The Way of the Dinë

The worst thing one can do is not to try, to be aware of what one wants and not give in to it, to spend years in silent hurt wondering if something could have materialized - never knowing.
Jim Rohn
 
The sun beat down relentlessly over the parched, barren land.  The occasional scrub brush or cactus broke the monotony of the dun colored landscape.  Though, as plain and as dull brown as the land seemed, the bright blue sky, framing a blazing sun, completed the picture of the New Mexico desert.  Hotch glanced up at the sky; it was the color of turquoise, the color of JJ’s eyes right before she fell asleep.  At least that’s what Hotch thought as he trudged along a lonely broken path behind the tall Indian.

He really didn’t know why he agreed to come, why he allowed John Blackwolf to talk him into coming out into the desert.  His curiosity was a curse and a blessing and learning about the Apache seemed like a good thing… at least it had at the time.    Hotch looked around; the desert was a lonely but beautiful place even its sparseness.  Any bit of life was not to be taken for granted, for this was a land that could reach out and kill you if you weren’t careful.  A broken leg, no water and you were as good as dead.

Hotch wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.  He felt like he’d been walking for days when he knew it was only a good two hours.  John Blackwolf set a brutal pace as he swiftly climbed the over a rock fall that was the beginning or end of an outcropping of rust colored rock.   

“Blackwolf!” Hotch called, quickening his step to catch up with his guide to the desert. 

“You are slow,” Blackwolf said with an easy smile.  Hotch lifted his sunglasses, then narrowed his eyes in the bright sunlight to see as John Blackwolf did.  It almost blinding, but that didn’t stop him from noticing how Blackwolf’s face lost its severity when he smiled.  It was interesting.

“Maybe, but I’m on your turf,” Hotch replied, accepting a hand up to climb up on the rock table.  He looked around, scanning the seemingly endless land.  “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

Blackwolf lifted an eyebrow and frowned.  “I thought you wanted to understand the Dinë, but apparently I was mistaken,” he finished dryly.

Hotch pursed his lips for the briefest of moments and pulled off his sunglasses to wipe the sweat that streaked down one lens.  He rubbed them carefully with his shirt, buying time to think and to appease this very interesting man.  “The people learned from the desert?” Hotch asked, as he placed his sunglasses back on his nose.

“The people were born of the land.  The Apache once roamed this land, hunting and living with nature as we were meant to be.  Now we live on reservations.  It is all we have left.  It is not the way the people should live, but…” John Blackwolf trailed off, and shrugged.  This was now, that was the past.  He started to scrabble up the narrow path to the top of the rock cliff. 

Hotch unconsciously mimicked Blackwolf’s shrug and followed.  It was truly a narrow path worn by thousands of ancient feet.  Small rocks made the climb treacherous; only small cracks and tiny crevasses gave the climber any handholds to keep from falling.  His canteen banging against his thigh, Hotch concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, desperately trying to keep from looking over the edge or at the ground steadily growing further and further away.   It was unnerving to climb as one with the rock.  Physical training had included rappelling down a wall with a harness and a safety line.  This was very different, not to mention a bit frightening.  Hotch’s heart sped up, both from the exertion and the sheer craziness of what he was doing.

“Okay back there?” John Blackwolf asked, before hauling himself up over the ledge where the trail dead ended.  It looks so effortless when he did it, but Hotch honestly didn’t know if he could do it.

“Fine, fine,” Hotch lied, stopping and looking up at the rock ledge and Blackwolf.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  Hotch took a deep breath and jumped, grabbing for the invisible hand holds that Blackwolf seemed to have used.  He should have taken his time and really looked before he leaped for his hands scrabbled over the smooth surface, sand and pebbles raining down on his face.  His feet swung in the air and he kicked, trying to get the momentum to get a leg up, but he was sliding and the ground was entirely too far away.

A strong hand grasped his forearm and he felt himself being lifted and with hardly any effort at all, his leg was on the ledge and he was pulling himself up.  Yet, John Blackwolf didn’t release his forearm. 

Blackwolf chuckled, finally releasing Hotch’s arm and stepped back, leaving the FBI agent gasping on the outcropping.  “You should get out from behind your desk more often.”

Hotch twisted so that he was sitting on the ledge, feeling the heat radiating from the rock seep into his body.  The heat burned away the throb of his leg muscles, into his hands up his arms where his muscles spasmed and up his back and deep into his spine and chest.  It felt wonderful and he didn’t want to get up.  Blackwolf was right; he did need to get out from behind his desk more often.  He gazed up at Blackwolf.

The Indian was standing at the edge of the outcrop, the breeze blowing his long black hair away from his face.  He looked like an ancient warrior, bronzed, aristocratic, proud; a celestial sun god.  While Hotch watched, Blackwolf unbuttoned three buttons of his plaid shirt, and put his hands on his hips scanning the desert below.  His high, chiseled cheekbones, his piercing black eyes, the way his body moved like a sinewy animal caused a strange little pang of desire to blossom in Hotch’s gut.  Yes, he’d had men before, alpha men, nerds who tried to analyze everything and everyone, men who were more powerful than he and men who were one-night stands.  But this man, this John Blackwolf, made Hotch actually yearn for something… someone so desperately that it was almost like a pain for which there was no relief. 

