Page 41 of Soul on Fire
“Yes,” he said. “They had one. They used it to travel to Kisangani for medical supplies once a year. We paid them to bring us supplies, too.”
He found Ikolo’s gaze across the fire.
* * *
There wasn’tmuch nightlife in the forest. After eating together, everyone in the village separated, families putting their children to bed and staying in their huts for the night. The fire rings burned low, red coals barely touching the darkness. Elliot had his red tactical flashlight, and he flicked it on as Ikolo guided him to a hut on the edge of the village.
“We will stay here for the night. The man who lives here has been gone for some time.”
They hauled their packs into the round, single-room hut and dropped them at the back. The walls were dried mud over woven branches and were topped by a roof of palm leaves and brush. The door was made from bamboo poles woven with reeds and propped against the entrance from the inside. Ikolo wheeled the motorbike in, and Elliot hauled the door closed.
The only light came from his red flashlight clipped to his shirt, bouncing across the walls as he moved. Ikolo filtered in and out of its glow, his dark skin catching and releasing the light. The bloodred glow curved around his cheek and jaw and down his neck.
“They brought the water inside.” Ikolo pointed, and Elliot followed with his flashlight. The boiled water from earlier was against the wall near the door. “Do you want to wash?”
Absolutely. The forest clung to him, all parts of him, humidity on his skin like glue that sucked the dirt and the dust and bugs to him. He’d stopped swatting mosquitos hours ago, had given up on the gnats. It seemed like a primeval grit covered him.
Ikolo stripped out of his sweat-stained shirt and washed quickly, rubbing down with a soaked cloth and scrubbing his chest, his arms, his neck. He washed his face, shook his head, and sent water droplets flying. He smiled at Elliot.
Elliot watched, rooted to the earth. His flashlight captured the images in slow motion, Ikolo’s shifting in the light, his body bending, moving, shadows and the muted glow playing peekaboo over his bicep and his hipbone. Ikolo was slender and strong, his muscles taut beneath his dark skin. He had the skin of a central African, a beautiful deep umber.
He could watch Ikolo for hours, especially when he smiled like that.
“Your turn.” Ikolo beckoned Elliot closer and rewet his cloth. Elliot jerked back to life, flicked off his flashlight, and shed his shirt. He tossed it toward his pack and stumbled in the darkness to Ikolo.
Ikolo pressed his soaking wet cloth to Elliot’s chest.
The water had cooled enough to make Elliot hiss as waterfalls ran down his skin. Ikolo grinned. “Feel good?”
“Yes,” Elliot whispered, swaying. Ikolo’s hand steadied Elliot’s waist.
He fisted his hands, forcing himself to not reach for Ikolo in return. His palms itched, desperation scraping his bones, all the way to the tips of his fingers.
Ikolo washed him slowly, dragging the soaked cloth across his collarbones, his shoulders, over his pecs, and then slowly down the center of his abs. Water sluiced off him in torrents, running beneath the hem of his pants and soaking the fabric. He heard Ikolo wet the cloth again, bring it back. Felt the coolness on his neck and Ikolo’s warm body—his naked chest—a breath away from him.
“You are so strong,” Ikolo muttered. “Are all Americans action heroes like you?”
Elliot choked out a laugh. “Definitely not. I work hard for this.”
“It shows.” Ikolo’s thumb swept across his hip bone, lines of fire following the simple touch. Water flowed down his chest again. Elliot shivered.
“Turn around.”
He swept Elliot’s back from neck to waist, long, slow strokes that sent water tumbling down his skin. Ikolo’s presence was a burn he wanted to shy from and chase, pursue and evade. He imagined the water turning to steam everywhere Ikolo touched him, like the forest had done earlier that day. Ikolo’s touch was messing with his mind, his presence building to a heat that seared his skin.
Ikolo dragged the cloth up his neck and over his head, squeezing it out. Water haloed his face, the drops falling around him in a curtain. He dropped the cloth back in the water with aplop.
Ikolo’s fingers traced his spine, whispered between his vertebrae. His touch sizzled Elliot’s skin with his feather-light caress. A gasp escaped Elliot’s lips.
“I see you watching me,” Ikolo breathed. His words disappeared in the darkness. “I feel your eyes following me.” Ikolo ran his palms over Elliot’s shoulder blades, slowly. Up and over his shoulder, and then down until his hands were covering Elliot’s collarbones. Ikolo’s chest brushed Elliot’s back.
Shuddered breaths scorched Elliot’s neck, quick, darting, and hesitant. The darkness in the hut was so thick it felt like a living thing in the room with them. He couldn’t see his own hands, his body. Couldn’t see Ikolo touching him.
There was a question inside of him, one that hadn’t ever seen the light. Now in the dark, the question struck a match to a desire he’d never let himself feel. Ikolo pressed against him, exhaled softly on his neck. “I think you look at me the way I look at you.” His hands cradled Elliot’s chest, one hand over Elliot’s racing heart.
Elliot laid his shaking hand over Ikolo’s. His fingers trembled as they laced together.
Ikolo’s heart drummed against his back, a steady beat that made his head spin. He’d never been this close to a man in this way. He was dizzy, and heached, God, he ached. He craved this moment and the promise it held.
