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It was rare for Winnetou to become sick, almost unheard of. Once or twice in our time together I had seen him with a fever, after he got injured. Maybe heard him cough once when he inhaled dust.
Never before had I seen him just ill. On some level I must have thought he could not even catch a cold, not my strong, perfect, resilient Winnetou.
Yet when I woke from my rest in our cold, damp camp in the snow and made my way over to my brother, who had had the last watch, I saw him shivering under the santillo-blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders.
He of course heard me come. A slight smile curled the corner of his lips.
“Scharlie's snore could intimidate a cougar”, he teased amicably.
I blushed a bit, crossing my arms over my broad chest. As I was about to reply with a witty, scathing remark, my eyes fell onto Winnetou's flushed face and glassy eyes.
“Is my brother not well?”, I asked with a voice still rough from sleep.
“Pshaw”, he replied haughtily, before surpressing a sneeze. Then he glowered at me, not liking that I was apparently right. I fought down my own smile, mimicking the regal expression of my red brother.
„We should eat something before we depart. The terrain will be difficult and we will need our strength“, I suggested. Winnetou said nothing, disregarding my comment completely. But if he had disagreed, he would have objected me.
I made my way back to the small fire and stoked it, filled two metal cups with snow and set them on one of the stones to heat as I searched Winnetou’s saddlebags for the tea I knew he kept there.
Winnetou kept looking out over the snowy landscape, while I brushed and fed the horses briefly. Iltschi snorted warm breath at my face and Hatatitla shoved his nose into my coat pocket, to search for treats. I laughed and rubbed both their foreheads. As I turned back around, Winnetou was watching me braced on his Silver-Rifle, the most peculiar little smile on his full lips.
I raised a questioning eyebrow and he turned away without a word.
I carried the steaming cups over to where he was standing. By now the wind that had tormented us all night had picked up even more. I handed him one. Some strands of his ravenblack hair had torn free from his hairdo and whipped around his head as he faced me. It took every bit of self-control, to not tuck them back. His fingers were icy as they brushed mine.
„We should depart soon. Before this wind turns into a storm“, I mumbled, biting into a piece of dried meat. „Maybe we can find some shelter until it blows over.“
Winnetou held onto his hot cup, steam curling up into his handsome face. He still looked flushed. „Scharlie is right, we will depart fast. But not to find shelter.“
I shot him a look. He knew what it meant without me having to say, that I was worried about him. Sometimes I was convinced he knew my thoughts and feelings before I did.
Winnetou downed his cup and turned towards our camp. So that was that. I followed his lead. If my brother had decided on something, who was I to change his mind?
****
Rarely have I met a man as resilient in mind and body as my bloodbrother Winnetou, so it was very new to me to see him look anything but regal as we made our way through the snowstorm that this day had turned into.
By afternoon he was slumping on Iltschie’s back and I no longer listened to his protests that he was fine. Luckily for us I found a cave that must have been used by trappers and hunting parties as a regular camp. It was large enough that we could take the horses inside, with an elkhide hung before the opening, so the inside was dry and almost warm compared to the icy wind outside. An opening further up in the dome-like structure allowed enough airflow that we could risk to light a campfire in a pit that was dug in the earth and was covered with remnants of ash and wood.
Winnetou was trembling with cold, when I bid him to sit down at the fire and rest.
Our horses, no matter how good they were, had struggled for hours in the icy cold and unfamiliar terrain. Their tack and blankets were soaked, so I took it off and rubbed them dry as best I could.
Meanwhile Winnetou had spread out or wet blankets and coats over the crates and racks the Trappers had left behind, in an attempt to dry them. With worry I saw his long hair drip as the snowflakes in it melted, as the cave slowly warmed up.
I touched his shoulder.
„My brother Winnetou should take off his wet coat and leggings. Otherwise he won’t warm up anytime soon.“
He frowned, but not because he was upset with me.
„What about my brother Scharlie?“, he asked.
