Courtship of the Clueless 1/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:16:29 UTC
Uh, I'm not sure if this is what you're looking for, anon, but here you go. and all errors are blamed on posting late -----------
On cold nights, Kocoum always found it hard to sleep. He never felt that the bearskin was large enough for his frame, often tossing and turning himself awake just to fit underneath it. And on nights he did manage to cocoon himself (in spite of cramped legs in the morning), the cold air would slither underneath the barrier anyway, and always at his side. And tonight, at irritating realization as the cold bit at his side again, was one of those nights.
Sighing, he sat up, pushing the covers back just enough to let himself out.. Despite being adverse to many of the pale faces' things, blankets certainly was not one of them. Upon returning to the bed, Thomas had already taken opportunity of the extra space and lay sprawled across the pile of furs, slumbering peacefully and unaware. As always.
Gently, Kocoum spread the blanket over Thomas, pushed him aside and crawled into bed, gathering the still-sleeping redhead into his arms and holding him against his chest. Either smiling from some dream or the contact (Kocoum liked to think the latter, but Thomas being such a heavy sleeper that he wouldn't have been surprised if it wasn't), Thomas snuggled into Kocoum's chest, arms lazily around his torso and his head against his heart. He mumbled something in that strange, funny language he didn't use anymore, and Kocoum smiled, just a little. He remembered when he was lucky if he could get Thomas to be within an arm's reach of him.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 2/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:18:00 UTC
For the first time in his adult life, Kocoum found it hard to keep his tongue.
After the pale faces' leader left, Kocoum gleefully thought that the rest would soon follow. Instead, a good portion of the men chose to stay at the fort, claiming to have "grown accustomed" to the land enough to call it "home." He would've spat on the ground if he could. The pale faces belonged across the water, where his people could not see them. Not here, with their strange thunder sticks and shiny clothes, right outside their homes.
And chief Powhatan was perfectly fine with it. In fact, he was so "perfectly fine," that he felt it was "perfectly fine" to dissolve Kocoum's betrothal to Pocahontas so that she could marry that corn-haired snake. It took all of his resolve to accept the chief's decision, to accept the villages' whispers and secret pity, to accept that some pale face snatched both his bride and place of honor from under him right there, instead of unleashing the anger and embarrassment that brewed inside him when Powhatan called he and Pocahontas into his home, that pale face at her side. And so, he fell back into his former place as warrior and nothing else, throwing himself into hunting, fishing, anything that would keep him distracted and fill the void where he entertained the thought that Pocahontas loved him.
But nothing ever did.
And on the day Pocahontas asked him to accompany her to the pale faces' village with a "peace offering," Kocoum wondered if the Great Spirit really liked screwing with him.
With the pale faces' old leader gone and the corn-haired snake in charge, the meeting had gone peacefully, if although tentative. As expected, neither side fully trusted the other, so while Kocoum's brothers carried knives hidden in the folds of their clothes, the pale faces kept their fire sticks within reach. And Pocahontas, always diplomatic, always impartial, always so naive, smiled through it all, gesturing to their "gifts" in that foreign tongue that her people meant no harm, and wished to be friends. They might as well all roll over on their backs like dogs.
Biting back his irritation, Kocoum scanned the crowd. He spotted a frail-looking man standing off to the side, almost hidden by a much larger brune if it weren't for that odd shock of red hair. Red hair. A dull pain ached in Kocoum's right shoulder as he recalled that night--that snake tainting Pocahontas, the grove enshrouded in darkness and moist, muggy heat as he wrestled him to the ground. Pocahontas screaming as he raised his knife. Thunder crackling overhead, so near and the sudden rush of water all around him. A faint blur of red and green before he gave into the darkness. And there he was, clear in reds and green and very much afraid, nails digging into his palms and looking out straight ahead at no one. He wondered, briefly, if this slip of a man remembered him, or even feared that he might be among Pocahontas' party, and would seek him out for revenge once night fell. This man, no, this boy, had every right to fear him. Kocoum could easily break him in two if he wanted. Not that he wanted, of course. As much as he disliked the pale faces' presence, murdering one of them would only be the spark to set off a war that neither side wanted. For now, he would just watch the funny little pale face squirm like a rabbit babe caught in a snake's bind.
When they finally gave their offering to the pale faces, Kocoum was certain that the little rabbit had seen him, because he'd suddenly disappeared right before they left the fort.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 3/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:21:23 UTC
It had been a good nine moons before Pocahontas approached him. While they had reconciled and the turbulent waves of their annulment passed underneath them like small ripples, neither felt entirely comfortable around one another and found ways to "speak" to the other without actually seeing them. Only a grave matter would force them to find the courage to meet face to face.
"Kocoum," Pocahontas began carefully. She had found him by his usual spot near the village, spearing fish for that night's supper. "There's something I want to speak to you about."
Kocoum thought about not looking at her, but realized such childish antics would do neither of them any good. He drew his spear from the river. "What about?"
"John's people are still reluctant to form a treaty with us. I think," She paused, correcting herself. She did that more often now as the date for her wedding approached. "We think that fear is among both our people."