Hotch licked his dry lips and waited.  It wasn’t up to him to make the first move.

“We should climb higher.  The Ga’he will talk to us there; here, their voices will be nothing but faint echoes of their past wishes.  We will never hear their deepest desires if we stay here.”

“So, the Ga'he talk only high to those high in the mountain?  Did your ancestors hear them on the plains?” Hotch asked.

Slow, carefully, Blackwolf turned to face Hotch, his long hair now blowing in his face.  He now looked like a wrathful god.  There was no anger in his face, only sadness.  “White man, you listen, but you do not hear.  You speak, but you say nothing.  You wish to understand, but your thoughts fill your head so that nothing else can enter.”

Hotch gawked at the other man, trying to understand what Blackwolf was getting at.  He did want to understand Blackwolf, but as a city boy, there had been no mystical gods, no treks in the wilderness, nothing that would connect him to Mother Earth.  His world was concrete and asphalt, metal and glass.  This whole thing was probably a mistake.

Blackwolf turned away from Hotch, and spread his arms wide as if encompassing the whole barren world below them.  He turned slowly until he faced Hotch again.  “The Ga’he talk to those who listen; location is not important.”

“So, why do we have to go higher?” Hotch asked, nervously eyeing how close Blackwolf was to the edge of nothingness.  Did the man have no fear?

“Are you afraid?” Blackwolf taunted, his eyes crinkling in amusement, lowering his arms.

“No,” Hotch said firmly, hefting his backpack a little higher on his back.  Blackwolf had insisted that he bring extra water and food and a small bed roll.  Hotch didn’t question this but as far as he knew this was only supposed to be a day trip into the desert.

Blackwolf lifted one eyebrow.  “I want you to see the land as my people saw it.  Warriors would climb up to the top and watch for enemies or game.  But,” he paused, his eyes flickering over Hotch, “we can always go back if you don’t feel up to it.”

God, Blackwolf was a son-of-a-bitch.  Whatever gave him the right to think that Hotch was weak or out of shape?  Yes, he could do with a little more exercise, but he wasn’t going to quit now.  Fear of heights be damned.

Grinning, Blackwolf turned and began to half-walk, half-climb the steep, but manageable, incline that led to the top of the cliff. 

Hotch studied the incline and sighed.  He took a deep breath and began to follow Blackwolf. 

This climb wasn’t as arduous as the initial climb and as long as he kept his eyes on the path.  He’d managed to keep this one particular phobia under wraps and hopefully unnoticed by his team.  Hotch had hated heights since he could remember.  As long as he didn’t have to look down for a sustained period of time he was good, but he was better if he never had to look down at all.  How did this arrogant prick figure out his one fear?  Damn.

After what seemed a lifetime, Hotch found himself able to straighten up.  The wind whipped his sweat-drenched hair from his face.  So, this was the top.  He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache across his shoulders start to dissipate.  Blackwolf didn’t even look winded.  Damn and double damn.

The wind lifted Hotch’s sweat-soaked hair, almost making him shiver from the abrupt change in temperature.  It was still hot, but the strong breeze cooled his heated skin. 

“This is what I wanted you to see,” Blackwolf said, his arm sweeping across his body.  “Come here,” he ordered.

Hotch let the backpack slide off his arms and fall onto the rock.  He took a deep breath and walked over to where Blackwolf was standing.  The man was too damn close to the edge. 

“Can you imagine living amongst that down there?” Blackwolf asked.

Hotch sucked in a breath.  It was beautiful: flowers and cactuses blooming, plants vivid with reds and golds and purples; tall cactuses reaching their many arms to the bright blue sky.  How could it be so different?  It was like the rock wall separated one world from the other.  The wind whipped his hair around his face as he turned to speak. 

“How?  It’s so beautiful…it’s impossible,” Hotch said. 

“It’s the way of the desert,” Blackwolf said simply.  “I’m sure the scientists will say that the rock wall helps keep the moisture on this side or that the winds have a part of it too, but I think the Ga’he make it this way to prove to us that they exist… that they can make a barren place live.”

Hotch nodded, and turned back to view the desert wonderland. 

Blackwolf shrugged off his backpack and tossed it a few feet away.  He lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees palms up.  “Sit,” he said, almost too softly to be heard over the sound of the desert wind. 

“But, it’s getting late and it’s going to be difficult getting back down,” Hotch replied, thinking about the climb and already dreading the trip back down.  A narrow path down, loose pebbles making the footing unsteady and the utter blackness of the desert were just a few things that concerned Hotch… he really did need to get out from behind his desk more.

“We’re not going back; we’re spending the night out here,” John Blackwolf stated, gazing levelly at Hotch. 

“Up here?” Hotch almost squeaked in surprise. 