„I will do the same and we can warm up together under the furs over there“, I said, pointing to stack of pelts sitting on a crate, waiting to be picked up by the trappers.
Winnetou and I spent almost every moment together whenever I was in the west. We had seen each other in different states of undress countless times, yet I was surprised how delicate my Winnetou suddenly seemed as he peeled himself out of his soaked clothing. His hands trembled and before I knew what I was doing I walked over, stilled his hands and helped him.
I am convinced that the proud man would have been insulted by every other person trying to help him while he was feeling weak.
With me, he just leaned against my chest and let himself be undressed like a child. Then he slipped wordlessly under the furs by the fire.
I hurried to get out of my sticky, chilly clothes as well and draped them over a crate by the fire. Gooseflesh spread over my cold skin and I hastily moved over to him. Winnetou readily lifted the top pelt for me. He gasped when my cool, pale body touched against his under the blanket and we needed a few moments to find a position where we would both be warm and comfortable.
Somehow we ended up with Winnetou draped onto my chest. I tried my best not to let him see, that his damp hair made me shiver.
„W-Why is my brother Scharlie so c-cold?“, Winnetou said softly through chattering teeth.
I reached up, putting my palm over his forehead. His skin was burning hot.
„Because my Winnetou is running a fever“, I said, brushing a strand of his hair away bevor I could think better of it. He blinked up at me from glossy, velvety dark eyes.
„Winnetou is strong“, he protested and I would have laughed, because it sounded so childish.
„Winnetou is strong *and* he is running a fever“, I agreed. In response he buried his cold nose in the dip of my collarbone. I flinched. He did not laugh out loud, but I could tell he was grinning.
For a while we simply rested, waiting for our bodies to regain heat.
I must have been more exhausted than I realized, because I fell asleep. When I woke, several hours must have gone by, because the fire had burned down considerably. The horses stomped softly, munching on the supplies I had spread out for them. Their familiar smell made everything feel more cozy and relaxed. It almost felt as if we were at home in the pueblo. – Of course, usually Winnetou did not sleep naked in my bed at home. I shoved and arm behind my head to prop it up.
Winnetou’s cheek rested on my chest and he was breathing evenly, so I assumed he was asleep.
I jumped when after a long time of no movement he suddenly trailed his fingertips over my chest. I had not noticed he was awake.
„Scharlie is so different“, he mused, voice soft and sleepy. I had to suppress a gasp, when he trailed his fingertip over my nipple. To my embarrassement I could feel it hardening under his touch.
„Different?“ My voice did not sound like me. It was way too raspy, way too breathless and thick from sleep.
„You got hair here“, Winnetou said thoughtfully, trailing his hand over the sprinkling of hair on my chest. „Winnetou doesn’t.“
As if to prove his point, he sat up and the pelt slid off his shoulder, leaving his smooth upper body free for my viewing pleasure. I did absolutely not blush. Nor did I stare greedily at the expanse of smooth, copper skin he was displaying.
Winnetou was built more slender than me, but ever part of him was muscle and supple dark skin. There was a symetry, an elegance to his body that left me speechless. I wanted to touch him more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.
As always Winnetou read my mind. He captured my hand and pulled it to his smooth, hairless chest.
„See?“, he purred, pressing my palm to his skin.
I was suddenly breathless. Without my agreement my greedy palm swept over the expanse of his chest, caressing, feeling. His long lashes fluttered as he closed his eyes, a soft smile spreading over his lips.
„I- I see“, I agreed hoarsely. He was so breathtakingly beautiful how he sat there, half-exposed, his sleek black hair falling in a wave over his naked shoulders, his dark brown eyes resting expectantly on me.
My gaze wandered over his naked arm and I let my hand follow. It felt smooth, like he barely had any bodyhair. In return he ran his long fingers over my forearm. I was not a very hairy person, but compared to him I felt that way.