Kocoum shrugged. What had this to do with him?
"It might be a good idea to start forming a relationship with one of them. To set an example."
"You would have better luck with Nakoma."
"But Nakoma hasn't met any of John's people." Pocahontas countered, undaunted. She had always been like that, even in childhood. "You have."
"Our people have already met and accepted John Smith." Most of them, at least. This conversation led nowhere. Kocoum began to gather the caught fish into the basket and strap it to his back.
"Not John. Thomas."
Kocoum was about to deny knowledge of her pale faced friends when something clicked into place. She couldn't be serious. They couldn't be serious. As she rambled on about how their "friendship" would help bring prosperity among both tribes, about how everyone could learn from their fine example of forgiveness, about how both sides would no longer fear the other, he could only half-listen as details from that night coursed through his mind over and over again. This couldn't work. Many of the warriors did not accept the pale faces, particularly this "Thomas," for being so bold to put one of their brothers within well reach of the Great Spirit. And if they knew he cowed to this pale face's extension of friendship...
But if chief Powhatan knew that he honored Pocahontas' request, then he would find his rightful place at his side again.
And so with a small nod, he stopped Pocahontas mid-ramble and earned a grin.
Pocahontas must have had better luck than her future husband, because when they arrived at the fort the following afternoon, he met them alone.
"I haven't been able to catch hold of Thomas since yesterday," He said apologetically in halting Powhatan. As much as he trailed alongside Pocahontas, Kocoum expected the corn-haired man to have a better grasp on the language by now. "I've asked Ben and Lon, but they've said they haven't had any luck either. I think they might be hiding him."
"Why?" Pocahontas asked. She walked alongside him as they strolled through the camp, earning looks from other pale faces knee deep in their own work. Kocoum stayed at Pocahontas' right, surveying the camp. Judging from the looks of things, the pale faces had meant to stay; already they were constructing new houses and felling more trees. The loud hammering and dull hacking of metal against wood grated in his ears.
"When I asked if they knew where he was, Ben said he was with you, while Lon mentioned something about Thomas helping Nakoma pick berries. But Thomas hasn't left the camp alone since your people visited."
So the boy was afraid of him. Kocoum expected as much, and still believed that they would've had far better luck with Nakoma.
Pocahontas raised her head matter-of-factly. "Thomas shouldn't have anything to fear. Isn't that right, Kocoum?" At Kocoum's grunt, she continued. "Kocoum has already forgiven him." His anger at the pale man had passed once his wound finally healed, despite the occasional aches it gave him.
"He might need some heavy convincing on your part, then. I think he’s got it in his head that you want to kill him." the corn-haired man said, nodding to Kocoum and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Try coming back in the morning. Thomas can't get out of cooking duty."
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 4/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:24:24 UTC
The next morning, Kocoum found himself standing outside the fort with Pocahontas and hardly any sleep to go on, as the corn-haired man's definition of "morning" meant "very early." Hardly any of the pale faces were awake; only those keeping watch and, after seeing the smoke billow out the top of the largest house at the far end of the fort, Thomas.
The corn-haired man met them at the gate. Kocoum assumed he wasn't accustomed to rising this early either; a faint blonde fuzz grew around his chin and his hair looked as it were hastily pushed back. They crossed the camp quickly and quietly, making their way to the edge of the camp as if hunters stalking an elusive prey.
In typical John Smith fashion, John swung the door open without warning. The large dark-haired man Kocoum recognized from earlier stood at the table, elbows deep in a bowl of dough and a bewildered look on his face. Two other men were with him, men Kocoum did not recognize, and therefore did not care about. But the pale face with red hair was nowhere to be found.
John spoke briefly to the dark-haired man, and, with a sigh, informed them that Thomas had eluded them again. Turns out that Ben owed Thomas a favor, and exchanged morning duties with him. "I'll find him, don't worry." John assured, but to Pocahontas, of course. Kocoum couldn't care less, and would much rather go back home and sleep.
"He still thinks you hate him, and won't be convinced otherwise," John said to him one day after miraculously catching the boy somehow. "Thomas is a sweet kid, but he's sensitive. Maybe you could try not frowning when you see him?"
Kocoum glared at John and that was the end of that.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 5a/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:27:31 UTC
A few moons had passed before Kocoum met with the pale red head again. Or rather, stumbled upon him. He'd been scouting the forest alone for new game trails and followed one that led to through rockier and less sound terrain. As a child, Kocoum was always told to be careful when upon such ground as this. One misstep and the ground would give way, leaving the unfortunate stranded and at the bottom of a pit. He was amazed that he found deer trackings this far; usually the animals chose to keep to lower ground.
He heard a faint cry in the distance, someone calling out desperately in an unfamiliar language for anyone. Minding the terrain, Kocoum followed the sound, it growing more frantic as he grew closer. He finally came upon a pit, and judging from how the earth bowed into its maw, newly made.