“No, down there.  On the desert floor.  So, shut up and sit down,” Blackwolf said tersely.  Apparently he was already getting on Blackwolf’s nerves and he might be able to make it back to the truck, but he didn’t have the keys and it was fifty miles back to town.

“So we should start down before it gets dark, right?” Hotch asked, frowning, and almost afraid of Blackwolf’s answer.

“Again, you think but you don’t allow the answers to have meaning.  Sit down and listen,” Blackwolf said, tapping his head.

Hotch sighed, and pressed his lips into a tight line.  He lowered himself to the ground and crossed his blue jean-clad legs in imitation of Blackwolf.  He glanced over at the Indian and noticed how relaxed Blackwolf was as he stared out over the colorful desert.

As he sat on the rock mesa, Hotch began to relax; the heat from the rock beneath him began to seep into his legs, his back, his very bones. The wind whipped around Hotch, his hair blowing in turns in his face and then away.  As the sky grew darker, he took off his glasses and stared out into the desert, catching a flash of something white and gray.  He touched Blackwolf’s forearm and pointed.

“Coyote.  Eternal trickster,” Blackwolf said, with a nod.  “Good.  You are learning.”

Hotch closed his eyes; he was tired of sitting, but then the thought struck him.  He was tired, period.  He was tired of death and torture and murder and fear and heartbreak.  The whistle of the wind changed; it seemed to throb now, like a low drum beat.  It vibrated in his head and in his chest.  It was amazing and terrifying all at the same time. 

“Black…” Hotch started to say.

“Shhhh,” Blackwolf whispered. 

And Hotch shushed.  The sound of drums was coming up and the world seemed to resonate with something quiet and yet powerful.  The sensation of being one with the mountain, the ground, the sky, the air filled him.  It made him feel… alive!

The cry of the coyote tore through the drumbeat of the world.  Hotch opened his eyes and almost jumped.  It was impossible… it was a coyote staring at him with golden eyes.  Hotch reached for his gun and then realized he didn’t have it on him.  He only had his baton and a survival knife.

He reached for his knife.

“Don’t,” came the quiet hiss from John Blackwolf.  His dark eyes fixated on Hotch and they seemed larger, darker, dilated and for the briefest moment, Hotch wondered if he’d taken some sort of drug, peyote, perhaps.

“He has heard the Ga’he,” Blackwolf continued.  “Neither the Dinë or creature can ignore their call.”  Blackwolf held out his hand, neither welcoming nor pushing away the coyote.   “He is a creature of the desert, as are we.”

Gold eyes stared at Hotch and the coyote inched closer, curiosity winning out over fear.  Hotch froze as the coyote drew closer, cautiously padding closer and closer until Hotch could smell its breath.  He had no idea if the creature would attack him or Blackwolf, but he had to trust the Indian; he couldn’t survive in this land without him.

The coyote sat down, and then slowly lay down, resting its head on its paws.  Hotch had never been this close to a wild animal before; it was a little unsettling. 

A chuckle came from the man sitting next to him.  Without what seemed any thought, Blackwolf reached out and ruffled the coyote’s fur.  The animal leaned into the Indian’s touch, seemingly happy to be patted by a human. 

Blackwolf looked over at Hotch.  “Why don’t you try?” he asked, nodding his head at the coyote lying contented as its fur was stroked.

Hotch pressed his lips together tightly and then relaxed.  The fur was surprisingly soft, the animal complacent under his touch.  His amazed expression brought a low laugh to Blackwolf’s lips.

“It’s not a domestic animal, but here, now… it is as we are…children of the desert.”  He smiled that dazzling smile that made Hotch’s gut twist a little more.  “Don’t be afraid, but don’t forget that it is a coyote.”

Hotch nodded, his smile dimming, but his fingers continued threading through the coyote’s gray and white fur.  It was surreal out here; the sky’s darkening reds and oranges shimmering down to gray and black, the first twinkling star emerging from the blackness.

Without warning, the coyote rose and darted across the plateau and disappeared over the edge.  Hotch jumped, startled at the swiftness of its departure and how it had vanished over the edge of the cliff.  “How… where?” Hotch stammered.

“It’s time to go,” Blackwolf answered, ignoring Hotch’s confusion.  Rising to his feet. he dusted off his jeans and shrugged his backpack on his back.  He motioned impatiently for Hotch to get up.

“Are you sure?  It’s getting pretty dark out here,” Hotch replied pulling his backpack over and rummaging through it.  He had stashed a flashlight in the bottom. 

Blackwolf snorted and started toward where the coyote had slipped over the edge.  “Blackwolf!” Hotch yelled, grabbing his backpack and rising as Blackwolf vanished.

The echoes of his voice slowly vanished as Hotch inched toward the edge.  Sure that he was going to see the bodies of Blackwolf and the coyote broken on the rock and scrub brush below, Hotch steeled himself.  He would survive the night and then in the morning figure out a plan to make it back to town.

“Well, aren’t you coming?” Blackwolf called up to him, standing on a rock ledge about six feet below the lip of the plateau.  From his viewpoint, Hotch could see that the ledge sloped gently downward at one end and that led to a gentle incline to the desert floor below. 

