying to convince him of something.

            They must have walked for half an hour, Blanca with a constant question of whether to turn back now. But Lobo captivated him so that he couldn’t even imagine breaking the boy’s grip around his wrist.

            When they reached the tree Lobo spoke of, it was evident why he’d been so erratic in his attempts to describe it. The bole was thick and ancient, speaking of wisdom and knowledge Blanca himself could not claim to gouge. Creepers and wildflowers sprung up around the trunk, buds closed in the moonlight but still sparkling with the beginnings of dew. The canopy whispered like wind chimes and, though they were silent, he could tell that birds dozed in the uppermost branches. Vines snuck down from a nearby willow, tendrils wished about in the breeze.

            Lobo tugged on his arm finally, pulling him from the reverie. “Up?” he queried, pointing with a finger into the boughs. Blanca shook his head, suddenly frightened and took a vulnerable step back. Heights were not his favourite part about trees, and though nature intrigued him, he wasn’t sure he knew how to convey his fears to the boy.

            Lobo looked stricken, almost hurt, and he reached for Blanca again, grabbing his sleeve and tugging once more. “Up? With Lobo?”

            Blanca swallowed, that begging sparkle in Lobo’s eyes portraying a puppy-like innocence that was impossible to darken, even in the light of his fears. “Ok,” he agreed, swallowing and finding that his breath stopped entirely when Lobo rose to his hind legs, wrapping an arm about his middle. Blanca was a great deal thinner than he, and the wolf boy had no trouble lifting the photographer at his side while his opposite arm clung to one of the dangling willow branches. Blanca emitted a soft squeak as Lobo lifted them into the trees, the ground gradually becoming smaller. Eventually, it vanished as they entered the thick foliage, the sound of bird’s whistling quietly in their sleep drifting like soft snores. Lobo indicated they remain quiet, and Blanca obliged

            The blonde wished they wouldn’t go so high, but Lobo only halted in their ascent when he was sure they’d reached nearly the top, and with the smaller boy still in toe, he came to the thickest branch and sat down, Blanca perched in his lap. Lobo then allowed his legs to dangle off the sides, one arm still wrapped securely around Blanca’s middle.

            “This is what you wanted to show me?” he whispered, so as not to wake the birds. Lobo replied with a silent nod and let his free hand brush the tree at his back.

            “Gaia,” he said, finally, as though the name had only struck him just then. Blanca blinked. “Gaia,” he repeated, as he normally did, and he took the smaller boy’s hand to touch the bark. “Alive.”

            Blanca nodded at his words, almost able to feel the pulse of life force through the bark beneath his hand. “Her name is Gaia?” the blonde ventured and was rewarded with a nod and a pleased smile. He wasn’t sure what to say, it seemed that Lobo had just taken him from all that he knew and was familiar with to share a place that was solely his own. Why him? If he were right in his assumptions, and it seemed that way by Lobo’s drifting expressions, he was the only one he’d ever shared this place with other than the birds.

            Lobo leant back against the bark, taking Blanca’s hand away and holding it in his while guiding him back with the arm twisted around his middle. “Sleep,” he said, and Blanca resisted the arm pulling him against the warm chest.

            “Here?” The photographer was suddenly horror-stricken, staring through the foliage to the floor he knew was far below and wondering how many branches he’d hit on the way down if he were to fall. “I can’t, I’ll fall.”

            Lobo’s brows were drawn in confusion, lips parted while he contemplated the words, running them through his head as he took time to comprehend. “Won’t… Won’t let Blanca fall.” It was the longest sentence Blanca had ever heard from him. The accomplishment was enough to make him forget his fear, if only for a moment.

            “No? I won’t fall?” Lobo shook his head.

            “Won’t let Blanca fall,” he said again and this time he yanked the smaller boy back against him, hugging him like a teddy bear with his face buried in Blanca’s nape. His breath hitched at the contact, spine turning to spindled thread under the brush of warm breath against his skin, slipping down his shirt. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel good.

            “Warm,” Lobo murmured, nuzzling softly at the hair feathering the back of Blanca’s neck. He reached up and stroked the blonde hair smilingly. “Feels nice.”

            Blanca couldn’t help a grin as Lobo continued to nuzzle at his shoulder. It would have been so intimate, if not for Lobo’s child-like innocence and lack of shame. Blanca had a feeling the other boy had been there too long to know shame, though he was still at least partially clothed…

            “Did you ever meet anybody like me?” he asked suddenly, the wolf boy lifting his head to stare questioningly. He didn’t understand; that was for certain. Blanca gestured between them, trying to convey it in actions.

            “Like us? Not like your family, like us?” Lobo frowned and shook his head, chewing his lower lip.

            “Lobo freak. Shame to family.” Half of the words Lobo had just spoken were not taught by Blanca, but he was too distraught by the context to care.

            “You’re not a freak!” he exclaimed, startling him and rousing a few birds who flew in shock from their roosts. Lobo blinked and quietly laid his cheek against the pale boy’s shoulder, nuzzling quietly into their shared warmth.

            “But shame to family…”

            Blanca flinched, chewing his lip. The wolf continued, his ability to pick up English without having ever read or heard the words before flowing in jumbled bits like fragments of memory. “Stupid, they say. ‘Not human, wolf.’ Lobo shame to them. They hate human. Lobo stupid, now no one love him.”

            It was heart breaking, and the words that immediately registered as response in Blanca were spoken before they had chance to be interrupted. “I love you, Lobo…”

            The wolf boy blinked, peering at him in silence. “Blanca love Lobo?” The blonde felt his heart race, unsure of how to respond. To pretend that he meant it in friendship terms was the only excuse he could fathom, and so he nodded.

            “Yes…” The smile he was awarded lifted the butterflies from him and filled him with inexplicable warmth.

            “Lobo love Blanca again.”

            “No, Lobo love Blanca as well.”

            “Aswell?” Lobo slurred. Blanca nodded.

            “Close enough,” he murmured and felt his breath whisper past his lips in a contented sigh as once again the wolf boy leant against him.

            “Sleep.” The whispered word sent another assault of shivers through him, so to ward them away (or at least that was the excuse) he turned his face to lean against the other boy’s chest, thereby allowing Lobo’s chin to slip over his shoulder.

            “Goodnight, Lobo…”

            He could have sworn the wolf boy smiled sweetly while drifting off. “Goodnight Blanca.”

Author’s Note: Short chapter, I’m not even sure if this will have more than five chapters. Blah, I should stop writing blurbs that come to mind after watching Disney movies lol. ^^* Thanks so much for the reviews! They’re very uplifting when I feel I’ve failed to convey what I want. The support is very much appreciated. Special thanks to Jeoal, because she’s the one that encouraged me to write this chapter. Hope it’s satisfactory ^.^