Kocoum crouched down and peered inside. At the bottom of the abyss lay one of the pale faces, and upon closer inspection, the one with red hair. The man's eyes widened and he quieted immediately, his hollering reduced to pitiful whimpers as he tried to hold his own in front of Kocoum. Chewing his lip, the man’s eyes darted to his leg, more precisely how oddly his left foot twisted on no part of his effort. Of course, Kocoum thought.
Kocoum carefully made his way down the chasm and knelt at the man's side. The man flinched when Kocoum neared him, as if expecting to be hit. White men were so foolish. Kocoum gingerly touched the man's foot, then his ankle, light touches traveling up until they stopped at his knee. So only the ankle was affected, and nothing more but a mild sprain than that. He'd been lucky.
Kocoum shifted until he was in front of the man, and gestured to his back. After waiting for a moment, he gestured to his back again and grunted, hoping that the man was clever enough to comprehend that. Once he felt arms wrap around his broad shoulders, Kocoum rose carefully, and supported the man's legs by gripping right beneath his thighs. With the pale face secured on his back, Kocoum climbed out of the pit and made their way back to the village.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 5b/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:27:59 UTC
Kocoum brought the man to Ketaka once they'd arrived, explaining where and the state he found him in. Pocahontas, finding out shortly afterwards, ran back to the pale faces' fort to alert the corn-haired man while Kocoum remained to keep watch if his state worsens. While Kocoum doubted that it would, the man had not made a sound since he rescued him from the pit, and he thought someone as frail and skittish as he would've cried the entire trip back like some child. The only sounds wrenched from him were when Kocoum nearly stumbled over an unseen root, wrenching a muffled noise from the pale face. Even now as he lay in Ketaka's wigwam, he made little sound, watching Kocoum with large green eyes as the healer worked on him.
Pocahontas arrived later with her future husband trailing behind her. Kocoum nodded to them both. While John spoke with Ketaka, Pocahontas sat next to him, possibly to assure the pale face that Kocoum didn't mean to kill him later.
"You were lucky to find him out that far." Pocahontas said, thanking him. "John said that Thomas had been missing since this morning."
Kocoum didn't say anything; but snorted in annoyance. Maybe it would've been easier to keep a better eye on the younger man (instead of making doe eyes at Pocahontas all day long), and they wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe if the younger man was clever enough to know not to walk around on weak terrain he wouldn't be at Ketaka's side. And maybe he should just stop bickering to himself because it wasn't helping anyone at this point.
After the pale face's ankle had been splinted, John explained that Thomas had been out for a walk and let his adventurous side get the better of him. In short, being foolish, Kocoum summarized. "It wouldn't do him right to move him back to the camp," John said. "Is it possible he could stay here until he can walk?"
Kocoum was about to answer when Pocahontas cut him off with a nod. "Of course," she said with the very degree of enthusiasm that always made Kocoum wary when they were children. Usually when she grew this excited, he ended up doing something that was either degrading or dangerous. "And Kocoum can help take care of him, right, Kocoum?" In this case, it would be degrading. "He'd be more open to you this way." She went on to explain, a secret hope that her former betrothed remembered the original plan.
Realizing that he wasn't going to get out of her "request," Kocoum nodded, sighing. At least he could probably take better care of this pale face than John did.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 6a/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:30:28 UTC
It became part of Kocoum's routine to visit the pale face Thomas every morning. As the boy couldn't walk without prolonging his injury, Kocoum would bring him breakfast--either corn gruel or dried meat--as with his other meals when the time came for it. The other villagers did not make much of his new "ward," they recognized him as one of John Smith's friends and sometimes stopped to visit him, usually playing with his odd hair or trying to wipe off the strange markings all over his face, arms, and chest. The warriors, however, while they generally avoided Thomas (and only after Kocoum's threat), they egged him on about tending to his former enemy like a mother, referring to the white man as his "little cub." And no amount of stern looks and clenched fists could dissuade their badgering of him.
But Thomas' developing consent of him made the warriors' teasing worth it. At first, Pocahontas (and John sometimes) would accompany him to Ketaka's, to reassure the willowy reed of a man that Kocoum wasn't going to exact his revenge on him when no one was looking. And sometimes, imitating Pocahontas, Kocoum would bring a small gift--usually something like berries or a piece of honeycomb, more so after John mentioned the redhead’s fondness for sweets--to put Thomas at ease, and further convince that him that he meant no harm and only wished to help. And once Thomas started smiling and greeting him when he would visit Ketaka's alone, Kocoum started to bring the treats with him on a regular basis. Although Thomas couldn't speak the language, his smiles were enough, and the bright look in his eyes were enough, as both translated his gratitude and (while he wouldn't admit it to anyone) made Kocoum's stomach turn cartwheels inside him and do other strange things that he'd rather not think about.