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Hotch said under his breath.  Even if he jumped and fell, there was no way he could get hurt.  The ledge was wide and level.  The path from it to the desert floor was an easy walk. 

He jumped, landing lightly on his feet.  Training did come in handy for some things.
Blackwolf laughed, an easy deep laugh; his eyes crinkled.  “Nice.”

Hotch shrugged and they began their descent.  They walked in silence, the only sound was the wind and the faint call of their coyote brother.

Finally reaching the desert floor, Blackwolf led Hotch to a clear area, a small pit dug into the soft sandy ground.  A small pile of dried brush was tucked next to a live scrub brush. 

“I come here often,” Blackwolf said by way of explanation.  He dropped his backpack and stretched.  Hotch could see firm muscles flex and rippled under his shirt.  Hotch allowed himself to gawk for just a moment before turning to put his own backpack down.  He didn’t know if Blackwolf liked men and if he didn’t, Hotch surely didn’t want him to know how much he liked looking at the Indian.  He truly hadn’t accepted Blackwolf’s offer of a trek into the land of his people because he thought he could get into the other man’s pants; he did want to know more about the Apache people, watching John Blackwolf was just icing on the cake… not completely necessary, but adding to the whole experience.

Hotch looked around; the sky had darkened, the stars twinkled from their perch high in the heavens.  The soft sigh of the wind kept the desert from being a completely silent place.  He turned to look at Blackwolf.  The other man had gathered the dried brush and had placed it in the fire circle.  He watched as Blackwolf dug a match out of his pack and flicked it with his fingernail then set the kindling on fire.  The dried brush crackled and popped, but it warmed the air around them and lit the night.  He glanced over at Hotch.  “We don’t use rocks anymore.”

Hotch chuckled and sat down on a small boulder that apparently had been placed there as a seat.  He could see three more placed regularly around the fire pit.

“Hungry?” Blackwolf asked, and at Hotch’s answering nod, he crouched down and dug a small pan and a small brown pack out of his backpack.  He tore it open with his teeth and dumped the contents into the pan and set down it into the fire.  Sitting back on his haunches, Blackwolf leaned against one of the small boulders and let his legs splay out in front of him.  “Easier than hunting, trapping and skinning a rabbit, don’t you think?” he asked conversationally.

“I think it’s pretty interesting how you pick and choose what parts of the white man’s world you choose to incorporate in yours,” Hotch replied and then bit his lip.  He sounded so accusatory when it was only supposed to be an observation.

Instead of getting angry, Blackwolf nodded sharply.  “Just because I’m Apache doesn’t mean that I don’t like modern conveniences.  Hell…. I like a hot shower and a cold beer as much as anyone else”

It was Hotch’s turn to laugh.  The other man had actually loosened up a little.  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” Hotch said and then stopped.  He was just going to put his foot in his mouth.  This man made him nervous and clumsy in a school boyish way. 

Blackwolf waved off the remark.  “I like it out here.  A man can think and get his thoughts in order.  He can listen to the Ga’he or whatever he believes in.”

“How often do you camp in the desert?” Hotch asked, grateful for the change in conversation before sliding off the boulder and to the ground.  The heat emanating had felt good, but the rock wasn’t the easiest seat for his tired body.  He sat with one leg drawn up with his hands clasped loosely around his knee.

“At least once a month except in the winter.  Sometimes more, whenever I get the chance,” Blackwolf replied, tossing a small piece of dried brush on the fire.  The sparks flew up into the air.

It was beautiful in the desert, even at night.    The stars twinkled high in the heavens, the whisper of the wind, and the faint sound of the desert night life.  The fire threw shadows into deep relief and Hotch glanced over at Blackwolf.

“Thank you for bringing me out here,” Hotch said quietly, watching the fire leap.

“Heh,” Blackwolf grunted.  “I would have almost bet you’d have given up and turned back when we started climbing.  His eyes twinkled in the firelight. 

“I considered it,” Hotch replied, looking over and catching Blackwolf’s eye.  The other man stared back for the briefest of moments and then blinked and turned away himself.  Hotch smiled to himself.   It was easier than he thought to admit that he’d wanted to turn back; he had nothing to prove to this man.  Why not be honest?

"Ready to eat?” Blackwolf asked, wrapping the end of his shirt around his hand and lifting the pan out of the fire. 

XXXXX

It had been a long day; between the climb and fighting his hatred of heights, Hotch was whipped.  Blackwolf was already asleep, the soft whiffling sough of his snore adding another rhythm to the quiet night music of the desert.  Yet, as tired as he was, Hotch couldn’t sleep.  Blackwolf had brought him out here for a purpose; one that he hadn’t figured out yet.  Yes, his curiosity had led him to accept Blackwolf’s invitation and he was interested in learning about the Ga’he, but instead of gaining knowledge and insight about another culture, Hotch found himself with a slew of questions that he had no answers for.