One of his rare, soft chuckles broke out of him as he tugged gently on the hair on my arm.
„Bear“, he said. I snorted in reply and wrapped my arm around his waist, before I could think better of it.
„Sleek otter“, I replied. He repeated that rare, gentle laugh and slid effortlessly onto my lap. My breath caught in my chest as his weight settled on my aching groin. Heat shot to my face, but Winnetou kept on smiling as if he had not noticed my body awakening. When he shifted his weight though and my growing arousal was pressed against his firm buttocks, he must have taken notice.
„My-“, I started breathlessly but he put a finger against my lips to shush me. Then he bent down and for the first time ever, pressed his lips fully to mine. I did not even have the thought to protest.
A wave of warm pleasure and belonging and need and affection washed over me. I kissed him back as if I never had done anything else. Although I had not kissed anyone in years, it felt like the most natural thing to do. Heat poured into my veins and before I knew it, my hands were fisted in his hair and I was kissing him like I was drowning and he was the only oxygen.
Winnetou made a sound, something soft and eager and gentle, that I would have never thought him capable of.
I pulled back with a gasp, breathing hard as I looked up at him.
„M-my brother must be feeling better“, I rasped. He gave me the hint of a smile in return.
„Winnetou feels a lot better“, he agreed, bracing his hands on my chest and shifting his weight. The friction of his body against my rigid length made pleasure shoot up my spine and into my head. Involuntarily my hips lifted, with a primal, uncontrolled groan that shocked me.
Winnetou smiled. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead to mine and pulled my hand under the pelts.
He was hard as well. A soft gasp broke from my lips as I hesitantly wrapped my hand around his length.
„We shouldn’t…“, I whispered, voice trailing off. He rolled his hips again and I pressed my arousal against his body without thought.
„We should“, he whispered against my lips. When he kissed me again, every hesitation, every doubt, every fear evaporated. There was nothing but him. His warm, firm skin under my hands, his demanding lips on mine, his hair cascading over my face like a veil as he pushed me onto my back on the furs.
I had never before lain with a man, but that did not matter because it was him. The one I loved more than life itself.
His hands were surprisingly smooth and soft as they slid over my skin, touching, exploring, feeling. I returned the favor, just as hungry and curious to explore something new with him.
„Scharlie-“, He whispered into my mouth and pulled my hand back to his swollen manhood. It felt strange to touch another man in that way, for I had only ever had my own naked body as a reference.
He changed his stance again, throwing the pelts off in the process. My face flushed red with heat and embarrassement as he took both our stiff lengths into one hand, pressing them together. Winnetou panted softly, running a thumb over my tip to smear the wetness there.
I groaned softly, brushing a strand of his long hair back and tucking it behind his ear, as we kept kissing each other. I was dizzy with pleasure when he stroked our lengths together.
His manhood was a little smaller than mine and darker, flushed and swollen. I watched his hand work with a greed that I had never experienced before.
The feeling was so absurd in it’s intensity that part of me refused to believe this was real. But as he, my Winnetou, panted against my lips and pleasure curled in my stomach, I WANTED with every fibre of my being.
My hands slid over his smooth shoulders, not knowing if I held on or was trying to pull him closer. His dark eyes flicked to mine.
I felt like he saw me. Saw even the littlest, smallest, most wretched part of my soul.
And loved me anyway.
I surged up into another kiss, clinging to him, spearing his mouth with my tongue. He whispered words of love in his native language to me as we writhed and moved together.
And finally we both found the height of pleasure at almost the same instant, splattering warm and sinfully good onto my stomach.
I sank back on the pelts, panting.
Winnetou gave me a soft, knowing smile before he rested his forehead against mine. With shaking fingers I brushed a strand of his long hair back, that stuck to my sweatslick skin.
„My Scharlie“, he said softly. My heart fluttered like a trapped bird and I smiled back warmly. A rare chuckly broke from Winnetou.
„Winnetou feels a lot better.“, he said.