Their friendship, if Kocoum could call it that, seemed to have a positive effect on both their people. After seeing how Thomas responded to Kocoum, the warriors, though tentatively, extended their hospitality to the pale men, while they did the same in return after finding out that Kocoum had not and would not kill Thomas. Even better, Powhatan was pleased that his relationship with Thomas helped foster better relations between their people and the pale men, thus earning his high respect once again. And Thomas' ankle seemed to be healing quite nicely, and quickly, which pleased him the most.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 6b/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:31:06 UTC
Sometimes, Kocoum would find one or two of the other warriors at Ketaka's, trying to converse with the red haired man. His red haired man. They would bring him things too, and his Thomas would say what they were in the pale face language, while they would do in their own in return. And Thomas, being so cheerful, and so naive, would not turn them away, the thought of their fascination with him meaning anything more than innocent never crossing his mind. Instead, Kocoum would always cut their meetings short or forbid them all together, explaining that his Thomas needed rest while showing them the door. And though it earned him a bewildered and confused look from Thomas, he accepted it, more or less. If Thomas wanted to learn his language than he would be the one to instruct him, and no one else. He was his ward, after all.
And under his instruction, Thomas learned steadily, if not quickly. He'd already picked up on some of the words Pocahontas and John used frequently, but still had trouble pronouncing them correctly. However, Kocoum found himself cutting the lessons shorter and shorter, not out of frustration. Well, a frustration of sorts, but not at Thomas' inability to pronounce some of the words, but how he pronounced those words. Kocoum would watch the man carefully when he spoke, watching how his lips formed the words and often found himself distracted with how those lips would feel on his own, on his chest, and on his cock, and by that point he would have to leave the wigwam and go off somewhere to think. If this kept up Kocoum doubted Thomas would be able to form complete sentences in Powhatan by the time his ankle healed.
When Thomas could finally walk on his own, Kocoum accompanied him back to the pale face's camp, just to make sure that he made it back without further injuring himself, of course. Once they reached the fort Thomas grinned and tried to say "thank you" in as precise Powhatan as he possibly could, before rambling off into that strange language of his again. Kocoum noticed that the red head did that whenever he felt uncomfortable or forgot himself, but usually the slight knitting of his eyebrows together was enough to bring Thomas back into focus. With big green eyes and in faltering Powhatan Thomas tried to coax the warrior into staying for a while, but Kocoum declined the invitation. He had to report back to Ketaka on Thomas' condition, and, if he stayed too long, the other warriors would never let him hear the end of it. So Kocoum returned to his village alone, and everything dully fell back into place.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 7/?coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:32:00 UTC
Not long after Thomas left the village, Kocoum began to make regular visits to the pale mans' camp, just to see how the redhead fared. He was much smaller than the other white men, and weaker, too (although, not as weak as the one called Wiggins), Kocoum reasoned, and could probably not survive on his own if he did not have someone else looking after him. Now that John Smith had to worry about Pocahontas and the other pale men, Kocoum felt that the least he could do was assist in some way, even if it was only watching after Thomas. Although, he wouldn't admit it to the corn-haired fellow if he asked. The apples he carried with him were nothing out of the ordinary, either; just an exercise of the custom of bearing gifts while visiting a friend. Not because Thomas seemed to favor them whenever he brought them to him while under his care. At least, that is what he told Pocahontas to counter her skeptical look.
The other pale men avoided him easily enough, which was good in a way. Despite blossoming relations between their and his people, they still feared the warriors, particularly the ones who rarely smiled, if ever at all. Kocoum didn't want to make aimless one-sided conversations with any of the other men anyway. He'd found Thomas by the smaller houses, helping John repair its roof. Thomas grinned and threw his arms around him in his good-natured, friendly, hopelessly clueless way before calling the corn-haired man down to join them.
"Thomas told me how well you tended to him," John said once he reached Thomas' side. And in much better Powhatan at that, too. "Hasn't stopped talking about you, either." He laughed, earning a confused look from his friend.
Kocoum nodded and placed the bundle of apples in Thomas' hands. He smiled and thanked him, right before offering one of them to John.
It was only the first time, Kocoum reasoned with himself. And, he supposed in the pale men's land it was rude to not offer a friend a gift not meant for them, among hundreds of other social customs that didn't make any sense, and Kocoum had no patience to make sense out of them. Or it could've been Thomas just being his naturally friendly self again. But when the redhead made that friendliness a regular habit whenever the warrior came to visit and shared with any of the pale men he happened to be near by at the time--the one called Ben, a stout bearded pale face named Lon, Wiggins for the Great Spirit's sake--Kocoum summed it up to Thomas being thickheaded instead.
At least Thomas made a regular habit of going to the village to see him.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 8/8coffeenbiscottiJune 23 2011, 05:55:15 UTC
It was only hospitable of him to offer Thomas to spend the night. The rain had started as a drizzle long after he came to the village, only to turn into a torrent of water and wind before nightfall. It was the right thing to do; especially since the red head was caught out in the rain not too long ago, and wasn't lucky enough to reach proper shelter in time. Now Thomas hung his drenched clothes by the fire, wrapped in a blanket Kocoum gave him with his hair clinging to his temples.
It was also only hospitable of him to offer his bed to Thomas. He was a guest in his home and as there was only one bed, won the rights to it. But Thomas just smiled and shook his head, scooting over as much as he could and beckoning for Kocoum to join him. And Kocoum, clever enough not to deny himself the Great Spirit's gift thrown at his feet, crawled under the bearskin with him.