He missed Haley and he missed Jack, but what he felt when he was with another man helped fill the emptiness that had grown inside him until he felt like he was going to disappear from the inside out.   The death and carnage that he saw as part of the job was the fertilizer that made the blackness spread through him.  He didn’t want to hear what the Ga’he had to say to him.  It was too hard, too difficult to accept.  How could he accept that his life up until the divorce had been nothing but a lie?

This trip out to New Mexico was supposed to help him clear his mind; to allow himself to find a balance between his desires and his sense of right and wrong.  God knows it had been drilled into him that wanting to be intimate with a man was wrong, sinfully so. But how could something that was so wrong be so pleasurable and so fulfilling?

Hotch squeezed his eyes shut.  He needed to sleep, he needed to put his worries aside and enjoy this trip.  Blackwolf had been kind enough to offer the opportunity and it seemed rude to be a bad companion.

Hotch mentally forced himself to relax.  He took a deep breath and allowed his shoulders to release and to melt into the sand beneath him, but when he exhaled, it came out as a soft sob (or gasp?).  Embarrassed, he quickly pressed his lips together.  Hotch glanced over at Blackwolf.  Thank God the man was still asleep and hadn’t heard him.

The night was cool but not unbearably so.  The wind picked up whistling over the rock tableau, through the cactuses; it gently lifted Hotch’s hair in a gentle caress.  As long as he didn’t think, it was so very peaceful out here.  Hotch could see why Blackwolf liked camping here.

It started as just a low vibration, just barely audible.  Slowly, the sound rose in intensity until the voices were clear.  They spoke an ancient language, one that Hotch didn’t recognize, but the words pounded into him until his head throbbed.  He tried to sit up, but he was paralyzed.  The sound, the sheer power of their words overwhelmed him.

“Hotchner,” a low dark gravelly voice said in his ear.  He tried to focus on the dark face looming above him. 

“You hear them, the Ga’he.”  It wasn’t a question, just a statement of what was.  Strong hands lifted him until he was leaning against a man.  Hotch fought to clear his mind, yet he didn’t want to; he wanted this nothingness, this unawareness.  He wanted to be filled by the voices even if he couldn’t understand them.

“Relax, SSA Hotchner.  It’s always like this at first,” the voice said.  “Relax, listen, learn.”  Powerful fingers caressed  his shoulders and Hotch wanted to lean into those fingers, allow the voices and the soothing touch to be a part of him.  Hotch tried to open his mouth to tell the man this.

“You’re lucky.  Many of the Dinë never hear,” the man said softly; his breath hot against Hotch’s ear. 

Hotch tensed up; this was nerve wracking, not to mention erotic.  Blackwolf reached around and brushed his callused fingers against Hotch’s forehead in an effort to brush his hair away from his face.  Just the slightest touch of the other man set his nerves to jangling.  Hotch felt looser, and yet unbearably on edge. 

“Sometimes, no one hears what the Ga’he tell them, or if they do, they don’t obey.”  Blackwolf’s hand trailed down Hotch’s arm, the rough slide of his fingers leaving a tingling trail behind them.  Hotch felt himself stir.  Oh God, he was going to embarrass himself.

But, to Hotch’s surprise, Blackwolf slightly tipped Hotch’s head to the side and pressed a soft, but urgent kiss to his brow.  “I have heard the Ga’he,” he said softly before gently touching Hotch’s stomach with his fingers. 

Hotch trembled and for the briefest moment was embarrassed.  He wasn’t used to reacting like this, especially to another man’s touch.  His excursions into the world of gay sex had been brief and perfunctory… almost like his and Haley’s sex life.  The only thing that had made that bearable had been creating Jack. 

Blackwolf slipped his hand lower until it was resting at the vee of Hotch’s leg and groin.  He could almost feel his fingers on him.  Hotch wanted to feel those fingers on himself.  Hotch closed his eyes and allowed his weight to rest upon Blackwolf’s chest.  He was nervous and calm and aroused and so on edge that his nerves were about to jump out of his skin.

“The Ga’he… I’ve…” Blackwolf started, his hand finally reaching its destination.  “I’ve been watching you watching me.  What the Ga’he, what you’ve told me … well, I need it too."  He gently caressed the bulge in Hotch’s jeans. 

Hotch turned in the other man’s embrace, wanting to see Blackwolf’s face; to get a take on what he was thinking and feeling.  Blackwolf met his questioning gaze and moved forward, closing the small distance between them.  He captured Hotch’s lips in a fiery kiss, one that demanded an answer.  Hotch answered, allowing Blackwolf to slide his tongue into his mouth and meeting it with a passion as intense as the other man’s. 

Hotch cupped Blackwolf’s face, not wanting the kiss to end, wanting the other man to continue to explore his body with his fingers.  Blackwolf seemed to read his thoughts and jerked Hotch’s shirt from his waistband and slipped his hands under the soft cotton.  The pads of his fingertips were slightly rough as they slid over Hotch’s skin.

“Oh… fuck,” Hotch whispered as Blackwolf’s lips left his.  He rested his forehead on the Indian’s and drank in his scent, his touch, and his presence.  Blackwolf was different from the other men. 