And it was only hospitable to hold Thomas against his body when he shivered, naked flesh against naked flesh, because Kocoum would rather not risk the chance of the young man developing a fever. Not when it could have been easily prevented.
But it certainly wasn't hospitable for Kocoum to grip Thomas by the shoulders and kiss him hard, his hold tightening when Thomas made a small noise and squirmed in his arms. And it wasn't very hospitable of him to deepen the kiss and grind his hips into Thomas' like some undersexed dog at the height of a rut.
Thomas let out a shaky breath once they parted, his eyes unfocused and wider than Kocoum has ever seen them. Freckled brow knitting together, he looked at Kocoum questioningly, and Kocoum began to think back on all of their interactions, all of the gifts they exchanged with one another, wondering perhaps in Thomas' culture such intimacies between men did not occur. He began to apologize, but Thomas covered his lips with his own--tentatively at first, then deepening with all passion and eagerness and no skill whatsoever--and ran his hands through Kocoum's hair.
Thomas dragged them both down, hips pushing incessantly against Kocoum's, small hands tangled in long locks of hair. He gasped when Kocoum's hand wrapped around his cock and pumped him to orgasm, hands moving to his shoulders, blunt nails digging into his skin, legs wrapped around his waist, pale flesh flushed pink and lips bruised red from kisses and teeth. And, as one of those hands dove underneath the bearskin to wrap around Kocoum, the warrior growled into Thomas' shoulder, biting down hard and licking the wound, earning a yelp and a colorful string of English from him. The mark would last only a few days, but long enough to let everyone else know that Thomas was his, and will always be his, his clumsy, red-haired, clueless pale man.
And judging from the way Thomas came underneath him, shortly followed by himself afterwards, was certain that his Thomas didn't mind.
#
The cold night air always made it difficult to sleep, Kocoum thought. On nights he wanted warmth he sacrificed comfort, and on nights he wanted to stretch out his legs he sacrificed warmth. But with Thomas here, finally in his arms, and himself slowly succumbing to slumber, Kocoum decided that nights such as these weren't so bad after all.
Re: Courtship of the Clueless 8/8coffeenbiscottiAugust 13 2011, 14:26:33 UTC
Thank you! It's really hard to resist writing fluff of those two. And I just refuse to believe that John and Kocoum would get along. They see things way too differently to reach a compromise. :D
and all errors are blamed on posting late
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On cold nights, Kocoum always found it hard to sleep. He never felt that the bearskin was large enough for his frame, often tossing and turning himself awake just to fit underneath it. And on nights he did manage to cocoon himself (in spite of cramped legs in the morning), the cold air would slither underneath the barrier anyway, and always at his side. And tonight, at irritating realization as the cold bit at his side again, was one of those nights.
Sighing, he sat up, pushing the covers back just enough to let himself out.. Despite being adverse to many of the pale faces' things, blankets certainly was not one of them. Upon returning to the bed, Thomas had already taken opportunity of the extra space and lay sprawled across the pile of furs, slumbering peacefully and unaware. As always.
Gently, Kocoum spread the blanket over Thomas, pushed him aside and crawled into bed, gathering the still-sleeping redhead into his arms and holding him against his chest. Either smiling from some dream or the contact (Kocoum liked to think the latter, but Thomas being such a heavy sleeper that he wouldn't have been surprised if it wasn't), Thomas snuggled into Kocoum's chest, arms lazily around his torso and his head against his heart. He mumbled something in that strange, funny language he didn't use anymore, and Kocoum smiled, just a little. He remembered when he was lucky if he could get Thomas to be within an arm's reach of him.
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After the pale faces' leader left, Kocoum gleefully thought that the rest would soon follow. Instead, a good portion of the men chose to stay at the fort, claiming to have "grown accustomed" to the land enough to call it "home." He would've spat on the ground if he could. The pale faces belonged across the water, where his people could not see them. Not here, with their strange thunder sticks and shiny clothes, right outside their homes.
And chief Powhatan was perfectly fine with it. In fact, he was so "perfectly fine," that he felt it was "perfectly fine" to dissolve Kocoum's betrothal to Pocahontas so that she could marry that corn-haired snake. It took all of his resolve to accept the chief's decision, to accept the villages' whispers and secret pity, to accept that some pale face snatched both his bride and place of honor from under him right there, instead of unleashing the anger and embarrassment that brewed inside him when Powhatan called he and Pocahontas into his home, that pale face at her side. And so, he fell back into his former place as warrior and nothing else, throwing himself into hunting, fishing, anything that would keep him distracted and fill the void where he entertained the thought that Pocahontas loved him.
But nothing ever did.
And on the day Pocahontas asked him to accompany her to the pale faces' village with a "peace offering," Kocoum wondered if the Great Spirit really liked screwing with him.
With the pale faces' old leader gone and the corn-haired snake in charge, the meeting had gone peacefully, if although tentative. As expected, neither side fully trusted the other, so while Kocoum's brothers carried knives hidden in the folds of their clothes, the pale faces kept their fire sticks within reach. And Pocahontas, always diplomatic, always impartial, always so naive, smiled through it all, gesturing to their "gifts" in that foreign tongue that her people meant no harm, and wished to be friends. They might as well all roll over on their backs like dogs.
Biting back his irritation, Kocoum scanned the crowd. He spotted a frail-looking man standing off to the side, almost hidden by a much larger brune if it weren't for that odd shock of red hair. Red hair. A dull pain ached in Kocoum's right shoulder as he recalled that night--that snake tainting Pocahontas, the grove enshrouded in darkness and moist, muggy heat as he wrestled him to the ground. Pocahontas screaming as he raised his knife. Thunder crackling overhead, so near and the sudden rush of water all around him. A faint blur of red and green before he gave into the darkness. And there he was, clear in reds and green and very much afraid, nails digging into his palms and looking out straight ahead at no one. He wondered, briefly, if this slip of a man remembered him, or even feared that he might be among Pocahontas' party, and would seek him out for revenge once night fell. This man, no, this boy, had every right to fear him. Kocoum could easily break him in two if he wanted. Not that he wanted, of course. As much as he disliked the pale faces' presence, murdering one of them would only be the spark to set off a war that neither side wanted. For now, he would just watch the funny little pale face squirm like a rabbit babe caught in a snake's bind.
When they finally gave their offering to the pale faces, Kocoum was certain that the little rabbit had seen him, because he'd suddenly disappeared right before they left the fort.
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"Kocoum," Pocahontas began carefully. She had found him by his usual spot near the village, spearing fish for that night's supper. "There's something I want to speak to you about."
Kocoum thought about not looking at her, but realized such childish antics would do neither of them any good. He drew his spear from the river. "What about?"
"John's people are still reluctant to form a treaty with us. I think," She paused, correcting herself. She did that more often now as the date for her wedding approached. "We think that fear is among both our people."
Kocoum shrugged. What had this to do with him?
"It might be a good idea to start forming a relationship with one of them. To set an example."
"You would have better luck with Nakoma."
"But Nakoma hasn't met any of John's people." Pocahontas countered, undaunted. She had always been like that, even in childhood. "You have."
"Our people have already met and accepted John Smith." Most of them, at least. This conversation led nowhere. Kocoum began to gather the caught fish into the basket and strap it to his back.
"Not John. Thomas."
Kocoum was about to deny knowledge of her pale faced friends when something clicked into place. She couldn't be serious. They couldn't be serious. As she rambled on about how their "friendship" would help bring prosperity among both tribes, about how everyone could learn from their fine example of forgiveness, about how both sides would no longer fear the other, he could only half-listen as details from that night coursed through his mind over and over again. This couldn't work. Many of the warriors did not accept the pale faces, particularly this "Thomas," for being so bold to put one of their brothers within well reach of the Great Spirit. And if they knew he cowed to this pale face's extension of friendship...
But if chief Powhatan knew that he honored Pocahontas' request, then he would find his rightful place at his side again.
And so with a small nod, he stopped Pocahontas mid-ramble and earned a grin.
Pocahontas must have had better luck than her future husband, because when they arrived at the fort the following afternoon, he met them alone.
"I haven't been able to catch hold of Thomas since yesterday," He said apologetically in halting Powhatan. As much as he trailed alongside Pocahontas, Kocoum expected the corn-haired man to have a better grasp on the language by now. "I've asked Ben and Lon, but they've said they haven't had any luck either. I think they might be hiding him."
"Why?" Pocahontas asked. She walked alongside him as they strolled through the camp, earning looks from other pale faces knee deep in their own work. Kocoum stayed at Pocahontas' right, surveying the camp. Judging from the looks of things, the pale faces had meant to stay; already they were constructing new houses and felling more trees. The loud hammering and dull hacking of metal against wood grated in his ears.
"When I asked if they knew where he was, Ben said he was with you, while Lon mentioned something about Thomas helping Nakoma pick berries. But Thomas hasn't left the camp alone since your people visited."
So the boy was afraid of him. Kocoum expected as much, and still believed that they would've had far better luck with Nakoma.
Pocahontas raised her head matter-of-factly. "Thomas shouldn't have anything to fear. Isn't that right, Kocoum?" At Kocoum's grunt, she continued. "Kocoum has already forgiven him." His anger at the pale man had passed once his wound finally healed, despite the occasional aches it gave him.
"He might need some heavy convincing on your part, then. I think he’s got it in his head that you want to kill him." the corn-haired man said, nodding to Kocoum and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Try coming back in the morning. Thomas can't get out of cooking duty."
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The corn-haired man met them at the gate. Kocoum assumed he wasn't accustomed to rising this early either; a faint blonde fuzz grew around his chin and his hair looked as it were hastily pushed back. They crossed the camp quickly and quietly, making their way to the edge of the camp as if hunters stalking an elusive prey.
In typical John Smith fashion, John swung the door open without warning. The large dark-haired man Kocoum recognized from earlier stood at the table, elbows deep in a bowl of dough and a bewildered look on his face. Two other men were with him, men Kocoum did not recognize, and therefore did not care about. But the pale face with red hair was nowhere to be found.