“Come with me,” Blackwolf ordered, disentangling from Hotch and rising to his feet.  He reached down to help Hotch up, but Hotch ignored his hand and scrambled to his feet.

Smiling, Blackwolf took his hand and led him toward the rock face.  In the darkness, it was hard to see and harder to tell any difference in the wall of rock before them.  Hotch trailed his fingers over the surface, almost surprised that the heat of the day was still radiating from it.

They walked along until abruptly, Blackwolf turned and Hotch found himself inside an alcove set back into the rock face.  It wasn’t very big, roughly six foot by six foot, but it kept them protected from the desert.  The rock walls almost surrounded them.  They reached upward into the night and they were jagged, not completely smooth.  It was if a giant had made small niches in the rock face for his own amusement.

“Here,” Blackwolf grunted, reaching and roughly yanking Hotch’s shirt loose from his jeans.  He tore at the buttons and finally pushed the shirt off Hotch’s shoulders. 

Meanwhile Hotch’s treacherous hands were busy undoing Blackwolf’s belt and unzipping his jeans.  Hotch laughed to himself; usually, he was the instigator, the one who decided when and where.  The other men had been passive, allowing him to take the lead.  Blackwolf was different and it was refreshing and wonderful and it made Hotch want this union even more.

Hotch paused, then slid his hands up Blackwolf’s broad chest.  He didn’t remember pulling off his shirt but the bronze skin was smooth and hot under his fingers.  His chest was hairless and slightly slick with sweat.  The urge to taste his nipples was unbearable and Hotch gave in to his desire; he licked the brown areola and the slight nub until it hardened.  Blackwolf tasted of sweat and something herbal. 

Blackwolf growled deep in his throat; the vibration loud in Hotch’s ear that was pressed to Blackwolf’s chest.   His hands were in Hotch’s hair, on his back and finally under the waistband of his jeans.  Blackwolf’s hands splayed over his ass cheeks, pulling his closer and forcing Hotch to straighten.  Almost black eyes gazed levelly into his own until Blackwolf leaned in and kissed his neck, nibbling at the tender skin and then along his jaw line. 

Hotch gasped, and just held the other man while he explored Hotch’s neck and collarbone.  He had never been passive, but tonight was different.  Hotch wanted to let go and allow someone else to control how fast or how slow they went.  Unconsciously, Hotch began to thrust lightly against the man before him. 

“Slow down, baby,” Blackwolf growled, his fingers in Hotch’s hair tightening.  He guided Hotch down until he was kneeling in front of him. 

Hotch knew what the other man wanted him to do; it was the same as he’d urged other men to do to him.  His hands trembling slightly, Hotch inched Blackwolf’s jeans and boxer briefs over his hips; his hands strayed down over the other man’s muscular legs.  Blackwolf’s cock sprang free from the restraining material.  It bobbed thick and heavy near his lips.  With his senses on alert, he could smell the other man, the scent of his musk, the light tang of his pre-cum and the slightly acrid smell of sweat.  He glanced up at Blackwolf and his dark eyes bored into him.

Blackwolf didn’t have to speak; he didn’t have to order Hotch; he didn’t have to say anything at all.  Hotch touched Blackwolf, allowing his fingers to circle the turgid length.  It felt like velvet over iron, hot flesh just waiting to be lavished.

He had been lonely so long; Blackwolf tasted of spice and sweat.  His tongue traced the vein that throbbed underneath and Hotch heard Blackwolf make a noise that was half growl, half moan.  It sent a fission of excitement down his spine.  He balanced himself on his heels, bracing his hands around Blackwolf’s muscular thighs and as he stroked Blackwolf’s cock with his tongue, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength in the other man’s legs, how good he tasted, and just how fucking much he needed this.

Blackwolf groaned, and cupped the back of Hotch’s head, his fingers threading through Hotch’s hair.  Hotch could tell he was close; hell, Hotch was close to coming in his jeans without even laying a finger on himself.

Hotch paused, allowing the hard length to slip from his mouth; he kissed it, then rose to his feet.  Blackwolf looked at him, a puzzled frown worrying his face.

 “I want more than this,” Hotch said softly.  Blackwolf’s eyes glinted in the faint moonlight. 

“What do you want, white man?” Blackwolf softly asked.  His hand trailed over Hotch’s bare arm.  The touch was warm on his desert-kissed skin.  “What do you deny yourself?”

Hotch’s chin jerked up sharply.  What did this man know?  How did this man know?  Hotch had never allowed himself to be passive, to be cared for; he had only given pleasure to his lovers and had never just allowed himself to really experience the pleasure of sex.  Control was everything.  Hotch was control.

“Did you not understand the Ga’he?  Have you not learned to listen?” Blackwolf whispered, toeing off his jeans and boxers.  His eyes raked over Hotch, then be began to  circle Hotch like a cougar stalking his prey.  Hotch shivered as the man trailed his fingers over his chest, shoulder and the nape of his neck.  Blackwolf paused and his fingers rested lightly on the pulse point of Hotch’s neck. 