John spoke briefly to the dark-haired man, and, with a sigh, informed them that Thomas had eluded them again. Turns out that Ben owed Thomas a favor, and exchanged morning duties with him. "I'll find him, don't worry." John assured, but to Pocahontas, of course. Kocoum couldn't care less, and would much rather go back home and sleep.
"He still thinks you hate him, and won't be convinced otherwise," John said to him one day after miraculously catching the boy somehow. "Thomas is a sweet kid, but he's sensitive. Maybe you could try not frowning when you see him?"
Kocoum glared at John and that was the end of that.
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He heard a faint cry in the distance, someone calling out desperately in an unfamiliar language for anyone. Minding the terrain, Kocoum followed the sound, it growing more frantic as he grew closer. He finally came upon a pit, and judging from how the earth bowed into its maw, newly made.
Kocoum crouched down and peered inside. At the bottom of the abyss lay one of the pale faces, and upon closer inspection, the one with red hair. The man's eyes widened and he quieted immediately, his hollering reduced to pitiful whimpers as he tried to hold his own in front of Kocoum. Chewing his lip, the man’s eyes darted to his leg, more precisely how oddly his left foot twisted on no part of his effort. Of course, Kocoum thought.
Kocoum carefully made his way down the chasm and knelt at the man's side. The man flinched when Kocoum neared him, as if expecting to be hit. White men were so foolish. Kocoum gingerly touched the man's foot, then his ankle, light touches traveling up until they stopped at his knee. So only the ankle was affected, and nothing more but a mild sprain than that. He'd been lucky.
Kocoum shifted until he was in front of the man, and gestured to his back. After waiting for a moment, he gestured to his back again and grunted, hoping that the man was clever enough to comprehend that. Once he felt arms wrap around his broad shoulders, Kocoum rose carefully, and supported the man's legs by gripping right beneath his thighs. With the pale face secured on his back, Kocoum climbed out of the pit and made their way back to the village.
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Pocahontas arrived later with her future husband trailing behind her. Kocoum nodded to them both. While John spoke with Ketaka, Pocahontas sat next to him, possibly to assure the pale face that Kocoum didn't mean to kill him later.
"You were lucky to find him out that far." Pocahontas said, thanking him. "John said that Thomas had been missing since this morning."
Kocoum didn't say anything; but snorted in annoyance. Maybe it would've been easier to keep a better eye on the younger man (instead of making doe eyes at Pocahontas all day long), and they wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe if the younger man was clever enough to know not to walk around on weak terrain he wouldn't be at Ketaka's side. And maybe he should just stop bickering to himself because it wasn't helping anyone at this point.
After the pale face's ankle had been splinted, John explained that Thomas had been out for a walk and let his adventurous side get the better of him. In short, being foolish, Kocoum summarized. "It wouldn't do him right to move him back to the camp," John said. "Is it possible he could stay here until he can walk?"
Kocoum was about to answer when Pocahontas cut him off with a nod. "Of course," she said with the very degree of enthusiasm that always made Kocoum wary when they were children. Usually when she grew this excited, he ended up doing something that was either degrading or dangerous. "And Kocoum can help take care of him, right, Kocoum?" In this case, it would be degrading. "He'd be more open to you this way." She went on to explain, a secret hope that her former betrothed remembered the original plan.
Realizing that he wasn't going to get out of her "request," Kocoum nodded, sighing. At least he could probably take better care of this pale face than John did.
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But Thomas' developing consent of him made the warriors' teasing worth it. At first, Pocahontas (and John sometimes) would accompany him to Ketaka's, to reassure the willowy reed of a man that Kocoum wasn't going to exact his revenge on him when no one was looking. And sometimes, imitating Pocahontas, Kocoum would bring a small gift--usually something like berries or a piece of honeycomb, more so after John mentioned the redhead’s fondness for sweets--to put Thomas at ease, and further convince that him that he meant no harm and only wished to help. And once Thomas started smiling and greeting him when he would visit Ketaka's alone, Kocoum started to bring the treats with him on a regular basis. Although Thomas couldn't speak the language, his smiles were enough, and the bright look in his eyes were enough, as both translated his gratitude and (while he wouldn't admit it to anyone) made Kocoum's stomach turn cartwheels inside him and do other strange things that he'd rather not think about.
Their friendship, if Kocoum could call it that, seemed to have a positive effect on both their people. After seeing how Thomas responded to Kocoum, the warriors, though tentatively, extended their hospitality to the pale men, while they did the same in return after finding out that Kocoum had not and would not kill Thomas. Even better, Powhatan was pleased that his relationship with Thomas helped foster better relations between their people and the pale men, thus earning his high respect once again. And Thomas' ankle seemed to be healing quite nicely, and quickly, which pleased him the most.
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And under his instruction, Thomas learned steadily, if not quickly. He'd already picked up on some of the words Pocahontas and John used frequently, but still had trouble pronouncing them correctly. However, Kocoum found himself cutting the lessons shorter and shorter, not out of frustration. Well, a frustration of sorts, but not at Thomas' inability to pronounce some of the words, but how he pronounced those words. Kocoum would watch the man carefully when he spoke, watching how his lips formed the words and often found himself distracted with how those lips would feel on his own, on his chest, and on his cock, and by that point he would have to leave the wigwam and go off somewhere to think. If this kept up Kocoum doubted Thomas would be able to form complete sentences in Powhatan by the time his ankle healed.
When Thomas could finally walk on his own, Kocoum accompanied him back to the pale face's camp, just to make sure that he made it back without further injuring himself, of course. Once they reached the fort Thomas grinned and tried to say "thank you" in as precise Powhatan as he possibly could, before rambling off into that strange language of his again. Kocoum noticed that the red head did that whenever he felt uncomfortable or forgot himself, but usually the slight knitting of his eyebrows together was enough to bring Thomas back into focus. With big green eyes and in faltering Powhatan Thomas tried to coax the warrior into staying for a while, but Kocoum declined the invitation. He had to report back to Ketaka on Thomas' condition, and, if he stayed too long, the other warriors would never let him hear the end of it. So Kocoum returned to his village alone, and everything dully fell back into place.
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The other pale men avoided him easily enough, which was good in a way. Despite blossoming relations between their and his people, they still feared the warriors, particularly the ones who rarely smiled, if ever at all. Kocoum didn't want to make aimless one-sided conversations with any of the other men anyway. He'd found Thomas by the smaller houses, helping John repair its roof. Thomas grinned and threw his arms around him in his good-natured, friendly, hopelessly clueless way before calling the corn-haired man down to join them.
"Thomas told me how well you tended to him," John said once he reached Thomas' side. And in much better Powhatan at that, too. "Hasn't stopped talking about you, either." He laughed, earning a confused look from his friend.
Kocoum nodded and placed the bundle of apples in Thomas' hands. He smiled and thanked him, right before offering one of them to John.
It was only the first time, Kocoum reasoned with himself. And, he supposed in the pale men's land it was rude to not offer a friend a gift not meant for them, among hundreds of other social customs that didn't make any sense, and Kocoum had no patience to make sense out of them. Or it could've been Thomas just being his naturally friendly self again. But when the redhead made that friendliness a regular habit whenever the warrior came to visit and shared with any of the pale men he happened to be near by at the time--the one called Ben, a stout bearded pale face named Lon, Wiggins for the Great Spirit's sake--Kocoum summed it up to Thomas being thickheaded instead.
At least Thomas made a regular habit of going to the village to see him.
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It was also only hospitable of him to offer his bed to Thomas. He was a guest in his home and as there was only one bed, won the rights to it. But Thomas just smiled and shook his head, scooting over as much as he could and beckoning for Kocoum to join him. And Kocoum, clever enough not to deny himself the Great Spirit's gift thrown at his feet, crawled under the bearskin with him.
And it was only hospitable to hold Thomas against his body when he shivered, naked flesh against naked flesh, because Kocoum would rather not risk the chance of the young man developing a fever. Not when it could have been easily prevented.
But it certainly wasn't hospitable for Kocoum to grip Thomas by the shoulders and kiss him hard, his hold tightening when Thomas made a small noise and squirmed in his arms. And it wasn't very hospitable of him to deepen the kiss and grind his hips into Thomas' like some undersexed dog at the height of a rut.
Thomas let out a shaky breath once they parted, his eyes unfocused and wider than Kocoum has ever seen them. Freckled brow knitting together, he looked at Kocoum questioningly, and Kocoum began to think back on all of their interactions, all of the gifts they exchanged with one another, wondering perhaps in Thomas' culture such intimacies between men did not occur. He began to apologize, but Thomas covered his lips with his own--tentatively at first, then deepening with all passion and eagerness and no skill whatsoever--and ran his hands through Kocoum's hair.
Thomas dragged them both down, hips pushing incessantly against Kocoum's, small hands tangled in long locks of hair. He gasped when Kocoum's hand wrapped around his cock and pumped him to orgasm, hands moving to his shoulders, blunt nails digging into his skin, legs wrapped around his waist, pale flesh flushed pink and lips bruised red from kisses and teeth. And, as one of those hands dove underneath the bearskin to wrap around Kocoum, the warrior growled into Thomas' shoulder, biting down hard and licking the wound, earning a yelp and a colorful string of English from him. The mark would last only a few days, but long enough to let everyone else know that Thomas was his, and will always be his, his clumsy, red-haired, clueless pale man.
And judging from the way Thomas came underneath him, shortly followed by himself afterwards, was certain that his Thomas didn't mind.
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The cold night air always made it difficult to sleep, Kocoum thought. On nights he wanted warmth he sacrificed comfort, and on nights he wanted to stretch out his legs he sacrificed warmth. But with Thomas here, finally in his arms, and himself slowly succumbing to slumber, Kocoum decided that nights such as these weren't so bad after all.
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And possesive!Kocoum with his telling everyone else to leave Thomas alone, is made of pure win.
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This was great!
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