Hotch closed his eyes and willed his breathing to slow.  He had to get his control back. 

“Why do you hesitate?  You know what you want,” Blackwolf said slowly, his voice a reflection of Hotch’s desire; a dark tendril worming its way into Hotch’s being.

His lips pressed to Hotch’s neck and a spike of pleasure blossomed In Hotch’s gut.  He wanted this, but he couldn’t … it wasn’t in his nature to let go.

Without asking, Blackwolf wrapped his arms around Hotch’s shoulders, his hands capturing Hotch’s wrists.  Hotch startled; remembering different times and cases and just as suddenly realized that he trusted this man.  Blackwolf was different.

Hotch didn’t resist when Blackwolf raised his arms over his head and nudged Hotch forward until his hands rested on the rock face.  Blackwolf held both his wrists in one meaty hand. 

“What...” Hotch started to say, but stopped when Blackwolf’s lips brushed his jaw line.  This was so different than the other times.  It had been sheer fornication, fucking each other to find a release.  This was slow and deliberate; it was gentle love-making at its best.

“Leave your hands where they are, don’t move,” Blackwolf ordered.  He released Hotch’s wrists and proceeded to massage Hotch’s back; kneading the tense muscles and kissing each curve and protrusion along the long length of skin. 

Hotch squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to whimper.  He could turn and wrest control of this encounter from Blackwolf; it would be so very easy.  But something kept him from doing this.

Blackwolf unbuckled Hotch’s jeans and slid them, along with his underwear, down his legs.  The belt buckle hit a small rock with a clear ting. 

Strong fingers cupped his ass and pulled the mounds apart exposing his core.  He groaned when he felt the press of Blackwolf’s tongue against his entrance.  Hotch had only been the giver, this was new and unexplored territory; it was exciting and terrifying at the same time.

Blackwolf lapped at him slowly, his tongue leaving a trail of spit in its path.  Hotch fought the urge to thrust back and have that oh so marvelously talented tongue press into him.  Why hadn’t he ever done this before?

Blackwolf suckled him, his tongue breeching the ring of muscle, tasting him, loosening him up.  Hotch quivered like a trapped rabbit; the sounds coming from his mouth nothing that he’d ever heard before, needy sounds of moans and whispered curses to never stop.

Hotch’s legs felt limp; he wanted to touch himself.  It was too intense, and yet he needed more, craved more. 

Blackwolf stood up, his hands on Hotch’s hips.  Slowly he slid his hands around Hotch’s waist, his hands moving up Hotch’s chest until they toyed with his nipples.  He was pressed chest to back with Hotch and with his arms wrapped around him, Blackwolf stood with his face nearly in Hotch’s ear.

“What do you want Aaron Hotchner?” Blackwolf asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Hotch answered honestly.  He wanted Blackwolf to take this further, but the fear of giving up control was too strong; too deeply ingrained.

“You know,” Blackwolf whispered back, his lips nibbling behind Hotch’s ear.  “I know.”

“Yes,” Hotch whispered.  “You do.”

Blackwolf grunted his assent and he moved so that Hotch could feel the throb of the hot, thick length now positioned between his ass checks.

Hotch whimpered and Blackwolf released a nipple and brought his hand to his own mouth.  He licked his two fingers, wetting them and then trailed them across Hotch’s check to his lips. 

Hotch knew it was Blackwolf’s way of knowing that Hotch wanted this as much as he did.  The fingers slipped between his lips and Hotch swirled his tongue around them, coating them with as much salvia as he could until they were heavy-wet.

Hotch closed his eyes when Blackwolf slid his fingers from Hotch’s mouth. 

The intrusion of a finger into hole was not unexpected but yet it was.  It was a little uncomfortable, but not horribly so.  Hotch gasped and pressed his face against the rock.  His breath whistled a little as he exhaled.

Blackwolf prepared him carefully, another digit entered and moved with its companion.  Hotch grimaced, but the pain faded as quickly as it began.  A third finger pressed into him and Hotch groaned as they flexed within him.  Was this the way all his partners had felt?

Hotch was hard, painfully so and his hands still stretched above his head tingled a bit.  He shifted and Blackwolf seemed to understand and released Hotch and pulled his fingers free.   He touched Hotch’s hand with the one that had been inside the other man and Hotch caught a whiff of his own dark need.

“Relax, get comfortable,” Blackwolf ordered, taking the tiniest step back from Hotch.  “I want you to enjoy this, Aaron,” he said.

A trill of happiness wormed its way into Hotch.  The sound of his name uttered in that tone was almost too much.  He was too much on edge, too close to coming without even having sex.

But, the pain of the other man’s entering his body made Hotch cry out.  Blackwolf slowed, pausing, allowing Hotch to gain control of his emotions.  He eased the rest of the way in.

“It’ll hurt a bit… it always does the first time,” Blackwolf whispered.

The tears squeezed from Hotch’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks.  He wasn’t entirely crying because it was painful, but because for the first time, he felt joyous, happy, filled; like it was more than just sex.

Blackwolf tenderly kissed his neck, his throat, stroking his back as if his touch would help ease the pain that he thought Hotch was suffering.  “Aaron… Aaron,” he murmured softly.

Hotch shook his head from side to side.  “I’m fine.”  His voice broke and he took a deep breath, shifting ever so slightly and thrust back so that Blackwolf was deeper inside him. 

“Please,” he finally said, his voice a little stronger.

His hips were pushed flush to the rock face as Blackwolf drove into him.  It started as a hard push forward and then a tortuously slow withdrawal until a rhythm was established.  Hotch’s moans echoed in the cool desert night air.  Blackwolf held him tight and ground into him until he was buried so deep within Hotch that even Hotch had no idea where he began and the other man ended.  It was glorious, and hot, and so much better than he’d ever expected.
 
“Damn… I need to..” Hotch groaned, desperately trying to shift his body so that he could jerk himself off.  He was so close to the coming that he wanted to cry from desperation.  Blackwolf slid his arm around Hotch and wrapped his fingers around his weeping cock.  Hotch groaned at the other man’s touch, whimpered when those calloused fingers began to work him. 

Blackwolf suddenly released Hotch and gripped Hotch’s hips, his fingers digging into the tender flesh there.  Hotch reached back to pull Blackwolf closer to him so that they were still skin to skin when Blackwolf thrust hard into him.  The pain of being stretched, the erotic pleasure, Blackwolf’s hot breath upon his neck and the cool night air teasing his exposed flesh was too much for Hotch.  He threw his head back and screamed as he came all over himself and the rock wall he was splayed across. 

The Indian grunted and kissed his neck then dug his teeth in the tender flesh of the nape of Hotch’s neck.  Hotch cried out in pain and Blackwolf joined him as he came, filling Hotch with his jism. 

In the dark night where the stars twinkled down upon the cool desert, the only sound other than the occasional slither or chirp of the nocturnal creatures that lived there was the sound of the two men panting.

XXXXX

Hotch woke as the faint light of the day crept over the horizon.  It was still cool and almost eerily quiet.  He was comfortable, bedded down on a layer of blankets and soft sand, but most importantly, he was curiously content.  A warm body was pressed to his, spoon-like, and a familiar bronze arm covered one of his arms and the owner’s hand rested on his stomach.  He didn’t exactly remember how he’d gotten back to their camp, but he did remember other things.

Hotch grinned to himself.  Those other things had made for one of the best nights of his life.  He almost felt giddy.  He patted the other man’s hand in an affectionate gesture.

Blackwolf stirred, shifting slightly but ending up spooned even closer than he was before.  Hotch watched as his eyes moved quickly under his eyelids.  He would be waking up soon and for a moment Hotch was worried that Blackwolf wouldn’t remember what happened last night; that it had been a mistake. 

“Morning,” Blackwolf mumbled, lazily brushing his long, black hair from his face and tucking it behind his ears.  He stretched and then settled back in the covers, tucking his hands behind his head.  “Sleep well?”

“Umm,” Hotch hummed, turning so he could face his lover.  Blackwolf wore a little smile and Hotch relaxed.  He didn’t know why he had this irrational fear of being rejected by his lovers.  But then, again, all his lovers had been one-night stands.  Was this the same?    Hotch lifted a long lock of hair and let it slide through his fingers.   

Blackwolf took his hand and kissed his curled fingers and the threaded his fingers through Hotch’s.

Slowly, almost shyly, Hotch met Blackwolf’s eyes.  “So, where do we go from here?” Hotch asked, pulling their entwined hands to his chest.

“Back to town?” Blackwolf replied, his eyes twinkling, belying his gruff voice.  “Or if you feel up to it, we can tour the reservation.  Last time, you only got to see a bit of it.”

The disappointment must have shown on Hotch’s face because Blackwolf leaned in and kissed him, allowing his lips to linger at the corner of Hotch’s mouth before pressing a quick peck to his cheek. 

Hotch grinned and then shrugged.  “I guess this is it, then?”

“Do you want it to be?  We have the weekend and I’ve also heard of a great club in the city we could visit,” Blackwolf said.

“No,” Hotch said softly, “I don’t want it to be.”  It amazed him that he could say those words so easily.  But, it was interesting that Blackwolf was willing to go to a club when Hotch could almost feel his distaste at that prospect. 

“Or, we could stay here a little longer if you want,” Blackwolf’s free hand slipped under the blanket.

Hotch chuckled; for once the future seemed a little less dreary, a little less routine, and little less daunting.  He gasped when Blackwolf did something very arousing to his scrotum.

“Only if we don’t have to spend hours in the mid-day sun hiking back to your truck,” Hotch said and then mentally slapped himself letting his inner Reid out.

Laughing, Blackwolf pointed.  “The truck is about forty-five minutes that way.”

Hotch’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped like a fish.  “Then… then why the trek over the mesa, the climbing…”

“Heh… didn’t I once tell you there are many paths to the same place.”